I always thought going to the racetrack was something rich people did, like golf and tennis. Now calm down I have learned differently its just as a child the only time I saw these things was on my stepmothers shows or driving by the big houses with a country club. I don’t know exactly what I was expecting when I got invited to the opening day of the races. All those years in New Orleans and I had never made it to one opening day. Of course images of the Kentucky derby danced through my head. I should have known when the plans were made over late night cocktails that this would not end as I hoped. “ You should come. We are all wearing suits and hats” well that’s how you get me. An entire occasion dedicated to dressing fancy and with hats, I’m in. I already knew the hat I was wearing a blue feather number from the 40’s.

Fortunately for me I had a fellow accomplice who was more excited than I was. So much so he instantly went into “ I have to get a suit and I know exactly where to go” .As the work days ticked by I looked forward to fancy dress shopping day. It was divine intervention that during a casual walk through tho old mall on the Northside of town we found the most amazing suit store these eyes have ever seen. tucked in the corner of this now almost defunct mall with just a couple barber shops and a hippie stones and incense store was Sam the Man’s store. A giant room filled with every suit you could dream off. Sunday church? Easter pastel? velvet? Velvet floral? Sequins? they have it and more. The gentleman found a blue and black floral suit and with next day alterartions just like that we were ready for the races.

Don’t think I forgot myself, as the mall gods kept giving next door was a store with a tight purple number with a train. The day of we don our newly acquired fancy duds and hats load up in our Econo van lovingly referred to as “ Champagne Wayne” . I am not sure what I was expecting but I should have seen what was coming when in fancy duds we all pile out in the small town of Raynes Chevron to procure enough red bulls and vodka to get us to our destinations. First stop, to pick up Byrd in Eunice. Nothing will be able to steal the heart warming feeling when we rounded the corner and there he was standing tall and proud in his Sunday best waiting for his chariot to arrive. We load up Byrd and head off to the races. With of course yet another pit stop for bathroom breaks and more fancy drinks, this time tea lemonade Trulys, we were getting classier by the minute. Unfortunately our fellow racetrack adventurer decided to use the Mens room. apparently a big No No in Eunice race stop gas station/casino. Gambling in the tiny Casino in the middle of the day perfectly fine but don’t dare use a toilet that is for mens butts only. As I check out my uncouth lady companion has escaped after being harshly reprimanded. The ladies at the check out have a heated exchange about this crazy white woman who went into the mens room. I found at that moment that my loyalty to friends ends in the line of a Eunice gas station. She looks at me to get my opinion, before i know it I am joining in “ The nerve of some people, just not raised right” this coming from a women that has peed on the side of a dumpster in the back of a local bbq joint. Put a nice dress and hat on me and I am suddenly Ms.Manners.

Finally at the racetrack we all file out of Champagne Wayne hats and suits ready to join our fellow first day of the races crowd. At first, It doesn’t seem to odd. It is the casino in a small town I wasn’t expecting the gamblers to be anything other than retirees in comfortable shorts waiting in line for their overpriced tasteless sandwich. The clicking of my heels echoing across the overly shined slippery floors becomes the physical sound of my dread that we were not got to be one of many, but the one of few. I was wrong we were not the one of few ,we were the few. The only ones to be exact. Not a hat or suit in sight, for that matter not even a button down to be seen. The next fancy step after us was anyone wearing pants and shoes with strings. The majority was a mix between shorts, tank tops and t-shirts. Even our friends had abandoned us and our fancy dress plan. So much so they were wearing flip flops. Last time I checked flip flops were the polar opposite of dressing up. I am looking at you Eric and Chaz.

A sense of embarrassment sets in. It was like the time I went to a gangster party and failed to read the rest of the invitation. There I is was in an outfit straight out of a Mexican Mafia mug shot, everyone else? Like a scene from Peaky Blinders. Just like that party I decided to make the best of it. Click clacked my heels to the concession booth. Purchased some of the worst gin and tonics I have ever had. They did offer us fancy ladies a wine selection, seems no one thought to buy a wine opener. I am going to take a wild guess that Kentucky derby folk aren’t drinking gin poured from handles of liquor that are resting next to the nachos and Fritos. Then from the far corner came my savior. A high pitched creole voice shouts out “ Girl that dress is fine” That is all I needed. She was right that dress is fine and so what if I am overdressed. I don’t let snobby rich people or negative Nancys get me down when they rudely stare and make side comments. Why am I letting a room of people that have made not one negative comment or action affect my attitude? I am at the races with a sharp dressed man in a new dress and money to burn. Okay it was only $20,.00 ,but that’s a good time at Evangeline downs.

We made $5 bets and drank shitty gin and tonics while children ran around pretending to race the horses. Watched the ups and downs of winning and losing happening around us. Hey I even won a race “ Thanks Byrd” my stubborn ass should have listened to you more. So there wasn’t big floppy hats and snazzy suits. There was a group of friends cutting up , families enjoying a beautiful day and old men sitting around debating horses with insults salt and peppered into the conversation.

We ended our night overdressed sitting around bowls of queso and margaritas in a little joint right off the interstate. If the Kentucky derby doesn’t end with dribbles of cheese on my chin while my friends relentlessly make fun of each other I don’t think I want to go. Y’all can have your mint juleps and $500 hats. I’ll keep breaking chips with friends donned in all the best Sam the Man has to offer.

In honor of our cajun version of the Kentucky Derby I present to you the Opelousas Hot Browns. A twist on a standard. Buttermilk biscuits topped with grilled boudin patties, broiled tomatoes, Pepper jack mornay sauce and bacon.