Mardi Gras = Gumbo!

I have never been to Mardi Gras. I have been to New Orleans. Once, when I was 9. It was just after Mardi Gras, I think. Mostly what I remember about New Orleans is learning how to tie a cherry stem in a knot with my tongue at a jazz bar, and walking past many strip joints, into one of which my sneaky peek awarded me a lady on a stage in front of maybe 5 tipsy individuals trying to see around her huge feather fan. Good times!

Admittedly, my love of New Orleans lore and the idea of Mardi Gras comes mostly from Tom Robbin's ridiculous novel, Jitterbug Perfume.  It's on my top 10 list of favorite books. I try to read it every year. This year I went looking for it....and couldn't find it! I think I may have loaned it out to someone. You would think this would lead to an angry tirade about people not giving back lent books, however when it's one of my favorites, I like to think that they couldn't give it back because they loved it at least as much as I did and possibly passed it along. I've been through at least three copies of this book...I guess I'm ready to check the used book store for Number 4.

Along with Jitterbug Perfume, Mardi Gras at Chez Fontaine means gumbo. In the finest cajun tradition (minus okra, which I cannot stand), I have made a simple, but delicious recipe for many years now. We look forward to it every February (or March). This year I have been so busy at work and tired when I get home that my Dear Husband made the gumbo. Ladies, I have this to say, if you make no other advance in whatever relationship you are presently engaged, teach your partner to cook. It pays off again and again. My husband's first Gumbo was even better than my own, made so by the fact that it was cooked by someone other than me and served with a smile.

Now, go get yourself a copy of Jitterbug Perfume and make some Gumbo. And Laissez les bon temps rouler!