On Beads and Mudbugs

The first time I ate a mudbug I was sitting in the lovely home of an old friend from college.  It was his annual Mardi Gras party, and I would have thought I was partying in a private home on the French Quarter--there were masks covering the walls, beads adorning guests, jambalaya simmering on the stove, Andouille sausage browning in the pan, and liquor flowing everywhere.

He showed me the finer points of eating crawdads, “You have to suck their heads.”  “I’m not that drunk.”  “Here,” he said pouring me another cocktail, deftly separating the shell from the tail and removing the meat, “Now suck its head.”  I balked.  I protested with squeals of “Eww” that would make my Arachnophobic daughter proud.  He stared me down.  I relented.  It was juicy and spicy.  “Wow—that’s really good.”  He laughed; his blue eyes twinkled.  He went back to cooking for the guests.

I sat and gorged myself on the little crustaceans, poor man’s lobster, washing them down with alcoholic nectar.  I enjoyed them as much as another of my perennial favorites—grilled cheese, poor man’s fondue.

I thought of him today as I always do on Mardi Gras, but then my thoughts turn to the city and the devastation along the Gulf Coast.

 People often give up something for Lent—sweets perhaps, or a favorite television program in the name of self-sacrifice and to honor the spirit of the penitential season.

I’m asking everyone to join me in making a financial sacrifice to donate funds to the hurricane relief effort.  Let's be conscious of the extras in our budgets. For instance, let's give up that daily latte habit and drink plain coffee from home instead.  We can donate the extra savings to a worthy cause, such as the Bush and Clinton Katrina Fund.

Forty days from now we'll feel better than we do today, even if we're presently buzzed from one drink too many.

Ga-ruhn-teed !