🎺✨ Ginger Snaps, Cheese, and the Bass Horn Blues: A Second Line Story ✨🎺

🎺✨ Ginger Snaps, Cheese, and the Bass Horn Blues: A Second Line Story ✨🎺

Now let me tell you something strange, baby when I was young, me and my grandmother would sit down on a Sunday afternoon with a plate of ginger snaps and cheese while some dusty old Western played on the TV. Yeah, ginger snaps and cheese. Don’t make that face it sounds nasty, but trust me, it was good. Real good. And she’d lean over and say, “See, child, just because it don’t sound like it go together don’t mean it can’t make harmony.” That was her kind of sermon. Sweet, crunchy, salty, cheesy, and full of wisdom.

Now fast forward to a blazing Sunday on Duplessis & Lafreniere Street, where the brass band had the block hot enough to fry catfish on the pavement. The drums were rolling, the horns were preaching, and right in the middle of it all was Kofi the bass horn player. Lord, that man didn’t just play, he baptized the whole corner with sound. Folks said Kofi was the filé in the gumbo without him, the whole thing would fall flat.

Kofi had a way of dragging a note so low it made the streetlights tremble, then lifting it so high it pulled the baby in the stroller to her feet, clapping her little hands on beat. That horn of his? Folks whispered it wasn’t just brass it was blessed. And that’s where the old folklore comes in.

See, the story goes that long before Kofi, there was a man named Baptiste who blew the first bass horn at a jazz funeral. He was a strange fellow, carried a little tin box with him everywhere. One day, folks peeked inside, and what did they see? Ginger snaps and cheese. Baptiste would pop one in his mouth before every procession. He said it kept the rhythm sweet and the sorrow salty. And when he passed, they say the spirit of that odd pairing sank right into the horn, sealing it with flavor only the bold could taste.

So when Kofi licked his lips between songs and smirked, people swore they smelled cinnamon and cheddar in the air. You think I’m lying? Ask anybody who was there.

But baby, this second line wasn’t just about music. The Baby Dolls came strutting in like the sun had loaned them its shine. Bright dresses, lace gloves, parasols spinning faster than gossip at a beauty shop. One of them, Miss Odette, winked at Kofi and hollered, “Blow that horn like you mean it, sugar!” And he did so heavy the street cracked a little under the weight of that note.

The crowd hollered, waved white handkerchiefs, stomped and shuffled in the heat. A man in a three-piece suit with shoes shinier than his future tripped on the curb, and folks laughed till their ribs hurt. Someone’s auntie jumped in, twirling her parasol like it was the Spirit itself spinning her around.

And let me tell you, there was comedy in the chaos. A drunk fella tried to out-dance the Baby Dolls failed miserably. His feet tangled, his hat flew, and one Baby Doll snatched it up, popped it on her own head, and kept right on dancing. The whole block howled. But underneath the laughter, you could feel something bigger moving.

That’s the thing about a second line it ain’t just a party. It’s a sermon with a beat. The band plays, but the Creator conducts. Every horn, every clap, every step is a reminder that life is short but love is wide, and unity is sweeter than any solo.

By the time the parade rounded the corner, sweat and joy dripping down the same faces, it hit me the whole scene was my grandmother’s lesson alive in the flesh. Ginger snaps and cheese. Bass horn and parasol. Sorrow and joy. Heaven and earth. Things that don’t seem to belong together somehow making the perfect harmony.

And if you don’t believe it, well, next time you’re in New Orleans, grab you a second line, a ginger snap, a slice of cheese, and a front-row spot when the bass horn starts to roar. You’ll taste the truth yourself.

---

✍🏾 Author’s Note

Dear Reader,

If this reflection made you laugh, nod your head, or maybe even feel the Spirit move a little, I ask from the bottom of my heart please consider supporting this work. Every single donation, big or small, helps keep this blog alive, helps me bring you more stories, reflections, and writings, and helps fuel upcoming publications and events in the literary arts.

This isn’t just about words on a page it’s about keeping the rhythm of culture, storytelling, and Spirit alive. If you’ve been touched, entertained, or uplifted, please give. Your support means more than you know.

With gratitude and love,

Kateb Nuri-Alim Shunnar

✨

Make A Donation