By Cynthia LeJeune Nobles I read somewhere that before the 1950s, the typical rural Louisiana child did not go trick-or-treating.
An extremely unscientific survey of a few older friends reveals that this is probably true. There were, however, whisperings that kids in large towns roamed streets and went home with candy that was actually bought from a grocery store. And countless newspaper reports from as early as the 1800s divulge that ritzy Halloween parties had been going on in Louisiana’s larger cities. But for most country folks, October 31 was just another day — when farmers cut last crops, stored equipment, finagled over commodity prices, and prepared cattle for winter. It’s no coincidence that Halloween falls near harvesttime. Halloween’s roots began 2,000 years ago in Ireland, where every November 1 the Celts held a harvest festival called Sahmain. Since the Celtic day began and ended at sunset, celebrations began the day before, on October 31. These Irish also believed that on that day of celebration the dead returned to earth. So, in addition to storing grain and rounding up livestock for winter, the Celts wore grotesque masks to scare away spirits. To placate any ghosts that may have slipped in, they left offerings of food that they begged from neighbors. The Romans, too, held a harvest festival, theirs dedicated to Pomona, the goddess of tree fruits, especially apples. To steer Catholics away from these pagan rituals, the seventh century Pope Boniface IV declared November 1 All Saints Day, also known as All Hallows Day. The evening before became Hallows Eve, and eventually Halloween. Meanwhile, back in Ireland, the celebrations were often rowdy. When the Irish came to America, they brought their Halloween custom, which often took the form of pranks. It was the Irish who first carved spooky faces in common vegetables of the season, particularly turnips and pumpkins. The pranksters also dragged cabbages tied with string through fields to terrorize travelers. It wasn’t uncommon for farmers to come home to toppled wagons and outhouses, gates off hinges, and livestock on barn roofs. The vandalism was also common in large cities, especially up north, where arson occasionally broke out. In Louisiana cities in the early 1900s, fun-loving young adults went door-to-door promising not to do tricks if they got treats. But there was usually rowdiness, too, even in smaller towns, with houses splatted with rotten eggs and eggs filled with paint. Garbage cans and outdoor furniture would be tipped over, and anything else not tied down was stolen. Although Louisiana’s farm kids didn’t do much trick-or-treating, some certainly did the prank part. One particularly ghoulish rural trick was to leave coffins filled with wooden skeletons on doorsteps, which often frightened superstitious families out of their houses. I can’t help but wonder if another skin-crawling horror may have kept rural residents locked inside on Halloween night. Our state’s infamous Rougarou is supposedly a shapeshifting, 8-foot-tall, half-man, half-wolf monster that roams our swamps. Many early Cajuns were afraid of the mythical beast every night of the year. But it stands to reason they would have been especially petrified on Halloween. (In honor of Louisiana’s homegrown monster, the town of Houma holds a Rougarou Festival every year in late October.) The two world wars tamed America’s Halloween mischief. In the 1950s Halloween came back less dangerous, with a focus on children and candy. This sanitized version seemed to touch everyone, even rural Louisiana. It’s hard to tie today’s Halloween celebrations with the holiday’s strong agrarian roots. In addition to pails overflowing with candy, October 31 has grown into a time for extravagant, sometimes racy adult costume parties. For many, it’s the unofficial start of the Christmas shopping season. For others it’s a day to binge on horror movies. Unbelievably, Halloween is America’s second-largest commercial holiday. And we spend around $2.6 billion just on candy. In my childhood, we kids out in the country certainly went trick-or-treating. But things were much simpler. Come October 31, most everyone under the age of 12 who lived up and down our then-gravel highway would dig through closets and transform ourselves into witches, princesses, devils, and farmers. (The latter would not take much effort.) Around twilight, our mothers would pack us into family station wagons and drive us down neighboring gravel roads to beg for homemade popcorn balls, cookies, and fudge. If we were lucky, we’d score a Baby Ruth. Or maybe chewing gum. Our fathers couldn’t do the chauffer honors because they would be tired from a long day baling hay. Or they might have been cutting ratoon, “stubble,” their “second crop” of rice. They had been busy harvesting, doing the activity that started the Halloween tradition. Sweet Potato Soup with Cheesy Ghost Croutons Makes 4 servings 1 tablespoon vegetable oil ½ cup chopped onion 3 cups chicken broth 1½ cups cooked, mashed sweet potato (canned is fine) ½ cup tomato sauce 2 cloves garlic, minced 2 tablespoons honey ¾ teaspoon salt 1 tablespoon freshly squeezed lime juice Croutons 4 slices white bread 4 slices Monterey Jack, White Cheddar, or provolone cheese, cut in half Pitted black olives, cut into thin slices 1. Preheat oven to 400°F. Heat oil in a large heavy saucepan and sauté onion until translucent, Stir in remaining soup ingredients, except for lime juice. Bring to a boil and reduce heat and simmer, uncovered, 10 minutes. Remove from heat and stir in lime juice. 2. Meanwhile, cut 8 ghost shapes from the 4 slices bread, and 8 pieces of cheese slightly larger than the bread shapes. Place bread “ghosts” on a foil-lined cookie sheet. Top each with a piece of cheese. Cut the olives to resemble mouths and eyes and arrange them in a face pattern on top of the cheese. Bake until cheese is melted, about 2-3 minutes. 3. Puree soup with an immersion blender or in a blender. Ladle into bowls and top with croutons. Serve immediately. Persimmon Bread Makes 2 loaves I have a prolific persimmon tree, and I puree and freeze the overabundance for later use. If you have a hard time finding persimmons, pumpkin works just fine. 2 cups pureed persimmon or cooked pumpkin 1 stick unsalted butter, melted ½ cup vegetable oil 4 eggs, at room temperature ⅔ cup bourbon, or water plus 1 tablespoon vanilla extract 3½ cups all-purpose flour 2 cups sugar 2 teaspoons baking soda 1½ teaspoons salt 1 teaspoon each cinnamon and allspice 1½ cups chopped pecans or walnuts 1½ cups raisins or dried cranberries 1. Preheat oven to 350°F. Oil 2 loaf pans and dust with flour. In a medium bowl, mix together the persimmon, butter, oil, eggs, and bourbon. Set aside. 2. In a large bowl, use a fork to mix together the flour, sugar, baking soda, salt, cinnamon and allspice. Stir the wet ingredients into the dry ingredients until there are no traces of dry flour. Stir in the pecans and raisins. 3. Divide the batter between the 2 pans. Bake until the center springs up when touched lightly, about 1 hour, or until a temperature probe inserted into the middle reads 190°F. Remove from pans and cool on a rack at least 30 minutes. Sweet Dough Monster Cookies Makes 6 dozen. Adapted from a recipe by Loretta Miller of Iota. If you can’t find candy eyes use drops of icing or an edible marker to make eyes out of Skittles or M&Ms. ¾ cup whole milk 2 large eggs ½ teaspoon vanilla 4½ cups all-purpose flour 2 teaspoons baking powder ½ teaspoon baking soda ½ teaspoon each cinnamon and ground nutmeg 2½ cups sugar 1 stick salted butter, softened Gel food coloring to color the dough Candy eyes A small tube of dark writing icing or an edible black marker 1. In a small bowl, use a fork to beat together the milk, eggs, and vanilla. In a large bowl, use a fork to mix together the flour, baking powder, soda, cinnamon, and nutmeg. In another large bowl beat together the sugar and butter until well combined, about 3 minutes with a fork or 2 minutes with beaters. 2. Beat the milk mixture into the sugar mixture. Gradually add the flour mixture and beat until well combined. Divide the batter between 2 bowls. To make your desired colors, add enough of one food coloring to one bowl and another color to the other. Dough will be sticky. Cover tops of bowls with plastic wrap and refrigerate the batters at least 2 hours. In the meantime, decorate your “eyes” if you’re not using pre-made. 3. Preheat oven to 375°F. Line a cookie sheet with parchment paper. Roll the dough out to ¼ inch on a hard, well-floured surface covered with parchment paper. Cut out cookies with a round 2- or 2½-inch cutter. Place cookies 1 inch apart. For soft cookies bake 9-10 minutes. For crisper cookies bake 11-13 minutes. As soon as you remove cookies from the oven, press in the eyes. 4. Cool cookies thoroughly on a rack, then squeeze on the mouths with the icing. Keeps 4-5 days in an airtight container.
0 Comments
By Cynthia LeJeune Nobles It’s Easy to BUY LOUISIANA!
Our state has some of the world’s most knowledgeable and hard-working farmers, ranchers, and fishermen. With every dime I spend they are top of mind. An obvious reason to buy Louisiana products is that our purchases help keep our economy rolling. According to the Louisiana Department of Agriculture and Forestry, our farm and forest industries directly contribute well over $11 billion annually. This figure doesn’t even count the massive number of support jobs agriculture creates. For anyone who appreciates good food, another reason for buying local is that products grown nearby usually don’t spend months in holding refrigerators. And they are often sold without the use of preservatives. To me, Louisiana-grown food is just plain tastier. Maybe it has something to do with “terroir” (tair-WAH). This fancy French word describes wine, meaning that when you drink something grown locally you are tasting the soil, the climate, and the craftsmanship in which it was made. Over the past few decades the term has expanded to encompass food. So when you buy a bag of sugar produced in Thibodaux, a crate of peaches grown in Ruston, or a true Creole tomato raised in the lower river parishes, you are buying a part of that region’s terroir, its geographical area, as well as its culture. It doesn’t take much effort to find Louisiana products. Commissioner of Agriculture, Mike Strain, recently reminded me that a simple way to identify local foods is to look for labels that indicate “Certified Louisiana,” “Certified Cajun,” Certified Creole,” “Certified Farm to Table,” and “Louisiana Grown. Real. Fresh.” Most of our nationally-based grocery stores are good about carrying staples such as Louisiana rice, sugar, and pecans, and Cajun- and Creole-themed food products. They’re also getting better about featuring such items as Louisiana-grown strawberries, blueberries, sweet potatoes, citrus, and melons. Farmers’ markets, of course, are excellent places to buy just about anything grown in your region. Many vendors also sell directly from their farms, through memberships, and at drop-off locations. Some farmers’ markets carry freshly slaughtered, yard-raised poultry and colorful arrays of eggs. Foster Farms chickens are commercially grown in the northeast Louisiana town of Farmerville, so look for their label in grocery stores. A few other brands that either grow or process chickens here are Miss Goldy, Pilgrim’s Pride, Sanderson Farms, and House of Raeford. Louisiana’s two large commercial egg growers are Cal Maine Foods and Jordans Egg Farm. And keep an eye out for eggs produced by Gunter Egg Farms, LSU Central Research Station Poultry, Inglewood Farm, and Little Solar Farms. It’s getting easier and easier to fill your freezer with straight-off-the-ranch Louisiana beef, pork, lamb, and goat. Consider building a relationship with Kentwood’s Iverstine Farms, Three Twelve Beef in St. Francisville, or Trotter Beef in Natchitoches. Gonsulin Land and Cattle in New Iberia delivers beef, lamb, and pork locally, and Abbeville’s Brookshire Farms has pickup locations throughout the state. The Shreveport/Minden area has Wooldridge Land and Cattle, and Parish Meat Processing will help you locate a live animal from a farm. The venerable Superette in Eunice is Louisiana’s largest state-inspected animal processor, and they source and supply from local farmers. Back in the 1980s Louisiana had over 1,000 dairy farms. Today we have less than 85. This alarming trend makes it extremely important to support the few dairies we have left. Although some regional creameries such as Morrell, Feliciana’s Best, Hill Crest, and Flowing Hills all sell at farmers’ markets or convenience stores, most small dairies sell to large processors. In grocery stores look for Brown’s Dairy, Borden, and the iconic Kleinpeter. Fresh Louisiana shrimp, fish, oysters, and crabs are pretty easy to find. You can even have seafood shipped from many old-line seafood markets, such as Baton Rouge’s Tony’s Seafood and Schaeffer’s in Metairie. Ordering Louisiana seafood in restaurants is a little trickier. Although Louisiana Act 372 requires restaurants to post a notice if they serve imported shrimp or crawfish, you never know the origin of everything else. You’d be surprised how many “Louisiana” restaurants serve imported fish, as well as shrimp and crawfish. To make sure the oysters in my Rockefeller and the crab in my au gratin were caught in Louisiana, I usually ask my server where my seafood comes from. As an aside, it’s great to see that distillers are making spirits from Louisiana commercial crops. A few who use local sugarcane to make rum, vodka, or gin are Lacassine’s Bayou Rum Distillery, Lafayette’s Wildcat Brothers Distilling, Donner-Peltier Distillers in Thibodaux, Yellowtail Vodka in Sulfur, and New Orleans-based Roulaison Distilling, Cajun Spirits Distillery, and 73 Distillery. Rumor also has it that the LSU AgCenter has developed a short-grain rice for a New Orleans saké (rice wine) company. I have a bottle of J. T. Meleck’s vodka, which is handcrafted from rice grown in the small town of Branch, not too far from my house. It’s after 5 o’clock. I think I’ll mix up a cocktail, toast our Louisiana farmers, and see if I can taste the terroir. Cheers! Do you have a Louisiana agriculture story or a recipe you’d like to share? Contact me at noblescynthia@gmail.com Cynthia Nobles is the cookbook editor for LSU Press and the author/co-author of several historical cookbooks, including A Confederacy of Dunces Cookbook, The Delta Queen Cookbook, and The Fonville Winans Cookbook. Seafood-Stuffed Eggplant Makes 4 entrée servings 2 small or medium purple eggplants, unpeeled 3 tablespoons vegetable oil 1 cup chopped onion ½ cup chopped bell pepper 1½ pounds Louisiana shellfish (cleaned shrimp, crawfish tails, or crabmeat, or a combination) 1 clove garlic, minced ¼ cup chicken stock 1½ cups breadcrumbs, divided Salt, ground black pepper, and cayenne pepper to taste ¼ cup minced fresh parsley ¼ cup, plus 2 tablespoons grated Parmesan cheese 2 eggs, beaten 1 tablespoon butter, melted 1. Bring a big pot of water to boil and heat your oven to 350°F. Halve eggplants lengthwise. Use a paring knife to score the insides in a crisscross pattern, being sure to not cut down through the skin. Scoop out pulp with a spoon or grapefruit spoon, leaving ¼ inch on the eggplant skin. Chop pulp into ½-inch pieces and reserve. Skin side up, boil the eggplant shells in the water 3 minutes. Drain and reserve. 2. Heat oil in a large skillet over moderately high heat and sauté onion and bell pepper until soft. If you’re using shrimp or crawfish, add them now. Stir in eggplant pulp and garlic and stir constantly until eggplant is tender and most of liquid is evaporated, about 2-3 minutes. 3. Remove skillet from heat and stir in stock, 1 cup breadcrumbs, salt, black pepper, and cayenne. Stir in parsley, ¼ cup Parmesan cheese, and beaten eggs. If using crabmeat, gently stir that in. 4. Mound stuffing into eggplant shells and top with a mixture of remaining ½ cup breadcrumbs, 2 tablespoons Parmesan cheese, and melted butter. Place stuffed eggplants in a lightly oiled baking pan and bake until deep brown, about 30-40 minutes. Let cool 10-15 minutes before serving. Braised Beef Ribs Makes 4 servings This company-worthy dish is better made a day ahead. And since the vegetables end up pureed, don’t bother to chop them too fine. 8 bone-in, Louisiana-raised beef short ribs 2 tablespoons vegetable oil Salt, black pepper, and cayenne pepper ½ cup all-purpose flour 1 large onion, chopped 1 medium carrot, chopped 2 ribs celery, chopped 4 cloves garlic, chopped 3 cups beef stock ½ cup tomato sauce 8 ounces fresh button mushrooms, sliced Hot cooked rice, pasta, or mashed potatoes for serving Garnish: chopped parsley or green onions 1. Preheat your oven to 325°. Heat the oil in a large Dutch oven on the stove at medium-high. Generously season the ribs with salt, black pepper, and cayenne. Dredge the meat in the flour and brown them well on all sides in the hot Dutch oven. 2. Add the onion, carrot, celery, and garlic. Stir in the stock and tomato sauce and bring to a boil. Remove from heat, cover the pot, and bake until meat is just tender and falling off the bone, 2-2½ hours. 3. Carefully remove meat from the pot and set aside. Skim the fat and puree the vegetables in the liquid with an immersion blender or in a blender. Add mushrooms and bring to a quick simmer on the stove. Stirring occasionally, cook until the mushrooms are soft, about 6-7 minutes. Taste for seasoning. The gravy should be nice and thick. If not, add a little cornstarch mixed with water. 4. Add meat and any accumulated juices to the pot. Bring to a simmer and cook enough to heat the short ribs through. Serve meat and gravy over rice. Garnish with parsley or green onions. Louisiana Greyhound Cocktail Makes 1 drink The Greyhound Cocktail got its name from its place of origin, the restaurants at Greyhound bus stations. This drink is sublime when made with freshly squeezed Louisiana grapefruit juice. But since local grapefruit won’t be ripe for a month or so, go ahead and use bottled juice for now. It will still be delicious. Ice 2 ounces grapefruit juice 1½ ounces Louisiana-made vodka Garnish: mint leaves and a slice of lemon Fill a rocks glass with ice. Add the grapefruit juice and vodka and stir. Garnish with mint and lemon. By Cynthia LeJeune Nobles Late summer months trigger good memories of shucking corn under the shade of my parents’ sycamore. We seven kids did not consider it much of a chore to yank off the husks, pick away silks, and use butter knives to dig out the occasional worm. (Okay—maybe the worm part is not so memorable.)
That corn we shucked was sweet corn, the kind Louisiana gardeners grow in back yards and eat off the cob. To learn about field corn (dent corn), I spent time in a field with someone who’s been growing it a while. Aside from 700 acres of sugarcane, Bryan Carroll of Batchelor in Pointe Coupee Parish has planted 500 acres of soybeans and 500 acres of field corn. He’s been farming over 40 years, and with an authoritative grin he explains that his corn is the “hard, starchy, grainy kind. It’s not the kind we eat off the cob.” If you don’t keep up with agriculture statistics, you might be surprised to learn that over 99 percent of the 600,000 acres of commercial corn grown in Louisiana is field corn. Field corn is used to make things like soap, paper, and polymers for plastics and fabric. A full 40 percent of U.S. field corn goes to make ethanol. Over 35 percent is processed into animal food. Although we don’t typically eat it fresh, we consume field corn processed in the forms of cornmeal, corn flour, corn syrup, corn flakes, corn chips, cornstarch, and even bourbon. Compared to sweet corn, field corn grows taller and has larger, thicker leaves. Bryan pulls a light brown ear off a stalk and peels off its husk to reveal even rows of hard, deep gold kernels. He teaches me that “field corn stays on the stalks until the ears are dry and dented.” (Hence the name “dent” corn.) The kernels on this particular ear are still smooth, but only a few weeks from the dent stage. “Sweet corn comes from specialized hybrids,” he says. “And it’s harvested much earlier, when it’s in the milk stage and high in sugars.” While large Florida and California sweet corn farms harvest gently with specialized machines or human hands, Bryan’s ears of field corn are ripped off the stalks and stripped of kernels with the same combine he uses to cut soybeans. The only major mechanical adjustment he makes is to swap out the combine’s header. Bryan sends his harvested crop to grain elevators in Port Allen. He says that from there it is “shipped out internationally.” This year he is growing two hybrids, a DeKalb and a Croplan. Corn seed breeders have developed hybrids that help ease problems with the usual pests, such as weeds, insects, and those dreaded worms. But there’s another production challenge, he confesses, and it comes from furry nocturnal thieves: coyotes, black bears, and raccoons. They think corn tastes pretty good too. And the number one bandit? Bryan’s easy smile vanishes. “Without a doubt, it’s wild hogs.” A survey of a massive patch of trampled stalks and mostly-eaten cobs reveals that he’s not kidding. You could get lost among his acres and acres of healthy plants and their towering stalks, tassels, and leaf canopies. These rows look almost majestic. And they are certainly more impressive than their original ancestor. Our modern, sturdy corn ears have an average 800 kernels divided among 16 rows. That’s quite a difference from what we believe is the first known corn, a tall, 5 to 12-seeded wild grass called teosinte, which looks sort of like a frail stalk of wheat. Teosinte is indigenous to central Mexico and Central America. Archaeologists believe that about 10,000 years ago Mesoamericans selected and manipulated this grass and developed the field corn we know today. Sweet corn was a spontaneous mutation on field corn. It originated east of South America’s Andes Mountains about 1000 years ago. Early Native Americans called corn “mahiz.” With the arrival of Columbus and the spread of corn to the world, the word morphed into “maize” — except with the English. To English-speaking colonists, the word “corn” originally meant “small particles.” So they first called corn “Indian corn,” then simply “corn.” Today, there are four basic groups of corn: field corn, sweet corn, popcorn, and ornamental corn. Bryan is obviously a pro at growing field corn, but does he ever plant other varieties? “Every once in a while I grow sweet corn,” he says. “But not this year.” As it turns out, his neighbors have a bumper crop of sweet corn. Bryan has graciously offered them storage space in a spare refrigerator on his farm. Next to his barns, combines, and tractors sits a pecan orchard, with lots of shade. By now the prolific neighbors have probably paid their storage debt in the form of sweet corn. I can’t help but wonder if Bryan’s family gathered under those pecan trees to do the shucking. Do you have a Louisiana agriculture story or a recipe you’d like to share? Contact me at noblescynthia@gmail.com Cheddar and Corn Cornbread Makes a 13x9-inch pan This cornbread is super moist and bursting with corn flavor. If you consider jazzing it up with peppers, onions, or bacon, give the original recipe a try first. It might surprise you how good it tastes plain. 1 stick butter, melted, plus more for greasing pan 2¼ cups (12 ounces) corn muffin mix 1 (15.25-ounce) can whole kernel corn, drained 1 (14.75-ounce) can cream-style corn 1 cup sour cream 1 cup shredded cheddar cheese 2 large eggs 1. Preheat oven to 350°F. Butter the insides of a 9x13-inch baking pan. 2. Mix all ingredients in a large bowl. Pour batter into prepared pan and bake until brown, about 35-45 minutes. Cool at least 15 minutes before slicing. Skillet Corn with Sausage and Peppers Makes 6 servings Frozen corn tastes fine in this dish, but fresh corn off the cob makes it spectacular. 2 tablespoons olive oil or vegetable oil 1 medium onion, chopped ½ pound smoked sausage, cut into ½-inch slices 1½ cups chopped fresh bell peppers, or a combo of bell peppers and mild chilis 3 cups fresh corn kernels, or a 16-ounce package frozen 2 cloves garlic, minced ½ teaspoon Creole seasoning ¼ teaspoon ground black pepper 1. Place a large skillet over medium-high heat, add the oil, and sauté the onion until just translucent, about 5 minutes. Add sausage and peppers and cook until the sausage is lightly brown, 6-7 minutes. 2. Reduce heat to medium-low and add corn, garlic, Creole seasoning, and black pepper. Cover and cook, stirring occasionally, until corn is tender, 5-6 minutes. (A minute or 2 longer for frozen corn.) Remove from heat and let sit, covered, 5 minutes. Serve hot. Creamed Corn Makes 4 servings I’m including this recipe because it’s a side dish that just about every child will eat. For adult palates you can add peppers and spices, or serve it my favorite way, over rice and gravy. One taste and you’ll never buy the stuff in the can again. 3 cups corn scraped off the cob, or 1 (16-ounce) bag frozen corn, thawed 1½ cups milk 1 tablespoon sugar 2 tablespoons unsalted butter 1½ tablespoons cornstarch mixed with 3 tablespoons cold water Salt and ground black pepper to taste 1. In a saucepan, bring corn, milk, and sugar to a boil. Lower heat to a simmer and cook 5 minutes. (Cook a minute or so longer for frozen corn.) Remove from heat. 2. In a large saucepan over medium-low heat, melt butter, then slowly stir in corn and milk mixture. Raise heat to medium. Bring to a simmer and slowly add cornstarch mixture, stirring constantly. Cook and stir until thick. (If needed, thicken with a little more cornstarch and water.) Stir in salt and pepper. Serve warm. By Cynthia LeJeune Nobles Sometimes a rice field is more than just a place to grow a crop.
I had been living in the hectic cities of Baton Rouge and New Orleans over 40 years, when my husband passed away suddenly. In the upturned months following, one of the first decisions this city gal made was to move back to my family’s rice farm in the rural town of Iota. It was a year ago in late spring that, with a moving van chugging behind, I nervously turned my overstuffed car off I-10 and drove north onto the McCain Highway. Immediately, I found my eye drawn to the swaying green fields lining the road. For the first time in weeks, I felt myself relax. For years I had been a food history writer, first for the Newcomb College Culinary Writers Group, and then for The Baton Rouge/New Orleans Advocate newspaper. Eventually I authored several cookbooks, and I am now the cookbook editor at LSU Press. As fulfilling as my career has been, right then I needed consolation and serenity. And I was finding it in those rippling, open fields. If you grew up in Iberia or Pointe Coupee I suppose you have fond memories of tall sugarcane. Plaquemines Parish has its expansive citrus orchards. Tensas is known for its snow-like fields of cotton, and Nachitoches for herds of cattle. And if your mama and daddy raised you in Colfax, you might get nostalgic about pecan trees. But here in Acadia Parish, rice is king. This region, of course, produces other important commercial commodities, such as soybeans and crawfish. But I’m old enough to remember when few farmers knew what a soybean was, and when crawfishing was something rice farmers did to make pocket money. And that takes me to the point of this column. Louisiana has a rich history of agriculture, aquaculture, and ranching, with close to 28,000 farms that produce commodities on more than 8 million acres of land. I’m going to explore how our state’s crop, livestock, and seafood industries were established, how what we produce impacts our culture, and how it shapes our future. Aside from learning a little history and trivia, I’ll also write stories about farmers, ranchers, purveyors, and cooks. Each article will end with a recipe or two. After a while you might start looking at our farm crops beyond the surface. I know that every time my mind gets lost in the solitude of a rice field, I remind myself that what lies before me is more than a modern farmer’s livelihood. I’m also witnessing a result of the first rice domesticated thousands of years ago in China. Rice reached Louisiana in the early 1700s, when barrels of seed came with the slave trade to New Orleans. Surprisingly, until the 1840s, Louisiana only grew rice for home consumption, the so-called “providence rice” that depended on whatever rain fell for irrigation. New Orleans’s highly profitable “Rice Row” was our state’s first hub for milling, and by the early 1900s southwest Louisiana was robustly constructing their own mills. Depending on who you ask, there are as many as 40,000 different cultivated varieties of this grass. (That’s what rice is technically, an annual grass.) Academicians and food writers have published volumes on the history of its commercial growth. And outstanding discoveries have been made by local breeders, such as the researchers at LSU’s H. Rouse Caffey Rice Research Station. But we’ll save those conversations for another day. Right now, I think I’ll walk to my back yard and see how the fields are doing. Directly behind me sits several long-drained acres that my brother-in-law Jimmy uses for a crawfish pond. Jimmy plans to plant Cheniere seed for “green rice,” or “crawfish rice” that will feed the invertebrate next season’s crawfish will eat. Beyond this pond lies a patchwork of rice crops belonging to my brother Michael. These expansive fields are in various stages of maturity. While most remind me of emerald-colored carpets, to the east, one parcel is already turning into a sea of calming gold. I’m truly home. Do you have a Louisiana agriculture story or recipe you’d like to share? If so, contact me at noblescynthia@gmail.com Cynthia Nobles is the cookbook editor for LSU Press and the author/co-author of several historical cookbooks, including A Confederacy of Dunces Cookbook, The Delta Queen Cookbook, and The Fonville Winans Cookbook. Jalapeno Rice with Chicken Makes 8 servings Before tossing in the jalapenos, test them for heat. Many grocery store peppers are mild, so you might need to add more than ¼ cup, or maybe even a dash of cayenne pepper. 1½ cups diced cooked chicken (rotisserie chicken or leftovers are fine) 1 teaspoon chili powder 2 tablespoons olive oil 1½ cups sliced mushrooms 1 cup chopped onion ¼ cup minced fresh jalapeno pepper (leave seeds and veins in if you want more heat) 2 cloves garlic, minced 3 cups chicken broth 2 cups raw long-grain rice 1 teaspoon salt ½ teaspoon ground black pepper 1 cup chopped green onion 1. Preheat oven to 350°F. Toss chicken with chili powder and set aside. 2. Over medium-high heat, add olive oil to a large, oven-proof pot and sauté mushrooms and onion until mushrooms stop releasing their liquid, about 5 minutes. Add chicken, jalapenos, and garlic and stir 30 seconds. Stir in broth, rice, salt, and black pepper. Bring to a boil, then remove pot from heat. 3. Cover pot tightly and bake until liquid has been absorbed and rice is tender, about 25-30 minutes. Remove from oven and let sit, covered, 10 minutes. Gently stir in green onion. Serve warm. Calas (Fried Rice Fritters) Makes 2 dozen Until the early 1900s, these fried balls of dough were commonly sold from street carts in New Orleans. They were popular for breakfast until World War II, when there was an explosion of easily prepared processed foods and cereals. Once you take a bite of these sweet, pillowy treats you’ll wonder why they ever went out of style. ¾ cup all-purpose flour 1 tablespoon baking powder ½ teaspoon salt ½ teaspoon cinnamon 3 large eggs ¼ cup sugar 1 teaspoon vanilla extract 2 cups cooked medium-grain rice, cooled Vegetable oil for frying For serving: Confectioners’ sugar and Louisiana Cane Syrup or your favorite local honey 1. In a medium bowl, stir together the flour, baking powder, salt, and cinnamon. Whisk in the eggs, sugar, and vanilla. Stir in the rice and refrigerate the batter while the oil heats. 2. In a deep fryer or large, heavy pot, heat 1½ inches oil to 365°F. When oil is ready, use a rounded tablespoon to drop in the batter. Fry fritters on both sides until golden, about 2-3 minutes total. 3. Drain cooked calas on paper towels. While still hot, dust liberally with confectioners’ sugar and serve with syrup or honey for dipping. |
Cynthia LeJeune NoblesCynthia Nobles is the cookbook editor for LSU Press and the author/co-author of several historical cookbooks, including A Confederacy of Dunces Cookbook, The Delta Queen Cookbook, and The Fonville Winans Cookbook. Archives
November 2023
Categories |