Laissez les bons temps rouler!
That’s Cajun French for “Lazy less bong temperatures rule!”
No. Wait. Is that right?
Anyway, if there was a saying in that Southern adopted tongue for ‘let the good times roll’ then it should apply to what local Louisiana inspired gastropub The Parish does every Fat Tuesday.
This Mardi Gras festival marks the 14th for The Parish and I was fortunate enough to be there. So were a lot of other people. Let’s go!
Fat Tuesday marks the day that Catholics and some other provinces of church going secularists can party down, eat pulpit shunned crap and get hammer smashed wasted before Lent. Lent, as you may or may not know, is a 40 day (yeah, 40 days!) time for the faithful to cleanse, reflect, rest the body, mind and soul but most painful not eat rich food, red meat and drink the booze-a-fuel!
Ugh. 40 minutes for me and I’d fold like a fitted sheet on laundry day.
Honestly, does anybody know how to properly fold that four cornered shame enigma?
Fat Tuesday is also known as Shrovetide in some areas of Christianity, especially those from eastern Europe. Those pew hounds are known to eat this fried “donut” called a Fastnacht. Its basically a dense hole-less dough bomb replete with fat, sugar and butter. If that doesn’t scream party I don’t know what does.
Well, The Parish does not serve Fastnacht for their Mardi Gras blow out, I am sorry to say, but they do serve amazing Cajun fat kid food. Look, that’s what the chefs and owners call it. Don’t hate. Every Mardi Gras, they have the day’s specials all flown in specially from Louisiana. Otherwise we’d be eating creole spiced javalina and bayou rubbed 24 hour smoke shop employee. Nobody wants that.
Crawdads? Oh mais oui! Or is it crawdaddys? Crayfish? Kind of depends on where you are from really. One thing is for sure, to secure your seat at the crawdad eating throne at the head of the table, you gotta suck them heads ‘chere. Otherwise you’re wasting the best part and letting your friends and swamp bug eating competitors that your head game is weak.
That came out wrong.
The star of the show without a doubt is the slow smoked alligator. Oh yeah, you heard/read that correct. All-ee-ga-tor. Again, these bayou buddies are shipped in from the 18th state, the child of the Mississippi, then de-scaled, marinated and thrown on the smoker for hours. When the gates open at 1pm, those gators are tender as the current condition of the Saints actually winning a game.
And you know what, they taste a little like chicken. Unlike nutria. Have you had nutria? I have. Nutria tastes like nutria. Bayou beaver.
Again, that came out wrong.
Every year The Parish’s Mardi Gras jubilee keeps getting better and better, bigger and bigger. Bands playing all day, inventive cocktails, Southern beers flowing like wine, good people, good times and the best part for me anyway is some of the best food we get to experience here in Tucson. Its always an honor and privilege to be a part of it and this year was one of the most excellent so far.
Merci to owners Steve Dunn and Bryce Zeagler for letting me skulk around before the paying customers flooded in to get photos. I’ll see you guys next year.
Well, I’ll most likely see you before then but…you know what I’m saying here.
Cheers!
Words and Pictures
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Yeah Write Mark 