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.