I have been living in Texas for over 30 years now, and besides my family and friends, what I miss most about Louisiana is the food, and the food I miss most is the crawfish!
One of my favorite childhood memories is our annual Good Friday crawfish boil / family reunion in Indian Village at my Grandma Keller’s camp on the Calctsieu River. Long tables were set up and mountains of crawfish were boiled for over a hundred mothers, fathers, kids, brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, and cousins. As Catholic Cajuns we were not allowed to eat meat the Friday before Easter, so even though that’s supposed to some sort of sacrifice, I saw it as a wonderful time to get my fill of my favorite food that day! Just like Cajuns to turn their penance into a party!
During the crawfish boil, no one sat to tackle peeling those spicy mud bugs as fast as they could. I remember as a kid squeezing my way in and standing between beer-drinking adults. The crawfish were poured steaming hot in the center of the newspaper-covered tables with boiled potatoes mixed in. I never bothered with the vegetables. Getting to the succulent tail meat was my mission, and I became fast at peeling them. I wasn’t as quick as cousin Jaimie who could simply suck the tails out whole, but I held my own. Also, besides the 10 oz. cans of Schiltz beer, we had little bowls of spiced-up vinegar set out. Dipping the delectable tails in vinegar is still the best way for me to savor the precious crawfish.
Later after Grandma passed away, the Keller family was not as tight-knit – no more Good Friday crawfish boils or Christmas Eve parties. Grandma really was the social glue of our large family. However, a few years after she died, my dad resurrected the Good Friday crawfish boil first in our large backyard on the outskirts of Eunice and then at Grandma’s two-storied home he bought downtown. Again we enjoyed excellent boiled crawfish (and some fried catfish) though with fewer Kellers than in Grandma’s glory days.
Now my brother continues the Good Friday tradition at his home in Dallas. Since heathen Texans don’t always get Good Friday off work, he has moved the boil to the Saturday before Easter. Emile buys about two hundred pounds of Louisiana crawfish, and then Daddy,  Emile’s three grown children, five grandchildren, Yvette’s (his wife) family, and me and my crew show up. My brother also invites his many Dallas friends and his children’s friends who had to be taught how to peel the mud bugs. Now some of the non-Cajuns wrinkle their noses at having to eat such messy seafood, and a few grimace when someone starts sucking crawfish heads. But I ignore the prissy-pots and dive right in.

Nothing makes me feel at home, nothing makes my mouth water and my heart sing like eating hot boiled crawfish with a cold can of beer nearby and fellow crawfish-lovin’ Cajuns at my elbows. And we eat and laugh and tell stories and share jokes and savor the spicy sweetness of fresh crawfish, and we wrap ourselves in the easy times with good friends and family who are connected by food and culture and the best crawfish tails/ tales around, cha!

photograph by Nancy Malcolm

Words are so powerful. String them together and you have phrases, sentences and old fashioned ‘sayings’. Some people are more prone to descriptive verbage than others…

My little Auntie Sue lived in Oklahoma City all of her life. If you’ve ever been there, you know it can be blistering hot or freezing cold and always windy. Auntie Sue weighed 100 pounds soaking wet, so she was a good judge of the elements, if you will. One day, I called her and asked, “Are you having any weather up there?”, which in Oklahoma,  is a perfectly acceptable way to ask about the temperature. She replied, “Honey, its so windy, it would blow the hair off a dog!”. Now, that’s what I call a perfect description.

Auntie Sue was married to Uncle Benny for 50 plus years. Once, when visiting them, we were eating breakfast, and all at once Uncle Benny excused himself from the table. He was gone for quite awhile, so I finally asked, “Is Uncle Benny ok?”. She replied, “Oh, Honey, he got the call of the wild and when you get the call…you better answer quick! You know…his coffee kicked in.” We finished our breakfast in silence. Now, that’s what I call a perfect description.

One last thing to know about Auntie Sue…she was very hard of hearing. She had always suffered with ear problems and hearing loss, but continued to try new hearing aids and was an expert at reading lips. One day, she was reporting what the audiologist had told her at the last visit. “Honey,” she said, “he told me my ears are not going to get better…infact one day I’ll wake up and not be able to hear myself fart!” Now, that’s what I call a perfect description.

Oh, how I miss my Auntie Sue!

photograph by Nancy Malcolm

It’s raining. I can hear it on the windows and hear the gentle tap, tap, tap on the deck out back. Its soothing, rhythmic, almost hypnotic and ‘gentle on my mind’.

I grew up in Amarillo, Texas. It seldom rains there, maybe because it’s so dern windy, the drops blow away before they can hit the ground. But on occasion, God will send a rainstorm that is so spectacular, it will take your breath away. The lightening puts on such a show, you would think it was the Fourth of July. Long, silver streaks light up the Panhandle sky and they seem to last for minutes, illuminating the whole city. It’s quite a production, quite a symphony of lightening, thunder, light, dark, loud and eerily quiet. Its frightening yet you cannot take your eyes away, it’s nature at its finest. In all my 62 years, I’ve never experienced a rainstorm that can rival my Amarillo sky.

These days rainy weather makes me think of my Grandson, Sam. A few years ago, when he was almost four, he was visiting us for the day. It started to rain and my husband, AKA PaPa, asked Sam if he had ever built a dam. “What’s a dam PaPa?”…and so it began. We three donned our goulashes, umbrellas and smiles and headed outside. As luck would have it, rain water was rushing down the crevice by the curb, streaming down the street…going nowhere fast. PaPa began his explanation of dams and we began gathering rocks, sticks and shoveling dirt onto our dam site by the driveway.

Sam took a businesslike approach to this work and we three labored happily side by side. Of course, being the girl, I did have to take orders. “Nannie, hold my umbrella!”, “Nannie, please help me find more rocks?” It was one of the sweetest hours of my life. Two miracles from my Creator: the rain and my Sam.

PaPa has since made a trip to Home Depot (like he needed an excuse), to purchase more bags of sand that we can use for future dams. As Sam gets older, our bridges are becoming a little more sophisticated. Hopefully we can have a few more glorious rainy days with that precious boy, giving orders, moving rocks and smiling ear to ear. No rainstorm in this Nannie’s heart, only sunshine and a love as big as the Amarillo sky.

In the early morning hours, before anyone else is up, while the cat is still stretching languidly in her chair, I begin my day. In this quiet early hour I can hear the thud of the newspaper being thrown on the sidewalks, the coffeemaker finishing the last few drops and I hear the tick of our clock on the mantle. This is my selfish hour. This is my cherished solitude. I must have it!! This is my time to drink my coffee and absolutely, unequivocally “sit ugly”.
Sittin’ Ugly is a family tradition passed on by my 88 year old Auntie Sue. Her mother did it, she does it and now I do it. I’m sure lots of other people on earth are doing it, but to do it correctly is an art. The art of sittin’ ugly is learned and perfected through years of practice. There are rules of course, and above all, one must respect another’s’ right to sit ugly. There should be no judgment about sittin’ ugly. The fact is, one just simply does…..sit ugly. No judgment, no shame.
Everyone has their own way to sit ugly. But there are guidelines that I find very comforting and helpful to follow. Anyone that is new to the art will surely want to comply. The rules are as follows:
1. There must be coffee. Preferably freshly brewed with everything extra that you need, (cream, sugar etc.) and of course the favorite mug. I’ve never known a tea drinker to sit ugly, but I suppose it could be done.
2. No talking!! No one speaks to you-you speak to no one. Sometimes it may be necessary to point or grunt especially if you have small children and they absolutely must encroach on your time. But, the only talking truly allowed is to yourself.
3. You must sit. My favorite spot is an oversized chair by the window. Above all else, you must pick a comfortable, familiar place to sit. It is always good to be able to put up your feet and have a little table nearby. Your sittin’ area should be away from anyone else who might be awake.
4. You may be asking yourself, now what? I have the coffee. I’m sitting quietly. Now what? The “what” to do part is really up to you. Sometimes I just sit and stare while sipping my coffee. Staring is perfectly allowable and even encouraged. I also read my daily devotionals and have long conversations with God. I contemplate my day and my life. I think. I don’t think and then I may stare some more, all the while continuing to drink my coffee. This part may go on for a long as necessary. One hour is perfect for me.
5. Lastly, about this “ugly” part. Sittin ugly simply means that you come as you are, straight from bed. No primping allowed! One must be ones’ self. Tattered nighty? That’s ok! Acne medicine dotted on your face? Beautiful! Scruffy old favorite robe and slippers? The older the better! Sittin’ ugly is actually a super-natural phenomenon that makes you more good looking. The longer time you have to sit, the better you will look and feel. Try it and see!

Sittin’ ugly is my personal time. It is my favorite time of the day. Sometimes I can hardly wait to get up in the morning just to sit ugly. I am always at my best while sittin’ ugly, mainly because no one is speaking to me or me to them. What a joyous, peaceful time! What a perfect way to start your day, infact for me, it is a necessity.

Some mornings my little Auntie will call me and ask, “Honey, are you sittin’ ugly or can you talk?” It is always good manners to ask first encase one is not fit for conversation.

So here’s to “Sittin’ Ugly”, to having this special time each and every day and to the millions of us who find it necessary for the sustainment of sanity. Here’s to my precious Auntie Sue and all the beautiful ones who “sit ugly”.

Food for Thought

I don’t trust people who do not absolutely LOVE food. A person’s attitude toward food says a lot about that person. Just look at our cultural connections to food. Texans love their bar-be-que and Tex-Mex dishes as much as Cajuns take pride in their gumbo or etoufee. Also, folks have particular preferences about their favorite foods. Some like fast food fare like burgers and pizza while others yearn for “faun-faun” meals that feature foie gras or pork belly linguine. But no matter what one prefers, just have a preference. Someone with food apathy is not to be trusted. Make sure the eggs are scrambled hard or the steak is bloody rare, if that’s what you crave.
My close friends tell me I have lots of “food rules”; I suppose that’s because I grew up in south Louisiana where we discuss Monday’s supper while we’re eating Sunday’s brunch. One Cajun dish I have a long list of rules for is gumbo. Gumbo is a very important staple that we cook once the football season begins, the temperature dips below 50 degrees, and people declare, “It’s gumbo weather.” (One disclaimer to all of my rules is that most Cajuns prefer gumbo the way their momma liked her gumbo, and there are as many different gumbo recipes as there are mosquitoes on the porch in summer!)
Ginger’s Gumbo Rules (as learned from Geraldine Latour of Ville Platte)
Make your own roux. (none of the store-bought stuff)
Chicken & sausage gumbo should not be combined with seafood gumbo (shrimp, crab, oysters). Make a choice.
No okra in my gumbo (Gerry’s preference).
Start with the Cajun Holy Trinity: onions, celery, and bell pepper. (no carrots or potatoes)
Cook the gumbo with bone-in chicken pieces, and you can debone chicken after it’s cooked.
Add boiled eggs to seafood gumbo.
Skim a chicken gumbo as meat cooks.
Use true Louisiana sausage, like Lejuene’s Garlic Pork sausage, whenever possible.
Add green onions and parsley at the end.
Serve gumbo over white, not brown, rice.
The cooking and sharing of gumbo makes my heart and soul get all warm and fuzzy. Gumbo is my favorite thing to cook – partly because it connects to a social event (a big football game, a birthday, a graduation, an anniversary, or a Mardi Gras gathering). We don’t make a gumbo for just two! Also, my gumbo-making ritual usually includes beer drinking and music blaring, even at 7 a.m.
Even though I have “gumbo rules,” I’m not a gumbo snob. To each his own, right. I respect ALL gumbo recipes because we learn to make gumbo from our momma or our poppa or our Tante Sue or our parrain (godfather) or our close couzine. It’s a family thang base on love of food and love of each other. And “it’s all good, cha!”