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Come to the Mardi Gras

Published on January 19, 2010 in Louisiana Essays and Recipes. 0 Comments Tags: , , .

Growing up in Louisiana and not going to Mardi Gras in New Orleans is like watching your neighbor throw a huge party while you stay home and peek through the curtains at the revelry. At least that’s what it felt like for me.

Every year my sister, Sandra, and I got the day off from school and watched the parades roll down Canal Street on the television set in our kitchen. The crowd was thick, and we saw a mass of hands reaching skyward amid cries of “t’row me sumthin’ mistuh” as the king of Rex flung beads and doubloons down from the top of his throne. Everybody seemed happy as they whooped it up for the cameras. Sandra and I would be thinking about what we planned to give up for Lent, which started the next day on Ash Wednesday. We often gave up chocolate, which meant we were gorging ourselves on it while we watched the revelers imbibe in other vices.

But Mardi Gras wasn’t all fun and games. It had a dark side too, like that neighbor’s party turned into a drunken brawl that the cops were called in to shut down. So we didn’t go.

“People get killed at Mardi Gras every year, you know,” said Daddy. “You couldn’t drag me down there if they were passing out hundred dollar bills at those parades.” We lived in the country, just outside of Baton Rouge, in a town called Brusly that was a big enough city for him. New Orleans was a foreign country that he never intended to visit.

One year our cousin Debbie was chosen to ride on a float in a Mardi Gras parade, and she became an instant celebrity in the family. Aunt Margaret staged a parade in her living room afterward, where Debbie reigned as queen of the couch. She and Aunt Margaret threw beads to a whole slough of cousins who held out arms in supplication and yelled, “t’row me some beads.” Legs and arms tangled with groping hands as we desperately scrambled around and picked through strands of gold shag carpet in search of our treasure: real plastic-beaded necklaces from a real Mardi Gras float that had rolled in a real parade down the streets of New Orleans. It was a close as any of us ever got to celebrating Mardi Gras.

When I started college I decided the time had finally come to stop peeking through the curtains and step out to that party going on next door. I lived at home while attending Louisiana State University, and I asked Mama is she wanted to go with me. I knew Daddy wouldn’t go, and I didn’t expect her to go without him, but she must have been longing to join the party too, because she said, “yeah, let’s go see what’s it’s all about.”

“Ya’ll are crazy,” Daddy said. “You better go down there early and leave before dark. And I’m not going down there to drag your asses home if something happens to you.” It was just Daddy’s way of saying he was worried about us, but it didn’t stop us from going anyway.

The sky was clear on the warm Fat Tuesday morning in February when the two of us backed down our gravel drive and pointed my Chevy Chevette East toward New Orleans. Behind the wheel I acted more confident that I felt as I drove for an hour-and-a-half down I-10. But once we hit the outskirts of the city and started seeing gaily decorated floats bound for unknown parades on unknown streets any lingering worries vanished. We had arrived!

We parked near the Superdome and raced towards Canal Street, where we could hear the low hum of the party going on. Coming onto Canal we found it: a multitude packed together on sidewalks and in the neutral ground, as the median is called in New Orleans, while the Zulu parade lumbered it’s way toward the Mississippi River.

Mama and I pushed into the throng and raised our voices and our hands along with everyone else, “t’row me sumthin mistah!” We fought for black Zulu beads and plastic cups and nylon panties. We learned to step on any coin-shaped doubloons that hit the ground before reaching to pick them up, so someone else didn’t step on our fingers. Zulu’s king waved regally from his throne and tossed gold coconuts into the sea of hands. As the last float faded away, the crowd swept us into the French Quarter and onto Bourbon Street, where we found a whole different kind of show.

Mama got her camera out and started snapping pictures of people in elaborate costumes when Yoda sidled up to her and said, “mmm, the force is strong with this one. Take my picture she will.”

The Jolly Green Giant put his arm around me. ”Hey, sugar, would you like to hold my cucumber? It’s big and it’s hard.” People drank alcohol from plastic cups and cops strolled slowly down the street looking for pick pockets, drunks passed out on sidewalks and men dropping their pants for beads. Revelers on balconies dangled beads to women below, calling down “show me your tits” and waiting for a shirt to go up before dropping the prize. The cops didn’t haul the women away.

Mama and I soaked it all up: dancers on the balconies of gay bars, groups with themed costumes posing for pictures, vendors hawking beer, hot dogs and t-shirts. The day passed in a blur, and like Cinderellas heading for their pumpkin we stumbled back to our car around four in the afternoon, heeding Daddy’s admonition to get out before dark. We were exhausted, and it was a quiet drive home.

“I see ya’ll made it back,” was all Daddy said when we walked into the house loaded down with beads and full of stories he didn’t want to hear.

“Yeah, and I think we’ll be going back to Mardi Gras next year,” said Mama.

Daddy never did make it to Mardi Gras in New Orleans. But Mama and I went every year after that until I moved away to Portland. We loved it each time we went, but it was never quite as good as that first year.

Since I moved up North, I’ve only been back for Mardi Gras twice; February just isn’t a good time to travel, especially if you have kids in school. But I decorate my house in beads and masks and make a king cake with a plastic baby Jesus tucked inside to celebrate. We didn’t eat king cakes while I was growing up, and most of the ones I’ve had over the years are dry and tasteless. It took me a while to find a good recipe to make my own, but everyone seems to like the one below.

King Cake

(Makes two cakes)
Basic Dough

  • 1 envelope dry yeast
  • 1/4 cup warm water
  • 1/2 cup milk
  • 1 cup butter
  • 2 egg yolks
  • 2 whole eggs
  • 4 cups (or more) unbleached flour
  • 1/2 cup + 1 tsp. sugar

Mix yeast with warm water and 1 tsp. sugar and 1 tsp. flour. Bring milk to a boil then stir in butter and sugar. Pour into a large bowl and mix. Once mix is lukewarm beat in egg yolks, whole eggs, and yeast mixture. Beat in approximately 2 cups of flour until dough is fairly smooth, then add enough flour to make a soft dough you can form into a ball. Knead by hand until smooth and elastic. Lightly oil a bowl, turn dough once or twice to coat, cover with a cloth and leave in a warm spot until doubled in size, about 1-1/2 – 2 hours. Pat down cover with damp towel and refrigerate overnight. Remove dough from fridge. Divide in half. Shape each half into a long sausage shape. Roll dough into a 30″x9″ rectangle as thin as a pie crust. Let dough rest while you make the filling.

Filling

  • 16 oz. cream cheese
  • 1/2 cup confectioners sugar
  • 4 Tblsp. flour
  • 4 egg yolks
  • 2 tsp. vanilla

Mix all ingredients together in a small bowl. Divide filling in half and place each half in a one inch strip down the length of each dough shape. Fold one end of the dough over the filling and onto the other side. Crimp at ends so filling won’t come out. Shape dough into rings, place each on a separate cookie sheet or jelly roll pan and let stand 30 minutes. Preheat oven to 350. Brush with egg wash and cut deep vents into cake. Bake for 20 – 35 minutes until risen and golden.

Icing

  • 1-1/2 cups confectioners sugar
  • 2-1/2 Tblsp. milk
  • 1/4 tsp. vanilla

Mix all ingredients together in a small bowl. Once cake has cooled spread on icing. Sprinkle colored sugar chrystals of purple, green and gold over the icing before it hardens. (You can buy colored sugar or make it yourself by placing ½ cup of regular sugar in a zip lock bag and adding one drop of food coloring at a time until you get the color you desire. For purple mix equal parts of red and blue.)

Picking Pecans

Published on January 19, 2010 in Louisiana Essays and Recipes. 1 Comment Tags: , , , , , .

Pecans have always been my favorite nut to eat and cook with. When I was growing up pecan season meant pralines cooking on the stove, pecan pies in the oven and Mama making her special pecan icing cake. There was always a tray with fresh pecans on the counter in the kitchen ready to crack, peel and pop in my mouth to tide me over after school until supper was served.

We had ten pecan trees in our far back yard, and they produced enough for us to fill up a few sacks to sell for extra Christmas money as well as plenty for us to peel for the freezer, where we hoarded bags all year so we wouldn’t run out before pecans started to ripen again in the fall.

On crisp, clear autumn Saturdays, I would head to the back with Mama and my sister, Sandra. Each of us carried an empty gallon-sized ice cream tub and a burlap sack. We staked out separate territories under different trees and started to pick. Mama listened as Sandra and I talked about what was going on at school while we all filled up bucket after bucket, until eventually we moved out of earshot from each other and picked in silence. At noon the sugar house whistle blew to signal lunch for its shift workers, and we took a break to settle in and eat our own sandwiches.

By mid-afternoon we had picked so many pecans we could still see their shapes nestled among blades of grass when we closed our eyes, and it was time to head back to the house. We packed everything up and dragged the now-heavy burlap sacks behind us all the way.

Over the next few months we’d crack pecans at the kitchen table as we watched television during the long winter nights. We’d also eat our fill of delicious candies, pies and cakes for Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year’s and any other gathering that gave us an excuse to cook dessert. Mama didn’t own a candy thermometer, and I remember stirring praline mixtures endlessly over the hot stove, impatiently dropping a little into a glass of cold water every few seconds to see if it had reached a soft ball stage yet. But the thought of tasting warm, gooey pralines kept me stirring diligently until the consistency was finally right.

While I don’t have pecan trees in my backyard in Portland, where I live now, I have something even better: a mama who still picks, cracks and peels them for me, from some of the same trees we picked under when I was growing up. She then sends me a few pounds in a care package in the mail each fall. I’m always excited when the box arrives on my doorstep, and I can’t wait to pop a few fresh pecans in my mouth right away. Then I get to work making pralines, pies and cakes.

Here are some of my favorite recipes using pecans. I couldn’t include the pecan cake icing, because my mama still regards it as a family secret, so I’ve added Christmas tassies, a relatively new discovery I’ve only been making about a dozen years. I like these miniature pecan pies because they’re easy to serve and so good when you pop them into your mouth. If you don’t have a mama who can pick and shell for you, try ordering from a Louisiana pecan company. Here is my favorite. Rosalie Sugarmill, Inc.


Pralines

  • 1 cup white sugar
  • 1 cup light brown sugar
  • 1/2 cup evaporated milk
  • 2 tblsp. butter
  • 1 tsp. vanilla extract
  • 1-1/2 cups pecans

In a large, heavy saucepan, combine the sugars and milk and cook over high heat until mixture reaches 230 degrees on a candy thermometer or a soft ball stage. Be sure to stir frequently and scrape the bottom and sides of the pan while stirring. Add butter, vanilla and pecans and then beat vigorously with a spoon until mixture starts to thicken. Immediately drop by tablespoonful onto waxed paper, aluminum foil or a lightly greased cookie sheet. Makes about 18 pralines.

*Note: you can substitute buttermilk for evaporated milk for a slightly different taste.

Pecan Pie

  • 2/3 cup sugar
  • 2/3 cup light Karo syrup
  • 1 teaspoon vanilla
  • 1/2 cube butter, melted
  • 2 eggs, beaten
  • 1 cup pecan pieces or halves
  • 1 nine inch unbaked pie shell

Mix all ingredients together. Pour into unbaked pie shell and bake for 10 minutes at 425. Lower the temperature to 375 and bake for another 25 minutes.
Christmas Tassies

  • 1-1/2 sticks butter, at room temperature
  • 4 ounces cream cheese, at room temperature
  • 1 cup all-purpose flour
  • 1 large egg
  • 3/4 cup firmly packed light brown sugar
  • 3/4 cup chopped and toasted pecan pieces
  • 1 tsp. vanilla extract
  • pinch of salt
  • sifted confectioner’s sugar

Preheat the oven to 350. In a bowl, cream one stick of the butter with the cream cheese. Stir in the flour and form into a ball. Divide the dough into 24 pieces and press each piece into mini-muffin tins to form shells.

In a small bowl, beat the egg lightly with the brown sugar, and stir in the pecans, the remaining 1/2 stick of butter, vanilla and salt. Divide the pecan mixture among the shells, filling them abut two-thirds full, and bake for 25 minutes or until the filling is putted slightly and the pastry is golden. Let the tassies cool on racks and garnish with confectioner’s sugar. Makes 2 dozen.

Beans and Rice

Published on January 19, 2010 in Louisiana Essays and Recipes. 0 Comments Tags: , , , .

I remember coming home from school on winter afternoons and being met at the front door by the aroma of Mama’s white beans with ham cooking on the stove. Letting the screen door bang behind me I’d call out, “mmmm, mmmm, white beans for dinner,” and follow my nose into the kitchen where Mama was mashing softened beans against the sides of the pot with the back of a stirring spoon. Leaning over, I’d fill myself up with steam rising from the beans then grab a soup spoon and dip it in for a taste to hold me until suppertime.

It seemed like forever before Daddy came home from work and we could finally sit down and dig in. I’d ladle a good-sized helping of those beans over steaming, fluffy white rice, pour sweet cane syrup on the side and mix all the flavors together with a bit of bread before popping a perfect bite in my mouth. I cleaned my plate and went back for more until my stomach strained against the waistband of my pants.

The first time I set out to make my own pot of beans I was surprised to realize I knew more about eating white beans with ham than cooking them. So I called Mama for a consultation.

“You’ve got to cook the beans for about an hour before you start to mash them against the sides of the pot,” she informed me. “But don’t put your ham in until after you’ve mashed the beans; otherwise it’s harder to get the back of the spoon up against the side. Chop your green bell pepper up really fine, and it will cook down to almost nothing. You can also add a little red bell pepper in for color.

“And don’t forget to put in a little vegetable oil. That will make your beans creamier.”

On days I cook beans now I love it when my own daughter comes in from school and heads straight for the pot and stirs, mashing beans against the side as she does. Then she settles in with homework at the kitchen counter, impatiently waiting until we can serve them up for dinner.

Here’s Mama’s recipe for White Beans with Ham and Rice, along with my second favorite, Red Beans with Smoked Sausage and Rice. Because red beans are larger, they require a slightly longer cooking time before they soften. Serve either with a salad on the side and cornbread muffins or slices of crispy French bread. If you’d like to try cane syrup you’ll probably have to order it. It’s my favorite, and I keep shipments coming regularly from Louisiana to my home in Portland. Steen’s is the brand I use, and you can order directly from the website.

For Rice:

  • 1-1/2 cups white rice
  • 3 cups water
  • 1 tsp. salt

To prepare rice, add rice, water and salt to a 4 qt. saucepan. Cover and bring to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer for 20 minutes until rice is done.

White Beans and Rice

  • 1 lb. navy beans
  • 1/8 cup vegetable oil
  • 1 green bell pepper, chopped
  • 1 small onion
  • 1 lb. ham, chopped
  • 1 bay leaf
  • 6 cups water
  • salt, black pepper and cayenne pepper to taste

Rinse and sort beans in a large pot. Add 6 cups of cold water and let them soak overnight. Drain and rinse.

Heat oil over medium high heat in a large skillet. Sauté bell pepper and onions until soft, about 5 minutes. Scrape into pot with beans and add 6 cups of hot water and bay leaf. Cover, bring to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer for about an hour, until beans are softened. Using the back end of a wooden spoon, stir beans and mash against the side of the pot. Do this until roughly one third of the beans are crushed. Add ham, cover and simmer, stirring occasionally, for another hour. Salt and pepper to taste.

Ladle beans and ham over steaming white rice to serve.


Red Beans and Rice

  • 1 lb. red kidney beans
  • 1/8 cup vegetable oil
  • 1 green bell pepper, chopped
  • 1 small onion
  • 1 lb. smoked sausage, cut into chunks
  • 1 bay leaf
  • 6 cups water
  • salt, black pepper and cayenne pepper to taste

Rinse and sort beans in a large pot. Add 6 cups of cold water and let them soak overnight. Drain and rinse.

Heat oil over medium high heat in a large skillet. Sauté bell pepper and onions until soft, about 5 minutes. Scrape into pot with beans and add 6 cups of hot water and bay leaf. Cover, bring to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer for about an hour and a half, until beans are softened. Using the back end of a wooden spoon, stir beans and mash against the side of the pot. Do this until roughly one third of the beans are crushed. Fry the smoked sausage in a separate skillet until browned. Add sausage to beans, cover and simmer, stirring occasionally, for another hour. Salt and pepper to taste.

To serve, ladle beans and sausage over steaming white rice.

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