CAMELOT FANTASIES

Read an excerpt from What One Leaves Behind A Bane Shaw Novel - Coming Summer 2016

http://reganoleary.com/2016/03/10/what-one-leaves-behind-excerpt-from-chapter-22-isu-assassin-squad/

The adventure continues as Bronagh & Shaw travel to Glasgow for their wedding.  But here is the question...Do IRA assassin squads still exist in Ireland?

On July 1st, Bronagh sat alone in the kitchen of the duplex. Conner had gone into the city for some groceries. She planned to cook. Bronagh had become bored eating out, and she missed cooking. She decided she wanted to cook a traditional south Louisiana meal for Conner, but mainly, she wanted to keep herself busy. Gumbo was out of the question since young, tender okra would be near impossible to find in Ireland. She decided on a simple chicken and sausage jambalaya with traditional French bread. Even with the unavailability of andouille sausage, Conner assured Bronagh he could find a decent, highly seasoned smoked sausage in Galway. Not likely. I’m a long way from LaPlace. LaPlace, Louisiana, the andouille capital of the world: an hour’s drive southeast from her home in Livingston Parish, but, she would manage, she decided, with whatever sausage Conner purchased.
She thought of Shaw’s upcoming birthday; he would be fifty on Saturday. She fought back tears and ignored the car in the driveway, assuming it was Conner returning to the duplex. Bronagh jumped, startled by the hammering on the door. She peered out the window at Jimmy pounding on the duplex door. His face was like stone when she answered.
“Where’s Conner?” he asked.
“In the city. What’s wrong, Jimmy? What are you doing here?” Bronagh asked.
“Get Conner on the phone, Bronagh!” Jimmy said, looking around the duplex. “And take off that damned cross!”
Bronagh handed Jimmy the phone.
“Conner, stay in the city,” Jimmy said. “Do not come back to the duplex until Bronagh calls you!” He hung up the phone and looked at Bronagh. “Take off that cross, Bronagh, now!” Jimmy shouted.
Her spine stiffened, and she unlatched the clasp on the silver rope chain. Jimmy grabbed Bronagh’s arm and led her into the bedroom. He snatched her Celtic cross from her hand, lifted the mattress and tossed it on top of the box springs, releasing the mattress to crash down on top of the bed’s foundation.
“What the hell is going on, Jimmy?” Bronagh asked again.
Jimmy pulled a large silver crucifix and a beaded rosary from his pocket and tossed them on the dresser. “Get undressed!”
“What? No!”
Jimmy grabbed Bronagh’s shoulders. “Get undressed and get in bed! I don’t have time to explain!”
She glared at Jimmy with her hand on her hip. “You’d better find time to explain, Jimmy!”
He looked at Bronagh. “I got word in Belfast that one of your neighbors along the lake saw you wearing your cross and attending service at the local Methodist church. They learned I had rented you this duplex. They suspect I’m an informer: passing on information to you!”
“Who, Jimmy? What are you talking about?” Bronagh asked, utterly confused.
“An ISU is coming down from Roscommon,” Jimmy said. “For the love of God, woman, get undressed and in that bed!”
“ISU?”
“Internal Security Unit. The Brotherhood.” Jimmy said, undressing and messing up the sheets on the bed.
“What? Oh, Jesus!” Bronagh began to appreciate Jimmy’s concern when he stood before her, naked, save his underwear. “I told Conner I didn’t need this crap in my life! What in the hell have you and Conner gotten me involved in?” she said.
“I didn’t write the green book, love. I’m sorry. Please get undressed.” Jimmy heard car doors shutting outside on the driveway. “Bronagh, now!” Jimmy crawled underneath the sheets on the bed.
Bronagh stripped away her outer garments and climbed under the sheets near Jimmy.
He put his arm around Bronagh’s shoulders and crossed himself. “Keep your mouth shut. Let me do the talking, love. I don’t want to be a stiff at the hands of my brothers!” Jimmy listened for the number of footsteps he could distinguish. Five men, he thought. Two stay outside, three come in. He looked at Bronagh. “In Belfast, you called me a pig. Now would be a good time to pretend you find me charming!”
When Jimmy heard the front door slam open, he pulled Bronagh close to him and kissed her, just as three masked men kicked open the bedroom door.
“Hello, Jimmy,” said the tall masked man holding the micro Uzi.
“What the hell is this?” Jimmy asked.
“Uprooting an informer!” the tall man said.
“Informer?” Jimmy cackled.
“You think this is funny Jimmy?” he said pointing his Uzi at Jimmy’s head.
“You obviously know me, brother, but I don’t know you! And I doubt the three of you have ever met! So, aye, I know what this raid means. And, aye! I find it funny!” Jimmy said, still laughing. “What do you think you’ve found, here?”
“You are renting to a Protestant Irish-American, touting information,” the tall man said.
“You mean a Catholic Irish-American. That I am. And, I’m, umm, more than just ‘renting’ to her.” Jimmy chuckled, stroking Bronagh’s neck and hair. “The only turning I’ve done is when she rolls me over, if you get my meaning.” Jimmy looked at Bronagh and stroked her sheet-clad hip. “And, the only secret she knows: I’m a fast lover when I get between the sheets with her.”
The gray-masked man spoke. “Where’s the cross?”
“What cross?” Jimmy asked.
The man with the gray mask glared at Bronagh. “Where’s your cross, ****?”
Bronagh glared back. “On the dresser!”
He turned, picked up the crucifix and the rosary, showing it to the other men. Jimmy studied their reactions carefully. He knew the third man, holding the AK-47 with the standard 30-round magazine resting on his hip, would never speak; he was the assassin. Their eyes revealed questions. Jimmy could see them doubting the reliability of the information they were given.
Bronagh saw their doubt, too. “My wallet is in my purse. I’d appreciate you not stealing my cross!” Bronagh said.
Jimmy squeezed her hand, wanting her silence.
“What?” The tall man asked.
“Take whatever you came for, but leave my cross, please,” Bronagh said, terrified.
The tall man pointed at the crucifix. “This is important to you?”
“Of course!” Bronagh said. “My mother gave me that cross!”
Jimmy’s body was rigid. He didn’t want Bronagh engaging in conversation with these dangerous men.
“How do you know Jimmy?” the tall man asked.
Bronagh looked at Jimmy, smiled and stroked his chest. “Jimmy’s an old friend.”
“Friend, huh?”
“A friend with benefits,” she said, kissing Jimmy’s cheek. Bronagh looked back to the tall man. “He’s my lover when I visit Ireland.”
The gray-masked man holding the crucifix leered at Bronagh. “I don’t trust her!”
Bronagh snapped her head in his direction and glared at him. “You don’t trust me? You barge into my bedroom while I’m making love to my man, masked, wielding weapons, and you don’t trust me?” She turned to Jimmy. “You were right, baby. Not all Irishmen are as charming and endearing as you are!” Bronagh kissed him, hoping her trembling hand wasn’t too obvious.
“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” The gray-masked man asked.
Bronagh released the clasp she had on Jimmy’s lips, eased up in bed, pulled the sheet to her shoulders, and leaned on her supposed lover’s chest. She leered at the man. “What do I mean? You bust in here and want to know what I mean?”
Jimmy pulled at Bronagh’s arm and growled at her. “Leave this alone, Bronagh!”
“No, Jimmy!” She looked at the gray-masked man. “It means you’re rude and ill-mannered! You act more like those crude thugs in London than an Irishman!”
Jimmy squeezed Bronagh’s hand hard. We’re dead! We are dead! But at least I get to die like I wanted: lying in bed next to a beautiful woman! Jimmy started laughing when he saw the gray-masked man chamber a round in the 9 mm he pulled from the back of his jeans.
His compatriot waved the pistol down. “What’s so funny, Jimmy?” The tall man asked.
Through fits of laughter, Jimmy said, “You’ve done it now! You insult her by calling her a Protestant and a ****…,” Jimmy shielded his mouth and whispered, as though Bronagh couldn’t hear him. “She thinks you’re here to rob her: you are still holding her cross, after all!” He resumed his normal tone, “But, what’s worse: you’ve shattered her romantic beliefs that all Irishmen are irresistible.”
Bronagh playfully poked Jimmy. “Indeed! I certainly don’t expect Irishmen to act like this!” She turned and looked at the three masked men, her heart racing and her stomach knotted with fear. “You should be ashamed of yourselves!” She shot a small glance at the man who wouldn’t speak, but only for a second.
The men exchanged glances, then the tall man chuckled. Bronagh’s southern accent and her innocence had almost convinced them she was oblivious to the seriousness of this raid. They were there to rob her. But, they were also certain she didn’t realize it was to rob her of her life.
The gray-masked man glared at Bronagh. “I don’t give a **** about this crucifix and these beads! I don’t reason her a Catholic! And I think Jimmy is lying!”
The tall man stopped laughing and looked at the AK-47 man. Bronagh saw dread enter Jimmy’s eyes. She smiled and stroked the side of his face. Jimmy had no way of knowing how many Catholic Masses she had attended with Shaw.
“Perhaps, he needs us to pray for him, baby,” she said to Jimmy. Bronagh whispered in Jimmy’s ear, “Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee; blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners…,” She let her words trail off when she began kissing Jimmy’s neck and ear, still stroking his face.
“Oh! Jesus!” Jimmy said. He grabbed Bronagh’s neck, kissed her wildly, and crushed his **** in the side of her leg, finding her petting, and her ability to pray like a Catholic arousing, given their circumstances.
“Anyone can memorize a Hail Mary from watching enough television!” The gray-masked man shouted.
Jimmy groaned when Bronagh broke her clasp on his lips, turned slowly, and stared at the man. “Sounds like you need the Penitential Rite, you ass! Shall I pray with you?” Bronagh said, peering at him.
The gray-masked man darted toward Bronagh, furious with her for calling him an ass, but the tall man put his hand on his associate’s chest, stopping his advance. He looked hard at Bronagh and nodded, expecting her to deliver her claim.
Bronagh smiled weakly at the tall man, grateful he had stopped his angry accomplice. She became very reverent and held her dark eyes on the tall man when she spoke again. “I confess to almighty God, and to you…,” she paused and looked at all three men standing over her bed, and she continued when she looked back to the tall man. “…my brothers and sisters, that I have sinned through my own fault, in my thoughts and in my words, in what I have done, and in what I have failed to do—”
“Enough!” The third man broke his silence. He turned and left the bedroom. The other two men turned to follow him.
“Are you really going to steal my cross?” Bronagh asked the gray-masked man, still clutching Jimmy’s crucifix.
He paused and looked at the crucifix and rosary still in his hand. He threw them at Bronagh. She snatched them from the air.
“I didn’t realize there were names for that ****,” he said to Bronagh.
“Maybe you should spend more time in Mass than you do ruining the holidays of tourists visiting your country!” Bronagh reprimanded.
He permitted a slight nod and left the house.
Bronagh shook when she heard the car engine start. Jimmy jumped up and walked to the living room window where he watched the assassin squad back out of the driveway. He grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the kitchen and raced back to the bedroom. Bronagh was gripping a pillow and trembling. Jimmy handed her the bottle. She jerked it from his hand, and he watched her take a long pull, straight from the bottle, like a man might, instead of the glass-drinking lady he knew Bronagh to be. He pulled on his jeans and sat next to her. Jimmy exhaled a hoarse sigh, pulled Bronagh’s shaking body to his, and kissed the top of her head.

We call them Crawfish, Ditchbugs, Crawdads, Mudbugs, or Louisiana lobsters - but for the love of a spicy tail - never call them crayfish! That's just wrong! Sinfully wrong and usually spills out of the mouth from individuals who hail from north of the Mason-Dixon line where they likely pronounce pecan: pee-can!

If there is one food synonymous to Louisiana, it's crawfish. Our state harvests approximately 120 million pounds in a typical season. It is a staggering number even when you consider this yield comes from over 100,000 acres of crawfish pounds, and from our vast natural wetlands like the Atchafalaya Basin. And consider this: the Atchafalaya stretches over an impressive one million acres, snaking through fourteen of Louisiana's sixty-four parishes from the Gulf of Mexico north to Avoyelles parish.

A popular saying in Louisiana: 'suck the heads and pinch the tails' or how to properly eat crawfish. Once you separate the head from the tail, you suck the head to enjoy the succulent fat and the peppery juices that collect there from the boiling process. Grasping the bottom tip of the tail while using your teeth to pull the flesh out of the shell requires a bit of skill, dexterity, and practice. Trust me - it's worth the effort to learn how to pinch a tail correctly!

Before the onslaught of the inferior Chinese crawfish a few years ago, Louisiana fishermen supplied 90% of the world's crawfish. In the early 1980's I worked for foreign owned export company as their head of personnel. It was a brilliant operation with a "secret" dill sauce splashed over huge, steam-cooked, 15-count crawdads, and flash-frozen in nitrogen freezing tunnels. That product was shipped to Scandinavian countries for the astounding price of $ 25.00 per pound. A tidy profit considering the fisherman raked in $.65 per graded pound and facilities like ours exported 14 million pounds of crawfish each year!
Crawfish season in Louisiana usually runs from February to June, depending on the weather. Rainfall and warm temperatures mean an early and bountiful crop of feisty freshwater bottom-feeders. This year, for instance, we have enjoyed boiled crawfish beginning in early January.

If you live in south Louisiana and plan on hosting a crawfish boil, you know it is going to be a glorious day. You may have read Creole recipes that begin: "First, you start with a roux…" Usually, that is true in preparing an authentic south Louisiana dish, but not so for boiled crawfish. First, you start with beer! When I boil crawfish, I always drink a beer. I'm not a big beer drinker, I prefer wine, but crawfish means beer drinking. It also means seasoning - lots of spicy pepper, hence my desire for beer! A pot big enough to accommodate a 30 pound sack of crawfish is heavy when it's full of boiling water. Get men to help - again, beer makes enlisting said men an easy task! Commercial bagged seasoning, salt, lemons, garlic, onions, corn-on-the-cob and red potatoes are standard ingredients in the pot. I also add whole carrots, asparagus, whole mushrooms, and sometime sausage links. Because only about 15% of the crawdad is edible, thirty pounds is enough to feed six people. A crawfish boil is a day-long event when all of your family and friends are invited - a happy and unique party - a laid-back gathering with good food, great company and cold beer!
Interested in Crawfish Recipes? Leave me a comment! Have a blessed day!

Thank you my dear! You never forget Yellow roses are my favorite! 

EAT New Orleans![/b]

Whether you are visiting New Orleans, Louisiana for the Mardi Gras Carnival season, or taking in a New Orleans Saints football match, or simply enjoying a romantic weekend at one of the Vieux Carré's historic hotels, leave plenty of time to eat New Orleans!
When I travel, either here or abroad, my destinations are determined by food. Yes, attractions factor in to my choice of places to visit, but I always eat my way through a city. Luckily for me, New Orleans is less than 80 miles from my home. No other city in the world has more culinary offerings waiting to be had than The Big Easy.

I could literally write a book on the best restaurants in NOLA, what to sip and sample, and what to gorge on, but instead I share with you a taste of some of my favorites. Enjoy!

Oysters:"In 1910, before Satchmo had ever formed his first band, the Acme Café was opened on Royal Street in the French Quarter. Acme has been pleasing the palates of discriminating diners ever since."
Acme Oyster House
724 Iberville Street  (504) 522 - 5973  Website: http://www.acmeoyster.com/ Twitter: @AcmeOyster
And …
Live entertainment and dining with the most beautiful views of the Mississippi River!
Jackson Brewery Bistro Bar
620 Decatur Street, 1A  (504) 333 - 6914
Website: http: http://www.jaxnola.com/
Twitter:  @JAXNOLA
Brunch:
Steeped in elegance and charm, Court of Two Sisters has an aristocratic lure for visitors to the crescent city. Don't miss the Jazz brunch in the lovely courtyard, nor the sumptuous turtle soup!
Court of Two Sisters
613 Royal Street  (504) 522 - 7261
Website: http://www.courtoftwosisters.com/
Twitter: @CourtTwoSisters
And…
"Brennan's is both historic and contemporary, proof that fine dining remains proudly relevant. As other cities lose their traditional restaurants to lifestyle changes in a fast-paced world, New Orleans continues to embrace and support the grand establishments that perpetuate this art." And there is absolutely nothing I can add to that!
Brennan's
417 Royal Street  (504) 525 - 9711
Website:  http://www.brennansneworleans.com/
Brennan's Bananas Foster Recipe
SINGLE BATCH (SERVES 2-4)
•   1 Ounce Butter
•   1⁄2 Cup Light Brown Sugar
•   1⁄4 Tsp Cinnamon
•   1 1⁄2 Ounces Banana Liqueur
•   1 1⁄2 Ounces Aged Rum
•   1⁄2 Banana Per Customer
DOUBLE BATCH (SERVES 5-8)
•   2 Ounce Butter
•   1 Cup Light Brown Sugar 1⁄2 Tsp Cinnamon
•   2 Ounces Banana Liqueur 1 1⁄2 Ounces Aged Rum
•   1⁄2 Banana Per Customer
METHOD
•   Combine butter, sugar, and cinnamon in a flambé́ pan.
•   As the butter melts under medium heat, add the banana liquor and stir to combine.
•   As the sauce starts to cook, peel and add the bananas to the pan.
•   Cook the bananas until they begin to soften (about 1-2 minutes)
•   Tilt back the pan to slightly heat the far edge. Once hot carefully add the rum, and tilt the pan toward the flame, to ignite the rum.
•   Stir the sauce to ensure that all of the alcohol cooks out.
•   Serve cooked bananas over ice cream and top with the sauce in the pan.
Muffaletta
"Located on Decatur Street in the middle of New Orleans’ French Quarter, we're a third generation, old-fashioned grocery store founded in 1906 by Salvatore Lupo, a Sicilian immigrant who is famous for creating the muffuletta."  Psst! They deliver nationwide!
Central Grocery New Orleans
923 Decatur Street  (504) 523-1620
Website: http://www.centralgrocerynola.com/
Po-Boys
   
      
Mother's Restaurant
401 Poydras Street  (504) 523-9656
Website: http://www.mothersrestaurant.net
Beignets
This French pastry is deep-fried and smothered in powdered sugar, and best enjoyed with a steaming cup of dark roasted coffee. Everyone knows to head over to Café du Monde and take-a-load-off across from Jackson Square.
Café du Monde
800 Decatur Street  (504) 525-4544
Website: http://cafedumonde.com/
Bread Pudding
"Commander's Palace, nestled in the middle of the tree-lined Garden District, has been a New Orleans landmark since 1880. Known for the award-winning quality of its food and its convivial atmosphere, the history of this famous restaurant offers a glimpse into New Orleans' storied past and has been the go-to destination for Haute Creole cuisine and whimsical Louisiana charm."
Commander's Palace
1403 Washington Avenue  (504) 899-8221
Website:  http://www.commanderspalace.com/
Twitter:  @Commanders_NOLA
Huckleberry Pancakes
Serves 4 to 6
Ingredients:
2 eggs
3 tbsp. butter, melted
1/4 tsp. vanilla extract
1 1/2 cups cake flour
1 tbsp. kosher salt
3 tbsp. granulated sugar
2 tbsp. baking powder
1 to 2 tsp. vegetable oil

Preparation:
In a medium bowl combine eggs, butter and vanilla extract. In another medium bowl, mix flour, salt, sugar and baking powder. Gently whisk the egg mixture with the dry ingredients until just combined (a few lumps may remain). Do not over work.

Allow mixture to rest 1/2 to 1 hour before cooking.

To cook, heat a 12-inch nonstick skillet, heavy bottomed skillet or a griddle over medium heat for 3 to 5 minutes. Add 1 teaspoon of oil to coat the bottom of the skillet evenly. Pour 1/4 cup of batter onto 3 to 4 spots on the skillet and cook the pancake until large bubbles begin to appear, about 1 1/2 to 2 minutes. Using a spatula, flip the pancakes over and cook until golden brown on the second side. Repeat with remaining batter, using remaining 1 teaspoon of vegetable oil as necessary.

Sauce:
Ingredients:
1 oz. white chocolate, chopped
2 oz. huckleberries (or other fresh berry)
mint leaves to garnish
confectioner’s sugar to garnish
honeycomb for garnish
1 oz. candied pecans

Preparation:
Sprinkle pancakes with white chocolate and huckleberries and garnish with sprig of mint leaves. Dust with confectioners’ sugar. Candied pecans may be served with pancakes.
Steaks
The best steaks in NOLA are found at the Chophouse. Stop by and say hello to Barbara, Jerry and Greg Greenbaum!
Chophouse New Orleans
322 Magazine Street  (504) 522-7902
Website: http://www.chophousenola.com/
Twitter:  @chophousenola
Cocktail
The Hurricane
"Pat O'Brien converted his speakeasy to a legitimate drinking establishment in the 600 block of St. Peter Street called, of course, Pat O'Brien's." Sip the world famous Hurricane in the outdoor courtyard that captures the charm and ambiance that is the quintessential New Orleans and remember: "Have Fun" at Pat O's!
Pat O'Brien's Bar, Inc
718 St. Peter Street  (504) 525-4823  Toll Free: (800) 597-4823
Website:  http://shop.patobriens.com/
Twitter: @PatOBriensBar
How to Make an authentic Pat O'Brien's Hurricane
In a 26 oz. Hurricane glass, mix
•   4 oz. of Pat O'Brien's Hurricane Rum or a good Amber/Gold Rum
•   4 oz. of Pat O'Brien's Hurricane Mix
•   Fill with crushed ice
•   Garnish with an orange and cherry
Fried Chicken
The aromas of Mississippi and Louisiana cuisine emanating from the kitchen fill the air in the historic Treme neighborhood of New Orleans. In 2005, Ms. Willie Mae Seaton was honored with the prestigious James Beard Award for “America’s Classic Restaurant for the Southern Region.” Serving "America's Best Fried Chicken" since 1957!
Willie Mae’s Scotch House
2401 St. Ann Street  (504) 822-9503
Website: http://www.williemaesnola.com/
Twitter:  @WillieMaesNOLA
Red Bean and Rice
Opening in 1990, The Praline Connection serves "down-home" cajun-creole style soul food at affordable prices and features three generations of "Pure-D-Goodness".
The Praline Connection Restaurant
542 Frenchmen Street  (504) 943-3934
Website: http://www.pralineconnection.com/
Jambalaya
The Old Coffeepot Restaurant was established in 1894, and has been known to serve one of the best breakfasts in New Orleans. Try the red jambalaya that begins with an herb crusted, oven-roasted chicken and finished with homemade tomato sauce. Plus, they are located right next door to Pat O'Brien's!
The Old Coffeepot Restaurant
714 Saint Peter Street  (504) 524-3500
Website: http://www.theoldcoffeepot.com/

The Mardi Gras, or Carnival season, begins on the Twelfth night following Christmas and ends on the Tuesday before Ash Wednesday. Mardi Gras originated from the pagan practices in ancient Rome. Christian religious leaders arriving in Rome felt it would be easier to adopt some of the local traditions instead of eliminating them all-together: more bees with honey than vinegar, so to speak.

In America, Mardi Gras began in 1699 when explorers Bienville and Iberville landed in what is now Louisiana, just south of New Orleans. This spot was named point du mardi gras and the celebration began. It wasn't until the 1740's that lavish balls were introduced to the festivities by then Louisiana governor Marquis de Vaudreuil. The first recorded parade took place in 1837 where masked citizens rode in carriages or on horseback under the glow of gaslight torches. The first recorded "throws" of beaded glass strands was in 1870.  I know! I know! What a mess! And then Rex arrived! The King of Carnival. A Russian duke had the honor of being the very first King of Carnival in 1872. Later, Rex established the recognized colors of Mardi Gras: purple for justice, green for faith, and gold for power.

You might be thinking: What's so special about Carnival in Louisiana, after-all, other states celebrate Mardi Gras. This is true. Alabama, Mississippi, and even Washington DC have annual Mardi Gras celebrations, but Louisiana is the only state in which Fat Tuesday is a legal holiday and it has been since 1875.

Louisiana is notorious for its festivals, hosting in excess of 400 annually, but none bigger than Mardi Gras. In northwest Louisiana, you can attend a glitzy masquerade ball in Shreveport, catch trinkets on the streets of Baton Rouge at the Spanish Town parade, or head to the heart of Cajun country and chase chickens in Mamou, collectively celebrating Louisiana's biggest holiday. But, nowhere on earth is Mardi Gras celebrated bigger and better than on the streets of New Orleans.

More than one million people converge on the Crescent City every year to partake in Louisiana's biggest party. Hotel rooms are sold out months ahead, and the Friday before Fat Tuesday, the historical hotel, the Royal Sonesta, greases the poles along Bourbon Street to keep revelers from climbing to the balconies above the street. The numerous parades that roll through the French Quarter and greater New Orleans will cover more than 130 miles - that is farther than Baton Rouge is from Lake Charles.  These parades contain more than 800 floats, 400 marching bands, 100 vehicles, 70 horses, and more than 20,000 float riders. The float riders will throw nearly 13,000 tons of beads to party-goers lining the streets, and I couldn't begin to venture a guess at the number of women willing to raise their shirts, exposing their bare breasts, for a prized string of plastic beads. Inevitably, some garish drunk fellow will try to cop a feel, resulting in the boyfriend smashing said drunk's head into one of the 500,000 King cakes sold during Carnival. It is rather silly to me. Why waste a perfectly good King cake over a pair of tatas?

Speaking of King cake: no trip to Louisiana during Carnival would be complete without sampling this wickedly delicious pastry. These seasonal cakes represent the king's bearing gifts to the Christ child, and are a cross between a cinnamon roll and a coffee cake. The braided dough is laced with cinnamon and topped with a poured sugar-icing, then adorned with purple, green, and gold color-infused sugar. Other delectable fillings have emerged over the years and include Bavarian cream, strawberry-cream cheese, and my favorite, pecan-praline. Traditionally, a tiny plastic baby representing Christ Jesus is hidden inside the cake. If you get the piece of cake with the hidden baby, you are obligated to purchase the next King cake or "throw" the next Mardi Gras party.

Throws! "Throw me somethin' mister!" Besides beads, plastic cups, and stuffed animals, a highly sought-after float throw are doubloons.  These brightly-colored coins are stamped with the Carnival krewe's logo. Some doubloons, like those from the Krewe of Rex, are highly collectible.  The only throw more coveted than doubloons are the Zulu coconuts. Yes, coconuts. This iconic krewe has a long, and at times, controversial history. So popular are these prized painted coconuts that Ebay sellers enjoy a thriving market on the sale of these gems. Sheila Stroup of The Times-Picayune wrote a great article last February about the Zulu coconuts. I have posted the link below.

I could ramble on and on about the wildest party in the United States that ends this year in Louisiana on February 9th! But, I have a fresh pot of Community coffee, and a 24-ounce iced King cake that require my attention. Join us in Louisiana for Mardi Gras! We will surely pass a good time, and we shall laissez les bons temps rouler - let the good times roll!

LINKS:
•   Sheila Stroup of The Times-Picayune  - http://www.nola.com/mardigras/index.ssf/2015/02/zulu_coconuts_always_the_favor.html

King Cakes:
•   Randazzo's (Slidell) - https://www.kingcakes.com/index.php
•   Manny Randazzo King Cakes (New Orleans) - https://www.randazzokingcake.com/
•   Gambino's Bakery (New Orleans, Baton Rouge, Lafayette) - http://www.gambinos.com/Default.aspx

2016 Parade Schedules:
•   New Orleans - http://www.mardigrasneworleans.com/schedule.html
•   Baton Rouge - http://www.mardigras.com/parades/?location=baton-rouge

I'm sorry, sweet Ann, I didn't get to Connemara, but I hope to on my next trip across the pond.

Thank you Clay!

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I thought I would explain, and possibly de-mystify, some misconceptions about Southern sayings.

Yes, I say y'all, and I say it often. In the South, y'all can be singular or referring to a small group of people. All y'all is plural and typically refers to a group larger than five. I also say I reckon, as in: I reckon so, and fixin': I'm fixin' to start a pot of coffee.  And, I will start that pot of coffee drectly, meaning I will get to it directly, as soon as I get back from seeing Mommanem: Mama and them.

I don't go to juke joints, which are rural bars, often owned by wonderfully vibrant characters who always have a story to make you chuckle. The reason I avoid the juke joints: because my husband would pitch a hissy-fit, or have a conniption, prompting him to say: "Eh! you'd be three sheets to the wind," or better yet: "Act like you got some raising!"  Of course, that would lead to a falling out, or a disagreement, and I would go off half-cocked and say, "Ya don't know your ass from a hole in the ground," which is simply a way of saying: "You don't know what you are talking about."

I do piddle, but not often. I simply don't have time to waste messin' around, doing nothing - but I embrace the idea. I truly want to piddle more: maybe even get punished and sent to my room - but my husband and children won't let me go to my room. Probably because there is always something tore slap up! Things are never broken in the south, just tore slap up. And Mama's got to fix 'em.

Piddling makes me think of words like sorry, bad, and trifling. In the south,  these words are very closely related, but there is a difference. Sorry is just plain lazy and worthless. Bad is the additional adjective you add to something that is already no good. Trifling, well that is just plain useless. If I were to say: "You're a trifling, sorry, bad-ugly cuss!"  - yeah, it's not a compliment. Trust me! This is coming from a woman who can start an argument in an empty house!

I am not Cajun or Creole but know where the bayou's yat, I eat King cake, I appreciate langiappe, and I love the Big Easy, a.k.a. N'awlins.  I do live in da Parish, I collect Doubloons, hurricanes make me think of Pat O'Brians instead of stocking up on batteries and water, and I know how to laissez les bon temps rouler (let the good times roll), when I pass a good time with my friends. I don't own a pirogue and no, I don't have alligators in my backyard. However, when asked, I have been known to spin a wild and colorful tale about my pet gators.

And finally, bless your heart!  I am always tickled reading the online explanations for this southern phrase.  For decades, southern women have said, "Bless your heart!" It is truly used to express concern, to show sorrow at hearing troubling news, or to console someone who has given their best effort only to be disappointed with the result. Contrary to the web searches you might find, it never implies insult or malice to the person it is directed to, even if that person isn't present in the conversation. For instance:

 "He worked so hard to get that little girl's attention, and she treated him like a rotten sack of potatoes!"

"Oh, bless his heart!"

I find it amusing when the phrase is explained as an insult, such as, "screw you" or "you're stupid" because if you know southerners, particularly southern women, we don't mince words.  If we want to express love and concern for your situation, we say, "bless your heart!". If we want to express our regret with your lack of intelligence, we say, "Oh, darlin', you're just a dumbass!"

I have only touched the tip of the iceberg; there are dozens of these southern colloquialisms that are humorous, sometimes sad, but always entertaining. Don't think for a moment that southerners who use these expressions are inferior or uneducated. It is simply a language of a colorful and unique heritage that is as intriguing as its people. From my neck of the woods, to yours! I wish you joie de vivre,  the joy of living, and merci beaucoup!

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