Spillway Review


back to Mardi Gras
back to Main Menu
back to Contents

 
        
            
Where the Babies Were
by

Patrice Delahomme


Several years ago, I worked for Dr. Myron Plaisance, one of the most well-respected plastic surgeons in New Orleans.  Dr. P, as we called him, was always very careful with his diet.  You never saw him eat any junk food or drink any sodas or coffee.  He drank water and ate spartanly.  An apple perhaps.  Steamed vegetables on occasion.  And if he was feeling daring he might have a bowl of vegetarian chili and a slice of whole wheat bread.  Needless to say, Dr. P was as skinny as a rail.  And that’s not an easy thing to do in New Orleans with all the world-class cuisine here.

Naturally, around Mardi Gras, the king cakes started showing up in the office kitchen.  King cakes are made from pastry dough braided in a circular shape.  They are typically rolled in cinnamon, iced, and covered with purple, gold, and green sprinkles.  Dr. P’s secretary Marla kicked things off one Friday.  She brought one of those cream cheese filled numbers and people nibbled on it all day.

And that’s just it.  We only nibbled.  Marla would have a tiny sliver and so would Kathy, Rene, me and Dr. Reynolds, Dr. P’s partner.  We were all on Sugarbusters of course, and none of us were supposed to be eating it at all.  But even though we only nibbled, the king cake was gone by the end of the day.  What’s more, king cakes always have a tiny plastic baby hidden inside and whoever gets the baby is supposed to bring the next cake to the office.  So even though the king cake had vanished, no one would admit they’d gotten the baby.

The following Friday, Rene brought a nice sized blueberry filled king cake.  The same thing happened.  The cake was gone by the end of the day, and no one would confess to having gotten the baby.  When it happened again with the cake I brought, we knew we had a serial king cake cheat.  Marla, Kathy, Rene, and I puzzled over this mystery for several days and finally decided that Dr. Reynolds must be the culprit.

“That Yankee,” Marla hissed.  “No manners at all.  Just thinks he can eat our king cakes and never bring a cake himself.”

“Imagine pretending you didn't get the baby!” Rene said.  “That’s just so . . . so wrong!”

“He’s letting the office staff buy all the king cakes,” Kathy put in.   “That is just so like Dr. Reynolds.  He doesn’t appreciate anything we do around here.  And Dr. P is just the opposite.  I just love Dr. P.”

I’m ashamed to admit it, but I vowed never to do Dr. Reynolds’ filing again.  All the other ladies said they were going to make his life hell too.

So, it’s a good thing we needed a calculator later that week.  We’d ordered Chinese food (with brown rice) and were trying to figure out how to split the bill.  Marla’s calculator was on the fritz so she told me to look in Dr. P’s desk drawer.  I opened it and lodged right behind his calculator and resting on a bed of paper clips were our poor little babies with bits of cake still stuck to them.