People in New Orleans have a very distinct way of speaking that is often imitated (badly) in movies, TV shows, and books about child-adopting vampires that are still better love stories than Twilight. And while we’re not all voodoo queens portending bad gris-gris in cemeteries at midnight, there are some phrases that only make sense within the city limits. Here’s a helpful translation guide to pass along to all your "Yankee" friends.
"Bet I know where you got them shoes."
Translation: You look like a tourist. Can I have some money?
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Translation: I moved here five minutes ago, and, from what I understand, not going into the French Quarter makes you legit.
Translation: I do not own this parking lot, but again, you look like a tourist, and I would like some money.
"You want that dressed?"
Translation: There’s no way I’m giving you a dry po-boy if you are older than 10, but asking makes me seem polite.
"You know we passed a good time."
Translation: We drank until someone fell over, and then we helped that person up and continued drinking for about two hours after that.
"Hang on. I gotta get down and make groceries to the Rouses."
Translation: I need to spend about two hours buying $400 worth of onion, celery, bell peppers, red pepper, and rice, and afterwards will still need to head out to Algiers, where I buy my sausage out of a cooler from a liquor store because it’s the best.
"Awww. You're cute."
Translation: This is next-level shade. It really means: you are not cute, and I hate you.
"It’s pronounced ‘Charter.’"
Translation: I have now lived here 10 minutes and correcting people makes me feel less out of place.
"All these Yankees are on my nerves."
Translation: People who live north of Slidell or west of Thibodaux are not from this state and have no business calling themselves Louisianians.
Translation: Hanging out in the Marigny basically makes me a music critic.
"My nainaine and parrain over by my mama's, so you know I gotta pass by the house."
Translation: I can’t hang out at any point today because my godmother and godfather will hound me to my grave and then into the afterlife if I don’t spend this entire Sunday eating with them at my mother’s.
"I feel like I could maybe eat some red beans & rice."
Translation: Do you want to go to Popeyes?
"It’s a Chalmation bar."
Translation: People who live outside the city have no business coming in for any reason, and I will not frequent any bar populated largely by people from Chalmette for fear that I’ll catch whatever brain-eating parasite caused them to drift downstream.
"I can get a go cup?"
Translation: I know I can, and I’d like one.
"Y’all quit messing around out there on my banquette."
Translation: Neither Camille nor Katrina could make me leave this block in the city, but these Airbnb Yankees have got me considering a move to Metairie.
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Emily Alford keeps her expectations for supermarket sausage incredibly low and is still usually disappointed.