By CAY SONNIER GIBSON

Lenten Grub (and other Delicacies)

Posted March 7, 2010 at 9:21 pm
Filed Under Food, Recipes, Traditions | 1 Comment

Today I proceeded to eat my bowl of sauce piquante in MawMaw’s yellow kitchen as she proceeded to tell me how to mix up a patch of cockroach and pig lard.

No, this is not some kind of voodoo treatment; rather, it is an old-fashion  form of Neosporin(R).  She tells me they used it on rashes and cuts and tick bites and burns. I don’t suggest you try this at home. I certainly won’t. As my uncle said, “Back then you either had to get tough … or die.”

Ain’t that the truth! People in the 21st century just aren’t that tough. Not in that way, anyway. Gives you the creepy-crawlies, doesn’t it.

I was able to finish eating my sauce piquante as she gave me a detailed recipe for this medicinal concoction. I call that “tough” enough.

But that’s an article for another day … and time … entirely.

What I wanted to write about today is Lenten grub.

No, not the wormy kind found in the ground.  Do you really think I would write about something that gross?

No,  I want to talk about Lenten grub as in fare, meals, food. Due to a large Catholic population in South Louisiana, it often becomes the subject of conversation over many Lenten tables.

Any of you who treated yourself to a copy of the Lake Charles American Press on Monday, March 1, 2010, might have seen the Expressions column by writer Grace Dalton: Lent Lessons where she explains the Lenten practices of prayer, fasting and almsgiving.

Grace writes:

“Why do we (Catholics) not eat barbecue, hamburgers, or sausage and chicken gumbo on that day (Friday) of the week? The answer is simple: We abstain from meat on Friday in honor of the Passion of Christ, for it was on a Friday he died. … The (Catholic) church gives such emphasis to this significant day … Why meat? The church chooses meat because of the connection to the flesh of Christ. It is a small symbolic sacrifice Jesus made in sacrificing his flesh for us.”

It might seem atypical for Louisianians of other faiths to look over their bowls of pork jambalaya and plates of spareribs at Catholics on a Friday night having their stemming “symbolic sacrificial” seafood gumbo and tangy boiled crawfish with butter sauce and think, “Who are they kidding!”

I have always upheld that Catholics should be home eating an egg, grilled cheese, or peanut butter sandwich in place of that lobster tail. That’s true sacrifice and real penance, but one does not preach to or correct a Cajun Catholic over an ice chest of live crawfish. You just don’t do it! And, I must say, Catholic clientele are just as weak in the flesh as any other religious clientele.  What other excuse do we have?

And so … Steamboat Bill’s is loaded every Friday night.

My family is blissfully blessed stoic in going to Steamboat Bill’s at least once during the sacrificial days of Lent. I have one child who was born during this solemn penitential season, so every March the family fudges on any sacrifice we made and crawfish our way to Steamboat Bill’s where the birthday boy is presented with his bright red-hot cake on a glossy white tray, flaming tails saluting him for all his wisdom and age. And the rest of us glory in his birth over a sinful array of bloodless crustacean.

Last sharing I gave you all a Blend of the Bayou recipe, perfect Lenten fare for those committed to eating at home this Lenten season.

Here is another Lenten grub dish for you (void of grubs, of course). Cajuns really aren’t that gross. And this dish is soooo simple! you know you’re going to LOVE it:

Shrimp Soup

• 2 – 2 and 1/2 lbs. peeled and cleaned shrimp
• 1 medium onion, chopped
• 1 teaspoon minced garlic
• 3/4 tablespoon Tony’s Seasoning
• 4 cans Campbell’s cream of potato soup
• 2 cans cream-style corn
• 1 large can and 1 small can evaporated milk

Saute onions in butter until transparent. Add garlic and Tony’s. Stir. Add shrimp and cook until pink. Add everything else and heat to warm. Delicious!

*****

Btw, a little pelican told me that Grace Dalton, Lake Charles American Press Expression’s writer, is looking for some really good Lenten dishes for her next piece. Perhaps you have a sinfully good one that your family has passed down from generation to generation?

Would you consider “sacrificing” the recipe so that all our families will be blessed? If so, please write me at caygibson@gmail.com and, though I can’t promise it will make the printed version, Grace and I will be sure to sample it. You can also leave it in the comment’s section.

Blend of the Bayou

Posted February 22, 2010 at 12:35 pm
Filed Under General, Hunting, Outdoors/Nature, Sports | Leave a Comment

(Edited to add:  Today is golden. This was written yesterday under churning gray, soupy skies.)

It’s raining.

Again.

Surprised?

Yet?

Sunday morning at MawMaw’s house, my aunt commented that her sister living in Nebraska has gotten an extra sledload of snow this winter. So has the northern part of Louisiana. We, on the other end of the bayou state, have gotten extra pirogues full of rain.

I have ceased to be amazed. I’ve decided that I live in a swamp area so I might as well sing in the rain.

Which, in part, means writing to you. And eating popcorn and watching iCarly with my youngest daughter. And washing laundry. And taking time to sniff the pork chops and rice dish my oldest daughter is cooking in her new slow cooker.  And nuzzling my barefeet into the blankets my daughter has tented across the sofa and coffee table. And reading a great new read (so far): Nine Lives: Mystery, Magic, Death, and Life in New Orleans by Dan Baum

Beats holding a dripping umbrella over my head.

Yet, even with the wet umbrella that drips on either side of Louisiana, I can’t think of any place I’d rather be.

And, in its true sedimentary form, Louisiana and water are indeed one and the same.  Let me share with you a tour through a bayou in Louisiana with author Barbara Hurd as our tour guide:

“We are aboard his (Cyrus) small skiff a few miles from New Orleans, wending our way through the maze of bayous, dark bodies of sleeping water. They are fringed with cottonwood flowers, wild iris, and an orange flower (we) don’t recognize, its blossoms like a bustle of burnished sequins. … The bayous of southern Louisiana are slow, brackish creeks that cut through thousands of acres of marshland … formed by the centuries-long rovings and digressions of both the ancient Gulf of Mexico and the Mississippi River.”

In the book I have, Barbara Hurd shares with us the place water has in our life, and “What is it about water that invites reverie? … “

“Dependent on the moon sloshing the tides from one side of the world to the other or on spring rains that cause the river to jump its bank, you learn something about seasons and trust. There’s no hurrying the tides or the rains, and so your life settles into a rhythm of waiting and working. You adjust your pace to the bayou, its dappled sunlight and Spanish moss, its languid water. So much of the bayou world bends and floats—the land, the white plumes of egrets, lilies, your sense of direction. Surely living by slow water nurtures patience, an appreciation for the quiet. In swamps, you don’t hear the jewely jangle of whitewater or the percussion of surf. If you sit still and hear the water at all, it’s more like the water in a well-drenched potted plant. It’s a land that, like the poet Roethke, takes its waking slow, a land where one eye opens, ringed with spider lilies and wild iris, while the other eye rolls over under its green lid, heavy with muck and algae, and closes.” ~ Stirring the Mud by Barbara Hurd University of Georgia Press, June 1, 2008, ISBN-10: 082033152X

My oldest son embraces water … fluently. On his Facebook profile, he baits his heart upon his cap: “I love to bass fish. My biggest hobby has to be duck hunting. It’s the getting up in the early, cold morning, getting a cup of coffee and running out to the marsh in the MERC.”

Ah, yeah! Can’t you just smell the salt water. This kid definitely has roux and Chachere’s seasoning simmering in his blood.

Honestly I have often wondered about hunters who go out on drizzly, freezing mornings, buzzing across the marsh in the MERC with the frosty air pedicuring their facial hair, and sitting amongst the reeds and marsh grass in anticipation of … a duck!

But my son and many others love it. And I’ve slowly come to understand what they love about this Sportsman’s Paradise.

It’s the leisure of it all. The stillness. The union with nature. The dawning of your new day and being the first to ladle it with your five senses. 

It’s the thermos of hot black coffee. The heater big enough only for your hands. The stocking caps and the fashion statement made with Mossy Oak waders from Cabela’s.

It’s the splintering of ice as the MERC stirs up the roux in a gumbo lake. The being on your own and the command of the MERC. Where no one can touch you but where you can feel the breath of God.

It’s the silence. The hush of a Louisiana lulla-bayou. The song of waterfowl. The sigh of cattails.It’s an ancestral quest for provision and taming our environment. 

It’s part of the song that is Louisiana.

And while duck season has ended the bayou still serenades my boy and many others to that Louisiana Bayou where the water, the rain, and the land create a blend of the best that the bayou has to offer.

Blend of the Bayou Recipe 

Melt cream cheese and butter in a sauce pan or microwave while preheating oven to 350F. Saute onion, bell pepper, celery and shrimp in 2 tablespoons butter. In a large mixing bowl blend all other ingredients (except cheddar cheese and cracker crumbs) together. Pour into a casserole dish. Top with grated cheddar cheese and cracker crumbs. You may freeze this dish to bake later or bake at 350F for 15 to 20 minutes or until bubbly.

Wordless Wednesday (Post-Super Bowl)

Posted February 10, 2010 at 12:44 pm
Filed Under Current Events, Entertainment | Leave a Comment

The morning after …

Super Bowl Salute to Food

Posted February 4, 2010 at 9:07 pm
Filed Under Current Events, Food, General | Leave a Comment

Who Dat Owns Dat?

Posted January 31, 2010 at 6:37 pm
Filed Under Current Events, Entertainment | 5 Comments

It wasn’t until the Saints were 10-0 that I got up the nerve to ask my least critical relative (my husband), “What on earth does ‘Who Dat!” mean?”

I’m serious. Born and raised in Louisiana, I had no idea. I had heard the phrase before; then again I hadn’t heard it. Not really heard it.

Well, this year you can’t help but hear it. People you don’t even know approach you with Who Dat?  Luckily, here in Louisiana, no one expects a reply.

Friends came up to me in Wal-Mart and at church with this goofy jubilant look on their faces asking me, “Who Dat?” It was always after a victory winning game. I’m sure my expression was equally goofy as I looked back at them and asked, “Who’s what?”

Not really. I kept that remark in my head. Instead, I plastered this geekish smile over my face in an attempt to look “in the know” and pretended to be of equally celebrated mirth. Not sure I succeeded very well but people in Louisiana can be very forgiving—especially to one of their own—especially when the state’s little darlings are on the road to the Super Bowl.

“Who dat? Who dat? Who dat say dey gonna beat dem Saints?”

Don’t bother trying to Google the phrase. Just look at the way it’s written and tell me if you can read it, much less understand it, without having to think twice. If you’re from Louisiana, it’s a no-brainer. Louisianans speak incorrectly and we know it. The sinner is the one who corrects you; the saint is the one who joins you. 

This is the phrase my husband gave me and I understood it. I thought it lacked luster—that is until I heard Aaron Neville sing it—but, at least, now I’m “in the know” and it kind of grows on you. Seems to be growing on others as well. There’s a dispute going on between the NFL and the Who Dat? Nation. Arguing over who has rights to the Who Dat? and fleur-de-lis. Sillier things have been written, I know, but bear with me on this humor.

If you insist on Googling it, go ahead. Google. I’ll wait …

It’s hard to pinpoint where it came from, huh? Harder still is who gets the rights to it. Everyone is trying to claim it as their own air horn.

My oldest daughter was supposed to have hip surgery this past Friday but it was postponed when her surgeon was called to a special meeting with Bobby Jindal. Over coffee at MawMaw’s, I was explaining to my brother the reason for the delay. Hopefully, I mentioned, they were meeting to discuss the health care crisis. “Nah,” my brother assured me. “The governor’s got more important things on his plate right now…like who claims the rights to the Who Dat.”

Cackles went up all around Mawmaw’s yellow kitchen.  You can either get mad and upset over getting stood-up for the Governor of Louisiana, or you can laugh. Cajuns laugh. We always laugh. Even if someone corrects our language.

Two little words, incorrectly spelt. Pure, indulgent slang so common in the southern part of Louisiana with its slurring of Cajun French and Spanish Creole it fairly soars like a Saint’s football bedazzled in Mardi Gras beads. Just as our state’s overall educational ranking gets propelled mid-field, there appears to be someone trying to make a profit on our inferiorities. Whoda thought? It’s all about money, folks. Trust me. It always is, isn’t it? 

Thank goodness Louisiana isn’t dealing with the aftermaths of a hurricane this year. Whew! There are more overflowing kegs of beer to take care of out here. Again, a no-brainer.

If you are struck with the Who Dat? fever and insistent on investigating where this little bug hibernated from, I’ll tell you what I uncovered.

Unreliable and uncertified (yet ever so thorough and easy to use) Wikipedia says the chant “Who Dat?” originated in minstrel shows in the 1800s. It seems to have been used in poems and songs long before the Saint’s solo. Then Aaron Neville sang it in 1983: Who Dat? Song and again in 2009: 2009 Version. You have only to listen and the connection of ownership is obvious. If it wasn’t for the city of New Orleans, we wouldn’t have this almighty chant. It belonged to the Saints and their fans long before the NFL ever realized they had any potential outside the Super Bowl.

Even Louisiana Governor Bobby Jindal is getting on the wave of defending the ownership.

NFL is trying so hard to make claims to this while, at the same time, trying to claim that there is simply a ‘misunderstanding’ with the fans: “The league said Friday it’s not trying to exclude all uses of Who Dat? and the fleur-de-lis logo — just when either is used in combination with other Saints trademarks, like their fleur-de-lis logo and uniform designs.” (AP)

Huh? It’s almost as silly as Oscar Mayer trying to claim profits from tailgate parties. Get real!

Hasn’t Louisiana lost enough in the past five years? Now someone is after the poor use of our language? Do they really think our education is so bad that they can pull the helmet over our eyes? I mean, seriously (and I don’t have a geekish smile plastered on my face at all) I can’t believe that anyone thinks this simple expression “Who Dat?” can be claimed by anyone but New Orleans.

Folks in Louisiana have always been told they speak incorrectly. Our grammar is awful and our punctuation is worse.  The dialect has become a part of the fabric which identifies us as unique. Who else uses the following expressions:

• Oh Yea Yie (used when one is in pain or hurting)
• Poo-Yie (the accent is placed on the poo or pooo or pooooo depends greatly on how tired a Saint’s football player is or how exasperated a Saint’s football fan is)
• Ain? (A questioning expression equal to What’s Dat?”)
• You coo-yon, you! (mainly said to sneaky young children or organizations who try to profit off our bad grammar)
• Don matta, no (as in “it just doesn’t matter” what the NFL does; we know we are the Who Dat? Nation)
• Bon dieu (Good God, peeps!)

In the pressroom of all this, there are still voices of common sense. New Orleans store owner Gabriel Harvey is quoted in this article as saying, “A lot of people believe it (Who Dat? slogan) belongs to the city and the people (of New Orleans).”

As do I. As does Senator David Vitter who is having Who Dat? t-shirts made and hoping the NFL will sue him.

You’re smart. You get the picture. And I’m sure by the end of the year we’ll all be liberated. The term “Who Dat?” will, no doubt, find its way into the dictionary. I can GAR-ran-TEE’ it.

“Who Dat! Who Dat! Who Dat NFL think they can lay claim on our New Orleans slang?”

The Resemblance Between Haiti and Hurricanes

Posted January 30, 2010 at 6:11 pm
Filed Under Current Events | 4 Comments

Over coffee this morning, my father made mention of an article in today’s Lake Charles American Press (page A8) that reads: “Haitians tire of waiting, begin to rebuild on own.”

“Defying pleas to wait for Haiti’s reconstruction, families lugged bundles of wood and tin up hillsides Friday to do the unthinkable: build new homes on top of old ones. … In the concrete slum of Canape Vert, an area devastated by the quake, dozens of people were pooling their labor and getting on with rebuilding.” ~(AP)

It quakes Louisiana’s own experience with Hurricanes Katrina and Rita, doesn’t it?

Here we have a crushed country that is “pooling their labor and getting on with rebuilding.” I think that’s noble even if some governments think it’s crazy and ignorant. Government might sniff at the quaintness of uneducated people trying to take control of their lives and their families. I think it’s heroic. For governments to tell people not to bury their dead, not to nurse their children, and not to rebuild their homes is foolhardy. People will do these things with or without government assistance.

 ” ‘I have 44 years’ worth of memories in this house,’ said Noel Marie Jose, 44, whose family was reinforcing crumbling walls with tin and wood. ‘I got married here. I met my husband here. My mother braided my hair there where these walls used to stand,‘ Jose said. ‘Even if it’s unsafe, I can’t imagine leaving.’ ” ~ (AP)

Hooray! I want to tell Noel Marie Jose. I want to clap for the ‘pull up your boot strap’ efforts of Haiti and its people. And I know that’s not politically correct. Some will ask: What about the children? What about disease and dirty living conditions? What about them? Children, disease and, yes, even dirt, have been around since the beginning of time. Nothing is going to change that.

Such was the sentiment five and a half years ago when our state was ravaged by swirling winds and black waters. “Even if it’s unsafe (here), (we) can’t imagine leaving,” was the motto many of us draped over our homes along with our blue tarps. And many of us stayed. We rolled up our sleeves, cleaned up our yards, rebuilt our homes, and stayed where our families and memories live, where our ancestors are buried.

Governments and politicians push and shove in their attempts to act as Savior of the people and, in doing, so they strip the people of their rights and, in time, their dignity.

The Associated Press article goes on to say, “Jose and other families said they were worried … and fears they may lose their plots after demolitions because they lack clear title. Haitians ardently defend their property rights. If a family has occupied land for more than 10 years, they gain ownership rights even without a deed.”

See what I mean? Many of us here in Southwest Louisiana had land which our “family has occupied…for more than 10 years.”  Even after the buildings and walls came crumbling down, what was left standing was the will to rise-up. That is what is happening in Haiti now. Let’s not strip the people of that dignity!

After witnessing the muck and yuck of Katrina and the wails and pleas of New Orleans, Southwest Louisiana was determined not to depend on the limited notion that government was a Savior of the people.  The people in Louisiana take very literally the ancient proverb: “Give a man a fish; you have fed him for today. Teach a man to fish; and you have fed him for a lifetime.” 

Other leaders were there to guide us when our current ones failed us. Captain John Smith is legended to have set the tone for our country with: “Those who don’t work won’t eat.” And Benjamin Franklin set the tone for the government with: “God helps those who help themselves.” In other words, don’t pretend to be God. You aren’t. Help yourself and pray that God sends other people across your path. God has given many (most) of us the manpower, knowledge, and wisdom to do what needs to be done and get it done … if we all work together. In a manner of speaking, he points us straight back to St. Ignatius of Loyola’s guiding words: “Work as though everything depends on you. Pray as though everything depends on God.”

I’m not in the dark here. My eyes are wide open to disaster and what it takes to recover from it. I know how it feels to live without a home, without electricity, and worry about safe drinking water for my children. I know the sense of gratitude which comes with getting those privileges back and how much we appreciated the workers who came from Alabama and Arkansas and Georgia and Oklahoma, etc. to rescue us after Hurricane Rita. They did not sit at a desk hammering rhetoric and discussing statistics. They stood in work boots, climbed ladders, plugged in our electricity, hooked up our cable, and filtered our water. We were sooooo appreciative. I, personally, wanted to hug the Oklahoma guy’s neck who climbed up that ladder on the side of my house and gave a thumbs-up to the Arkansas guy who balanced atop the ladder at the side of my road and got that electricity racing through a new line snapped into new poles and sparking through a new electrical box, all put in place by other people who worked together. Their sacrifice, as well as their families, has not been forgotten. Rather than a hug, I resolved to stand happily, shyly back as my husband reached out to shake the Oklahoma man’s hand in profuse appreciation. It didn’t seem like enough but, as the Oklahoma man tipped his hard hat at me and we waved at the Arkansas man still on the road, I could tell from the farewells they gave us that the appreciation on our faces was “thank you” enough for them. I hope their families knew it too.

We do need people and we do need leadership but let’s not forget that open spaces were part of a community long before we build walls. Places were settled long before families had voting rights. People were educated in the heart of the home long before schools systems were formed. And leaders were born in log cabins long before today’s leaders were born. Louisiana has a long history of forefathers who hunted in swamps, built shanties along bayous, and lived on watery gumbos and stewed down mustard greens. They didn’t wait on the government to rescue them from the swamps or build their towns. There was no government. Yet they survived hurricanes and flooding and the War of 1812. They raised their children well, worked their crops, and built their homes on a stronger foundation than the levees in New Orleans were ever made to hold.

I’m not saying that this early way of life or the experience of hurricanes is ever a pleasant experience or one fit for family life, and I sure hope this doesn’t come back like an alligator to bite me on the back of my pirogue because I sure as a hill of beans don’t want to have to live that way.  My point is that Haiti has no leadership and their situation shows how much leadership is needed. It is a necessary thing. But, when members of a society link together to rebuild their homes and their lives, they will find leadership therein and it is not up to a foreign country or a government to tell them how to do it or criticize how they are doing it.  There’s a thin line between a controlled government and a controlling government. The people should control the government; not the other way around.

Conversation Between Cajun Men

Posted January 12, 2010 at 8:51 am
Filed Under Entertainment, General | 3 Comments

(Photo Credit: Lanell Cormier)

Par-TAY with Cajun Grandma

Posted January 10, 2010 at 7:59 pm
Filed Under Entertainment, Family Fun, Food, General, Traditions (& Customs) | 2 Comments

What do you do when your Cajun grandmother celebrates her birthday during Carnival Season?

You celebrate with some King Cake and Blue Bell Mardi Gras Ice Cream, of course.

(Photo credit: Unskilled Labor)

Speaking, of which, Blue Bell has got an awesome website. Makes one hungry for all things icy, creamy, and sweet! They even host an Ice Cream Recipe Page. Can we all say “Yuuuuummmmyy!”

Evidently I’m not a very good researcher because I can’t find the Mardi Gras flavor on their site but a half-gallon of quickly disappearing yumminess is sitting in my freezer right now so I can assure you they make it. It’s purple and has almond pieces, amaretto sauce, and candy sprinkles churned into it.

Another idea is to visit Vee’s Donut Shoppe in Sulphur, LA where they will twist a doughnut into any number you wish and add festive Mardi Gras colored sprinkles on top of the glaze to help sweeten the advertisement of your age. Takes the “bite” out of aging, don’t you think?

King Cake Time

Posted January 6, 2010 at 7:19 pm
Filed Under General | 2 Comments

Tonight the groceries stores are flooded with these cinnamon-sprinkled cakes. Christ has been born, the Twelve Days of Christmas observed, and January 6th arrives with the observance of three weary travelers from afar following a star.

Do you have your King Cake on your dinner table tonight? It’s that time, you know. This might come as a surprise to some of you. My daughter was a bit confused, despite having lived her whole life in Louisiana. “What are King Cakes doing on the Wal-Mart shelves this early?” she wondered.

It’s Epiphany, I reminded her.

Many years ago a friend from up north questioned me, “Did I miss something? I thought King Cakes were for Mardi Gras.”

Not exactly. Mardi Gras (Fat Tuesday in French) actually marks the end of our frolic and fun. King Cakes are traditionally part of Epiphany (January 6th, also known as King’s Day and Little Christmas), which marks the arrival of the Three Kings who are in search of the recently born Christ-child. Notice the King Cakes are circular-shaped, like a crown. The dough is braided which represents the unity of Christians. The cakes are dressed in royal colors: purple for justice and the passion of Christ, green for faith and the hope of Christians, gold for power and the rewards of a Christian life. Sometimes red is used to symbolize the life of Christ. A baby is hidden within it representing the Christ-child the Three Kings come in search of.

The religious implications run deep.

Louisiana has just entered into the “season” of Mardi Gras, what is affectionately known as Carnival Season. Henceforth, until the solemn proclamation and dawning of Ash Wednesday, our stores and events will carry King Cakes through the gala season. It’s a time of festivities.

Do Louisianians ever need a reason to enter into a season of rivalry and merriment? Probably not. We have six whole weeks to enjoy and indulge, as only Cajuns can do. That’s a long time to party … for anyone. You can “google” either epiphany or king cake and find oodles and oodles of information regarding Epiphany, and pounds of sugary recipes for making a King Cake. I don’t want to be repetitive but adding extra frosting and filling to a king cake is fair game for everyone. So here’s my bead load of information.

History of King Cakes

King Cake for Epiphany (my good friend Jennifer Gregory Miller shared this wonderfully researched write-up recently)

For a couple of years now, this is the recipe I share with folks who ask me about King Cakes and Mardi Gras celebrations:

The Lord of the Rings King Cake

Ingredients: pre-packaged biscuits, 1 cup powdered sugar, milk, 1 cup granulated sugar, food coloring

Directions: Roll each biscuit into a “snake” and divide into three piles. Stick the “snake” ends together.  You will have three ropes. Braid the three ropes together and join in a circle on a baking sheet. Bake as directed on container and remove when lightly browned and fluffy. Allow to cool completely before frosting.

Frosting: Separate powdered sugar into three bowls and add purple, green, and yellow food coloring to separate bowls. Separate granulated sugar into three bowls and add food coloring as you did with the frosting. Set aside. Add milk to powdered sugar by tablespoons until it has the consistency of frosting but is liquid enough to “drizzle” on cake. Drizzle each color in sections of the cake. Sprinkle colored sugar liberally onto frosted cake before frosting dries. It is also pretty if you leave the sugar and milk frosting white and add only colored granulated sugar.

Here is another recipe that looks promising (and is ultra-simple) as it uses cinnamon rolls and what recipe doesn’t turn out yummy when you’re using pre-cinnamonized rolls: History of the King Cake

Another fun idea for the children in the house would be to give each child a simple glazed doughnut, apply white icing on top, and sprinkle with colored sugar. They will love their own personalized King Cake. Hand them gum drops and let them decorate their own “crown” worthy of a king.

And don’t fret that you’re too late to enjoy this scrumptious Louisiana confection. Remember, you have six weeks to indulge.

My children and I (and daddy when he’s available) plan to sample lots of King Cakes during the next six weeks. I’ll keep you updated on where we purchase them and which ones are our favorites.

Expelling the Darkness

Posted January 1, 2010 at 10:47 pm
Filed Under Festivals, General, Traditions (& Customs) | 3 Comments

In my last write-up, I promised that I had one more Christmas-tide tradition to share with my readers.

I’m sure many of you had a bonfire last night. Right? Was it this big? Say … some thirty-feet high?

Probably not. Most of our bonfires were smaller scale though some country people … and I’m thinking of my brother-in-law in years gone by … try to build it bigger and wider with each consecutive year. Many more of you have probably (or probably not) read about the traditional bonfires found here in Louisiana. There is even a traditional Festival of the Bonfires in Lutcher, LA, incase anyone is interested in going next year.

It’s an interesting tradition and one that doesn’t begin or end with the New Year or with the state of Louisiana.  In truth, the traditonal ring of fire comes from a long legacy of fires lit round the world.

With the intention of expelling the darkness with light, it has always been common practice to light candles, fires, and torches in the bleakness of winter. My father suspects these traditional fires and festivities came about out of necessity. Necessity for survival. People are more isolated in the wintertime than at any other time during the year. We huddle in our homes more. We blanket ourselves and insulate our windows and doors. Gray clouds scan the skies and thick fog creeps like a panther across the land. And little light seeps in through the curtains. People experience major depression during winter months. The medical establishment has researched and named a mood disorder SAD (ie: Seasonal Affective Disorder) that is commonly experienced during the winter months and attributed to lack of light. There is a human need to gather amidst warmth and food. Our bodies need and demand light. Fire and feasting are age-old rituals which embrace and nourish this need within us and our desire to share it. If Joseph did nothing else in that little stable cavern, I’m for sure, he built a fire.

While no one seems to know exactly what led Louisiana residents to create elaborate structures along the levees (I have read of bonfire structures being as elaborate as the skeleton of a plantation home) which were then lit and torched to cinders, it’s a beautiful tradition with sparks lighting a trail all the way back to the Mother Country. It is said that the French who moved to Louisiana kept their Christmas bonfires originally for two reasons:

•  to light Papa Noel’s journey on Christmas Eve
• to light the steps of Catholics as they went to Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve

Whatever the original intent for keeping the fires going, I can easily envision an iron-sharpening-iron explanation to these scenerios. The French Catholics needed this light as they walked to Midnight Mass with their les enfants along the banks of the rivers and then, as they walked home again, were able to entertain their small charges with the notion that Papa Noel would find his way to their cabin homes through the dark swamps and marshes simply by following the light of the bonfires. The story kept the children happy and the bonfires kept the parents warm as they walked the frosty miles along the water’s edge. Again, as in ages past, the light made merry the path and lightened the steps of the faithful.

With time, local bonfires became just another festive way to celebrate the Christmas holidays and a way of saluting the old year and serenading in the new year. Friends drink away the old and toast the new. Families gather and pop fireworks. Food is shared. Cousins run around yards that are lit and warmed by the light of a communal fire. A tradition which drew communities together long ago continues to bond communities today.  Whatever the time-frame, the logs link one generation to another.

The larger bonfires near the New Orleans area draw crowds of curious bystanders and tour groups. Carol Gravois writes: “In south Louisiana, particularly in and around Lutcher, Vacherie and Gramercy, Christmas bonfires on the Mississippi River levees have become prominent in recent years as they have been brought to the public eye.”

Carol Gravois writes an excellent first-hand account of the traditional bonfires and shares an interview with her father discussing the Gravois family bonfire tradition: Bonfires on the Levee: A Family Tradition

On a more secluded level, seminarians at St. Joseph Seminary College in St. Benedict, LA continue to enjoy the traditional lighting of a ginormous bonfire before they break for the Christmas holidays. Seminarian Matthew Cormier shared the following with me:

“For over sixty years, the seminarians of Notre Dame Seminary in New Orleans and St. Joseph Seminary College on the Northshore in St. Benedict, LA meet every fall for a game of flag-football. It takes place on the grounds of St. Joseph Abbey and Seminary College. The festivities begin the with the celebration of Mass and then after the game, and a very hearty barbeque, the senior class of St. Joseph’s lights the mammoth bonfire which on average is about thirty-feet high. It takes weeks to construct and is a school-wide effort. The 1,200 plus acres of Abbey woods is more than enough to supply the materials.

“After the fire is lit, BACK UP. It is going to get HOT. The ground smokes and creates a ring of fire going out about fifteen-feet from the actual stack. The seminarians then get to kick back and enjoy the warmth, music, and jovial atmosphere. The stack is so well constructed that it usually takes at least three hours for the first log to fall, but by the following morning, all that is left is maybe a few small logs and a smoldering pile of ash. Without rain, the pile smolders for about a week.”

National Geographic even wrote a piece about the bonfires in December 2006 (Bonfires Light Up Louisiana Levees) so there is hardly any firewood left for me to stoke.  Consider this the kindling.

• Recent Posts

  • Lenten Grub (and other Delicacies)
  • Blend of the Bayou
  • Wordless Wednesday (Post-Super Bowl)
  • Super Bowl Salute to Food
  • Who Dat Owns Dat?
  • The Resemblance Between Haiti and Hurricanes
  • Conversation Between Cajun Men
  • Par-TAY with Cajun Grandma
  • King Cake Time
  • Expelling the Darkness

• Categories

  • Botany
  • Current Events
  • Entertainment
    • Hunting
    • Sports
  • Family Fun
  • Festivals
  • Food
  • General
  • Louisiana Authors
  • Louisiana Literature
  • Months
  • Outdoors/Nature
  • Recipes
  • Traditions
    • Traditions (& Customs)
  • Travel
  • Weather
  • Wednesday Wisdom
  • Welcome

• Other Blogs

  • At the Capitol - American Press staff
  • Cowboy Corral - By Alex Hickey
  • From the Sideline - By Carl Dubois
  • Headline News - American Press staff
  • Moments in Motherhood - By Naomi Guidry
  • Naked Faith - By Sunny Farley
  • Outdoors - By Claudette Olivier
  • Photos & Video - American Press staff
  • Politics and People - By Jim Beam
  • Storm Blog - American Press staff
  • The Cents-ible Momma - By Brooke Rhodes
  • The Informer - By Andrew Perzo
  • They Call Me Mommy - By Kimberly Kane

• Subscribe to feed

  

• Listen by Phone

  Requires free Jott account.

Search