One of the hardest programs to coordinate was the Cajun Mardi Gras program. Weather, traffic, meals out in rural areas away from the restaurants I usually used. Just too many variables outside of my control.
A few weeks before this particular Mardi Gras program, I received an email from a woman who was scheduled to attend. She’d received her pre-program packet and noticed the names of a couple of restaurants we would be utilizing. “One of the reasons we’re coming is for the Cajun food. I’m very upset to see that we’ll be having poboys one night and pizza another. Will we be able to go to another restaurant or order something different? We want real Cajun food.”
Paraphrasing my reply: Although poboys originated in New Orleans, which is not a Cajun city, they’ve been around long enough that Cajuns (and south Louisianans in general) consider them authentically part of our food culture. The place we are ordering from is a popular, small poboy shop near the university. We will be picking up trays of poboys on the way to watch a Mardi Gras parade. Unless you have a specific dietary need, this is what you’ll be having that night unless you pay for and bring another meal with you. As for as pizza, of course it’s not Cajun. The place we’re going offers kinds of pizza that you might not find in other places. I’m taking the group there so y’all can appreciate how Cajun tastes influence pizza toppings at a locally owned restaurant that’s been around for 35 years and is an area favorite. You aren’t the first to question this choice, but in the past, doubters have changed their minds. I look forward to meeting you. (🤥)
She replied very cordially and thanked me for the explanation.
Upon her arrival, she introduced herself (and her husband, who I have no memory of) and let me know that she was the one who emailed me about the restaurants. (Oh, believe me, lady, I know.)
So. The first field trip was to a small and very Cajun rural town, about fifty miles away. They take Cajun Mardi Gras seriously, and this was Lundi Gras (the Monday before Fat Tuesday). There is one choice of a restaurant near our field trip destination. We had a limited time to be there, and I ordered ahead, after each person chose one of three offerings. I chose chicken stew, as did Her Royal Highness. (I feel like I should give y’all the same handout I give my groups on the definitions of food terms).
As we were being served our lunches, HRH stood up and proudly announced to the group, “We’re foodies.” I think she expected some oohs and ahs or some such, but the group gave her nothing. Once my chicken stew arrived, I realized that the chicken did not get cooked properly. My piece was tough, but the flavor of the stew itself was excellent. When my food was not up to par, I usually kept it to myself and tried to judge the reactions of the group before mentioning anything. I didn’t want to color their opinions.
Most people seemed satisfied, but as we were about to leave, HRH approached me, and through gritted teeth hissed, “You said it was chicken stew and that was stewed chicken!” From my mouth, “In Cajun country, that is chicken stew.” In my head: “WTAF?!” (A is for actual.) If she’d complained about the chicken itself, I would’ve understood and agreed. But this? Just ridiculous.
That same night was the Mardi Gras parade and we were back in Lafayette. It was the poboy night. It was also the only program night I received some assistance, because I had to distribute food and drink to 35 or so people all before heading outside when the parade arrives. It’s usually a student worker, but that night it was my son’s girlfriend (now wife). HRH pulled Farrah aside several times and asked her if she was sure she wanted to become a part of my family! Anyway, there were fried oyster poboys, fried shrimp poboys, ham, roast beef, etc. They were delicious!
Pizza night was also a hit. It followed a field trip where the group was entertained by a three generation family band and got to hear some good Cajun music. Then we headed to the pizza place where I’d ordered samplers that included the Cajun Executioner (shrimp, pepperoni, jalapeños and other goodies), the Jacque Boudreaux (crawfish and shrimp) and the Muffaletta pie (muffuletta ingredients as toppings). HRH said nothing (to me).
Let me skip to the chase. On another field trip, near the end of the week, HRH was talking to several women as I got back on the bus, just in time to overhear, “Its been hard, but I’ve been holding back my New York personality all week!”
“Oh really? Bless your heart!”
I didn’t expect the gasps of understanding from HRH and her audience!
HRH: “I know that’s not a compliment!”
Me: “I’m pretty sure you and your New York personality can take it.” She actually laughed and agreed.
And then we hugged, sang kumbayah, and became besties, promising to email in the future.
Haha. Nope. But I could easily identify her anonymous online evaluation, complaining about not getting real Cajun food, even though she had gumbo, etouffee, boudin, etc. And chicken stew.
PS - I’m sorry to the New Yorkers, since this is my second story featuring a New Yorker. 🙁
