Talk about the best

Here’s a pro tip: If anyone anywhere ever asks you, “Do you like beats?” say,­ “Yes,” because the ensuing conversation will be the best one you have all day.

And that’s what life is about, right? Connecting with others in meaningful ways.

This was the question put to me recently while I was killing a few hours in New Orleans before a friend’s surprise birthday party. After picking up some vinyl at Euclid Records in the Bywater, I discovered a small café nearby at Piety Street Market.

Chugging an ice-cold ginger float and hiding in the shade of a tabletop umbrella, I noticed two boys from the neighborhood walk up.

Sweating and bouncing a basketball, the older boy, 13-year-old Cornelius, gazed long at a large menu board listing snoball flavors for days. The younger, Quint, barely 9—Cornelius would later tell me he thinks Quint looks about 6—hopped in the seat next to me and, as if on cue, began rattling his hands on the grooves of the table.

“Do you like beats?” he asked me, a spark of excitement flashing across his eyes as he said it.

“Absolutely,” I said. “Whatcha got?”

Quint sat up and rapped out a beat worthy of a second-line parade, only done at double the speed.

Cornelius filled in with a few rhymes to steady his young friend’s cavalier flow.

“That was really good,” I told them.

“Good enough for a tip?” Quint shot back fast.

“Tell you what,” I said, looking at Quint then over to Cornelius, “how about a snoball?”

After bouncing through every option and several wild ideas for combinations—”They put three flavors together for me last time,” Quint told me with pride—he settled, instead, on a hot fudge sundae.

Cornelius ordered a Blue Hawaiian. Took him five seconds flat.

We sat together and ate. We talked about the Hornets becoming the Pelicans, a name change both boys would have vetoed if given the chance.

We talked about Walk the Line and Johnny Cash, Cornelius’ favorite musician.

We talked about Jay-Z; about how Beyoncé and Justin and Michael all started in singing groups before going solo; about how Rick Ross is not the brother of Diana Ross, who is someone they didn’t know; about their uncle’s friend who talks about Jesus with people in Africa; about how Lil Wayne makes bad decisions and really needs help; about the importance of listening to Mom; about how hot fudge really isn’t all that hot.

As Quint scraped ever-narrowing lines of chocolate from his bowl and Cornelius’ smile shined a bright blue, I apologized for not having time to shoot hoops with them—even though it was just a few streets over, Cornelius argued—and we said good-bye.

I was so impressed with their exuberance. Until a certain age, one these boys are clearly yet to reach, everything is organized into two categories: “the best” and “the worst”—or, as I used to say when I was their age, “the pits.”

As adults we’re able to be more democratic, or at least experts of rationalization when it comes to our favorite things. But whether you agree or disagree with this year’s Best of 225 survey results, I’d argue that a great time can be had or a powerful memory made at any number of local places and events. You only have to be open to it.

Just buy something for someone—a coffee, a lunch, a snoball—and if they ask if you like beats, always say yes.