A week’s worth of partying would render most people useless for at least a week. In my old age (30) i’ve stretched the recovery to 2 days, but they’re not full days of lying around drooling on myself.
Alas, it’s over and done until next year. Another week of revelry and bacchanalian delights floated away like the ashes from the smouldering remains of the fire we warmed ourselves by the night before, or the ones rubbed on the heads of the devout catholics flocking to church to ask forgiveness for the heinous acts of partying they’ve commited.
It all started with Podnahcast (www.podnahcast.com) a week ago Wednesday…gumbo aux herbes (gumbo oh zab), made in the shade and me trying to play the accordion half drunk. Not a bad way to kick it off I guess.
Thursday it was the Red Stick Ramblers at Blue Moon Saloon (www.bluemoonpresents.com) with special guest accordion players Preston Frank, Jesse Leger, and of course Blake Miller.
Friday at the new home of the infamous Chelsea’s cafe in Baton Rouge…the nurturing bosom from which the Red Stick Ramblers drank Abita Turbo Dog from a shiny, stainless steel tit in their infancy.
Saturday and Sunday, I must admit, were relatively tame. I managed to only do preparations for monday and tuesday, like help build the bandwagon for the Faquetaique (Fick-uh-ti-yick) courir and knock on doors in the countryside to make sure people wanted to see our shenanigans for another year.
Monday it was the Lakeview Boucherie. I guess i should stop and elaborate on this, if nothing else. For those of you not familiar with cajun culture, a Boucherie is the all-day (and sometimes night)party surrounding and facilitating the butchering of a pig or calf or both for consumption and/or storage by the friends, family and neighbors involved. It started as a necessity during the winter time when food was short. The neighbors and families would get together and pool livestock and resources to slaughter these animals all at once, thereby decreasing the work and time it would take if they each did things separately.
This particular Boucherie started at 8 am (late actually) when Toby Rodriguez (see podnahcast.com) put a .22 magnum bullet right between the eyes of the 300 lb. show hog from Breaux Bridge and we commenced to bleeding, scalding, shaving and otherwise disassembling the animal to make into back-bone stew, boudin, cracklins, pork steaks, pork chops, hog-head cheese, and roasts cooked in a “cajun microwave”.
So without writing a book about it, this went on ’til after dark, at which time we migrated to Faquetaique to cook pork and sausage gravy (never enough pork) and play tunes til the wee hours (i was in bed by 1am — like i said, i’m getting old).
Finally, tuesday morning arrives…Fat Tuesday, Mardi Gras. We don our costumes around 7am and begin hooking up the band wagon and begin opening the morning’s first beer to pick up where we left off several hours before. Someone lights a joint somewhere, someone passes around a bottle of whiskey too. The morning fog is still lifting as a fog begins settling on my mind…
Allons courir le mardi gras, allons se mettre desus l’chemin…
