If you only knew how incredible this is! Growing up in the frozen wastes of northern Minnesota, I always called my aunt "Auntie April." This was my Cousin's mother. Well, the other night he called to tell me to look up an address, right here in San Francisco, because I would sh*t my pants. I typed in the addy and the image above popped up. How incredibly funny that he happened upon this by chance, and that it exists at all, let alone right here in MY new home! Not to mention the fact that this Auntie April is evidently black. I have never encountered another "Auntie April" and thought my aunt (who left this mortal coil back in 2001) the only one. Turns out she's alive and Cookin'. And what's she cookin'? Chicken and waffles, that's what! I said we have to go have brunch there the next time Cuz is in the City. I bet the owners of this joint pronounce it Antie April though instead of the correct, Midwestern way that I learned - pronouncing it the way it's spelled.
On a related note, I wrote about my cherished Auntie April in my nonfiction piece "Lament For the Disappearing Girl" which was published in Portland Queer, edited by Ariel Gore and released under Lit Star Press last year.
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