Celebrating Fat Tuesday

Originally published in The Laconia Daily Sun ›

We often forget to celebrate the glorious diversity of America. Through literature, the visual arts (movies, paintings, sculpture) and dance we learn about the customs, traditions and even the culinary varieties shaped by the people who settled here and were then influenced by the climate, the geography and the earliest settlers. This came to mind on Tuesday when I was celebrating Mardi Gras, or Shrove Tuesday, with a group of friends.

New Orleans is a place I have always loved. Years ago, long before Katrina, I was often there for business. On one of my visits a nor’easter, quite unexpectedly, plummeted the East Coast closing the airports and leaving me stranded in a hotel suite in the French Quarter for almost four days. What a gift. I had time to explore Faulkner Books just off Jackson’s Square on Pirate’s Alley – where William Faulkner had lived briefly, visit St. Louis Cathedral and take my time walking through the French Quarter enjoying coffee in the cafes during the afternoon and jazz in the evening.

One cannot experience New Orleans without thinking about the culinary heritage. The coffee is roasted with chicory, which gives it a unique flavor. Stopping at Café du Monde for a coffee and a beignet, which is fried dough, covered with powdered sugar and served hot is just what one does. Beignets were introduced by the French in the 18th century.

Then there are Creole dishes influenced by southerners, the French, the Italians, the Germans, the West Africans, among others, and the availability of shellfish from the Gulf: crabmeat etouffee, shrimp creole, fried shrimp, seafood gumbo, to name just a few. These are all found on the menu at Galatorie’s one of the well-known restaurants on Bourbon Street in the Quarter. It’s difficult to make a reservation at any time, I challenge you to find a table during Mardi Gras. The restaurant was founded in 1905 by Jean Galatorie, when he arrived in New Orleans from Pardies, a small village in France and is still run by members of the Galatorie family.

Southern writers hold a special place in American literature and many of them found their way to New Orleans at one time or another. Several are favorites of mine, including Sherwood Anderson, Tennessee Williams William Faulkner, Truman Capote and, most recently, Jesmyn Ward.
Mardi Gras (which can be translated as Fat Tuesday) is a carnival, including parades, revelers dressed in costumes, festive masks, dinners, jazz and just pure frivolity. The festivities begin the week before and culminate on Strove Tuesday – or the actual day of Mardi Gras – which is the night before Ash Wednesday, when Lent and a period of fasting and repentance of sins begins for Christians.

If you grew up in New Orleans, as my friend did, and you cannot be in the French Quarter for Mardi Gras you still make it an occasion. On Tuesday we had crawfish etouffee, a King Cake and bags of beads sent from New Orleans. Throughout Mardi Gras, plastic beads are thrown from the street by the people participating in spontaneous parades. Everyone wears them or hangs them from trees and balconies throughout New Orleans. Stands and strands in bold, garish colors.

The King Cake, also used to celebrate Epiphany, is made in a number of ways but is usually served as a twisted cinnamon rolled dough, topped with frosting or colored sugar in the traditional Mardi Gras colors, green, yellow and purple. Like the coin in an English Christmas cake, a tiny plastic baby is stirred into the dough and the person who receives this small token is thought to have good luck through the year and also the responsibility to either host a Mardi Gras dinner the following year or provide a King Cake.

We had a festive time celebrating Mardi Gras. Although, being a North Country girl, nothing can compare with a Sugaring Off Party in New Hampshire. I’m keeping my eye on how the sap is running and following the New Hampshire Maple Producers Association so I can visit a Sugar House and enjoy freshly made doughnuts and sap that has just been boiled down into maple syrup, perhaps covering a tin of snow carried from the deep woods. As my Grandfather Howard would say: “Yum, yum, yum.”