Getting Stuffed in New Orleans by Cleo Paskal
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Lying on the desk in my hotel room was a form letter from the manager. It started off normal enough, "we hope you enjoy your stay" and all that, but it ended with a sentence that I had never seen before. Don't worry, the letter said: "everyone is expected to go home five pounds heavier, even in two days!" Welcome to New Orleans.
People in Louisiana talk about food the same way an Englishman talks about the weather. It's a compulsion, an obsession, a mantra. And more. Where Brits tell each other apart with regional accents, Louisianians exchange knowing glances based on the colour of your roux or the consistency of your jambalaya. Food and identity are so intertwined, you can tell who someone's great-grandparents were by how they make their soup.
To understand how the incredibly complex (yet oh so tasty) worlds of Creole and Cajun cuisine developed, you have to go back just over 300 years. In 1699 Pierre le Moyne, Sieur D'Iberville established the first French colony in La Louisiane (named for Louis XIV). But things didn't really get going until 1717, when a dodgy Scotsman called John Law obtained a 25 year charter to exploit the Louisiana Territory.
Law wallpapered Europe with ads enticing people to move to La Nouvelle Orleans, a land of "Fabulous wealth". What he didn't mention was that it was a wealth of mosquitoes, swamps, crude houses and hurricanes. It was the original "I have a lovely piece of (swamp) land I'd like to sell you" scam.
By the time the poor scamees had made the long journey over, they were often too broke and committed to turn around and go back. So they stayed, gritted their teeth, and tried to make the best of it. These cheerful first settlers were the start of the Creole presence in Louisiana.
Through sheer determination (and a good geographic location), the colony grew quickly. Soon New Orleans was an important port, money started flowing through and some of it stayed. New arrivals were younger sons of European aristocracy.
The home-sick aristocratic colonists began to emulate the gracious living of the distant, glittering French court. They built elegant two-story wood houses, with spectacular wrought iron balconies in front, and lush courtyards and carriageways behind. The streets were lined with moss-covered oaks shading wooden sidewalks. New Orleans truly became a place to live.
And a key part of that living was food.
The colonists (and their cooks -- the best paid member of the household staff) were trained in classical European cuisine. The new ingredients bewildered them. So, in the early 1700's the first cooking school in North America was opened to introduce Creole women to the local vegetables, meat and produce.
As the colony expanded and diversified, Creole cooking evolved, borrowing heavily from a range of influences. The French introduced bouillabaisse from Provence, which contributed to the development of gumbo. The Spanish offered up paella, which morphed into jambalaya. The Germans brought their sausage making skills as well as cattle, providing the first regular supply of milk and butter for sauces.
Africans (many originally brought over as slaves) introduced the barbecue, deep fat frying and okra (the "gumbo" plant). Afro-Caribbeans brought along rice and beans. And, invaluably, Native Indians added their knowledge of local flora and fauna.
Over the years, all these cultural ingredients melded together to form Creole cuisine, a complex, refined and uniquely Louisianian way to put on five pounds. Just think of it as the weigh of history.
Right about the time Creole Cuisine was coalescing, the Cajuns began arriving. Which also needs a slight historical detour to explain. In the early 1600s, a group of French settlers had ended up in what is now Nova Scotia, in eastern Canada.
These 'Acadiens' farmed and fished for about 150 years before being brutally expelled in what was, in part, a land grab by a local British official. Up to a third of them died in the diaspora but many of the survivors made their way down to the 'safe' French colony of Louisiana. And the 'Acadiens' became the 'Cajuns'.
Cajun cuisine had long ago abandoned any attempt to recreate European dishes. It was the food of people living off the land, endlessly recombining a limited number of elements in their black iron pots.
But it was also the cuisine of a people who loved food. Who took their time to make what they had as scrumptious as possible. While a stew was slowly coming together in the big pot, the family would gossip and tell stories and debate recipes. It was, as the best known Cajun chef in the world, Paul Prudhomme, puts it: "a table in the wilderness".
For centuries, Creole and Cajun didn't mix much. Creole was seen as polished city food. Cajun was hearty country fare. But, recently, the line has blurred, which makes sense given their common ingredients and techniques (both have long cooking times).
In New Orleans, most restaurants serve dishes that are the best of both worlds. And new dishes are being invented all the time. Paul Prudhomme created that quintessential Cajun technique, blackening, only a couple of decades ago.
The unique synthesis of cultures that produced Creole and Cajun food also produced that other Louisiana specialty, music. Zydeco, jazz, and rhythm and blues complement perfectly gumbos, jambalayas and crawfish pies. And, since New Orleans has no closing time, the perfect way to handle the four course breakfasts and cream-drenched delights of the local cuisine is to dance at least some of it away.
Which means, of course, you'll only go home five pounds heavier rather than the fifteen you actually deserve. But they'll be the tastiest five pounds this side of Christmas dinner.