Pigskin, But Not Pork Rinds

As I write this, the world is gearing up for the biggest football game, ever – the 2011 National Championship. LSU vs BAMA – two longtime rivals from the best conference in the nation – the SEC.  Everyone reading this already knows all these facts. But up here, this isn’t common knowledge. To put it in perspective about how much this game ISN’T on the radar up here, think about this. I’m the college football expert in town.

I’m dressing my kids in alternating Alabama and LSU attire (ok, mostly Alabama) and we’ve got an LSU flag flying in front of our house instead of an American flag. My husband has taken Monday AND Tuesday off of work. Every friend and family member down south has plans to attend the game, go to a party, watch it at a designated place, etc. Here, it will be a regular Monday night. Don’t forget to put out the trash.

Yesterday Grant’s teacher looked at his Alabama shirt and said “Oh I guess your team won the game!” Uh, it hasn’t happened yet. And the chimney repair guy commented on our LSU flag “Big fans?” he asks. Now he looks just like all the Bubbas you see regularly – especially featured on TV – cheering for an SEC team. Big gut, driving a truck, baseball hat, bad grammar. Except our Southern Bubbas know a thing or two about football. This guy said “Yeah, aren’t they playing in that BCA game?” Geez. When I have to correct you that it’s the BCS, and I even know what that stands for, you know nothing. Maybe about chimneys, but not about college football.

Around here people care about the Jets and the Giants. I know they both play football and claim to be from New York but really are from New Jersey (like us!) And there is a local lacrosse team here in town, in addition to all the high school sports people cheer for. The local teams sell sweatshirts and other clothes promoting the home team, and they are dark red/maroon with a white V. You think I would be used to seeing them now, we’ve been here 6 months. But every time I see someone in the grocery store coming toward me sporting - possibly crimson? – I get all excited. Could it maybe be another Alabama fan? I’ll even be fired up if it’s a Mississippi State fan! And then they get closer, and I see the big V, and I go back to being my own private Erin Andrews of Northern Jersey.

Chew On This

Surprise, I have a little more to say about the very important topic of food. Who knew pork rinds and pecans were southern things?  Well, I guess I never saw the girls on Sex in the City munching on fried pig skin, and I guess there is a reason why every year’s November issue of Southern Living has a picture of a pecan pie on it, but just try to find either of those in a grocery store up here. Good luck. And if you are looking for some good Andouille sausage to make gumbo with, give it up. I went to several specialty food stores and butcher shops on a quest for a more exciting sausage than Hillshire Farms. And I found about 84 varieties of homemade Italian sausage, but I’m not too sure how well that marries with okra and roux.

Yes, there are lots of Italian things in these parts. After I moved here I learned that the Sopranos was set and filmed in the next town over. And any strange rule or quirky happenings up here are explained with a raised eyebrow and “well, you know, there USED to be a lot of organized crime in this area.” And of course I find this fascinating. Not so much that I want to wake up with a horse head in my bed, but every time I see an older Italian gentleman in town (which is about every 9 seconds) I wonder if he’s meeting his Uncle for coffee later to discuss some family business. And not that Italian = organized crime but somehow the smell of garlic cooking up here makes me think more about the mafia than Cajun cooking!

But there are some things I knew I wouldn’t be able to get up here, so I made special preparations to bring my own with me. In July when my Mom and kids and I made the drive from Louisiana to New Jersey, along with all my sentimental possessions I didn’t want the movers to take, and the nine million toys we brought to bribe Grant and Camille through the three day cross country trek, I had a small igloo packed with six pounds of frozen crawfish tails. As we stopped at a hotel each night, I carefully iced down the crawfish tails and tended to them with almost more care than my maniac kids who had been cooped up in the car all day.  Upon arrival, the cherished mudbugs were the first thing unloaded from the car – gently transported to the freezer here, and we have carefully rationed them out, cooking them for only special occasions or when we need a really good dose of home.

Imagine this - the onset of Football Season was one of those special occasions. A few months ago we had some new friends over to watch the first LSU football game and I made some crawfish dip and a gumbo. As we extended the invitation, we got a few “what’s gumbo?” questions, and at the party several people made a polite nod toward the crawfish dip after we explained what it was. Although the gumbo was a hit, the normal conversation surrounding a gumbo feast DID NOT take place. There was no debate arguing wet roux versus dry roux. No discussion of whether the sausage came from Chris’ Specialty Meats or a tiny hole in the wall south of Dulac. No one compared it to their Grandmother’s – or John Besh’s for that matter. Nobody made the comment “Can’t wait for the weather to get cool enough to make a gumbo.” Kinda strange. So is it wrong that so much about the Southern culture revolves around food? Can you have entire conversations surrounding lasagna? Think about it.

Well, Here We Go!

Everyone who knows me knows I have plenty to say. But I never thought about blogging because I wasn’t documenting a fabulous trip or teaching anyone how to make chicken gnocchi soup or a felt Christmas tree craft. And yet here I sit in Mayberry, I mean, Verona, New Jersey, penning my thoughts about how very different things are in the North and the South! So maybe this will be a journal of sorts for my kids to remember their time in Jersey, if the internet is still around when they grow up. Or maybe it’s just something to keep me writing (not that grocery lists don’t count) during my time as a stay at home Mom. Or maybe it will become the national guidelines for all Northerners to learn to do things the right way, the Southern way.

I could name 10 things off the top of my head that I would bet money nobody else in the 2.8 square miles of this township has in their house. OK, maybe they have a few, but not more than three in the series, and these are things that are standard issue in almost every Southern (well, at least Louisiana) household. Here we go: A pot of red beans in the fridge. Toddler size cheerleader uniforms from 2 SEC schools. At least 15 cookbooks published by a variety of Louisiana Junior Leagues. Numerous monogrammed items such as dresses, beach towels, tote bags, etc. Abita beer and Old New Orleans Rum. Frozen crawfish tails, carefully transported across 8 states. Clementine Hunter reprints. A perky hair bow to match every toddler girl outfit in the house (including the 2 cheerleader uniforms). Four hefty bags of Mardi Gras Beads.  Oh, and a few professionally made Mardi Gras costumes as well. Who knew these common household goods would make us stand apart!

Not that I don’t like it here. This town is awesome, people are friendly, it’s safe, beautiful and a 35 minute train ride to one of the greatest cities in the world. And I’m thoroughly enjoying being home with my kids (especially the days they are in preschool) and being able to make our house a comfortable home. But there are just some things that need pointing out, even if they are really obvious, and some things that are a surprise to me. So indulge me as I reflect on some bits of yankeeness.

So they should call this the Carbohydrate State instead of the Garden State. If you are trying to limit the bread in your diet, this is not the place to be. Driving down Main Street, or Bloomfield Ave as it’s called here, you see bagel shop, pizzeria, deli, Dunkin Donuts, another bagel shop, an Italian trattoria, and attached to the gas station, another Dunkin Donuts. Within the first week here I learned that munchkins are a common word. And they aren’t talking about the Wizard of Oz. We call those donut holes, but Dunkin has the branding down pat up here. Oh well, we wash it down with a Coke and up here they call it “soda.”

And speaking of Dunkin Donuts, everyone up here thinks their coffee is so fabulous. I’ve been doing lots of taste test research and I guess it ranks up there among the tastier java here, but that’s because there are no CC’s Coffee Houses and you can’t buy CDM in the grocery store. Didn’t realize I was so spoiled with good strong coffee, but recently some friends brought some good stuff from home when they came to visit, and after tasting the Louisiana made goodness, well I guess that’s where the saying – once you go black, you never go back - comes from.