Cayenne Surprise

Cayenne Surprise

I grew up in the most anti-culinary household in the history of cookery. The only spice in the cabinet was salt and Accent (Monosodium glutamate). A celebratory night out was a trip to the Sizzler Steak House, the most mundane so-called restaurant in the  history of dining establishments. Granted, this was before the advent of Olive Garden and Red Lobster, those lame excuses for restaurants. Italian food in my household was from a Chef Boyardee can. Home cooked dinner was anything deep fried in bacon grease. Any vegetable I was served in my youth came from a can, even though I was raised near California fields of fresh produce. My father learned to cook in an Army Mess Hall. Not a trace of culinary experimentation. He had a few tried-and-true recipes he gleaned from that repertoire that graced our table until the time I turned seventeen and began eating elsewhere.

When I got out on my own, I began to experiment with recreating recipes from meals I encountered in restaurants or from meals served in friend’s family dinners I was invited to share. I had a number of roommates in my late teens and twenties who were more than happy to have a roomy who loved to cook. I was also happy to have them take care of the clean-up, though some were not a skilled as I liked, meaning I had to clean up after the clean-up. I was inspired by Julia Child and never missed an episode of ’The French Chef” on PBS. My Bible was her cookbook ‘Mastering The Art of French Cooking’. My trial-and-error attempts at recipe experiments received much acclaim from my friends and roommates. Sorrily, my family never came to appreciate my cooking, staid in the need for bacon grease to be the basis for any recipe gracing the table. In relationships, I became the primary cook, much to the delight of my partners.

This leads to my current dilemma. A trip to New Orlans, the Mecca of culinary experience had me attempting to duplicate a few recipes encountered there. I can’t think of trying to replicate the massive plate of crawfish with hot sauce I enjoyed there. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t find a local source of those tasty crustaceans. If I want to sample any of those tasty treats I’ll just have to go back the source and grab a seat at Cajon Joes when I hit New Orleans on my next trip. Same for Oysters. My trips to the Acme Oyster House leave me with the realization that the oysters I’ve tasted along the Atlantic seaboard are merely faint replicas of the artistry of New Orleans oyster shuckers.

Though I can’t measure up to the New Orleans master chefs of Craw Fish and Oyster, I’m working on a recipe for the Gumbo I’ve enjoyed there. I find it not easy to locate all the ingredients that make a gumbo worthy of what I enjoyed in New Orleans. I already have brown rice and can find the veggies at the market. I’ll use shrimp I can get in Portland at the Harbor Fish Market. I’ll use wild caught, gulf shrimp, not that farm raised from somewhere in Asia poser. The sausage is also a challenge. Our New England sausage is nothing like what I tasted in New Orleans. I’ll settle for some lamb sausage I get from a local sheep farm. Good stuff but not the same. It’ll do though. I have some left-over chicken from a rooster culled from our flock. Sorry Foghorn Leghorn, but you’ve chased your last hen around the barnyard. I’m familiar with various versions of Cajun spice. For this gumbo to be the best it can be, I’ll make my own. I have the onion, garlic, oregano, and paprika I need. I’m having trouble with the cayenne pepper though. I’ve gone to three supermarkets, a Whole Foods, Trader Joe’s, and a farmer’s market trying to find the heat for my cajun concoction. No luck.

“Sure a’int gonna settle for a few squirts of Tobasco Sauce.”

Seems the pepper season is over. My friend Katie told me about an Amish farm where she thought she had seen some. It’s a couple of towns over, so I planned a road trip to see if I could score some cayenne.

I was able to locate the farm after driving around back roads for over an hour once I got to the town they’re in. They have a farm stand that is a half mile up a dirt driveway. Once there, I found the tents the plants are in. I wandered around rows of perennials, berries, trees, and a plethora of house plants. I finally found the picked produce section and wandered the aisles. After finding an area where I saw jalapenos, bell peppers. Scotch bonnets, and others, I spied a lone basket that looked like it contained a couple dozen of the hot, long, red treasure I was searching for. My search was over I thought as I made my way toward the prize. Or was it? As I was approaching, a hand reached for the lone basket, picked it up and put it into a shopping cart. I stopped with a dumbfounded look on my face. I glanced from the cart to the face of the lady who had picked it up. Her face looked like it could be sympathetic to my plight. I mentioned that what she had selected was exactly what I was looking for. I told her of the places I had been and how I had been disappointed at every step. She said she planned to string them up over her kitchen window to dry for making a powder to use in her recipes. I offered to pay her five times the cost if she would relinquish them. She didn’t comply. I told her of the gumbo I was planning for my party. Her expression seemed to soften a little.

The party is to celebrate a birthday. My best friend Wayno and I were born on the same day, though a few years apart. We’ve been celebrating together for the last five or so years. There’s a stage set up for musicians to strut their stuff and entertain the partygoers. Wayno and I haunt some open mics to perform our attempts at playing the blues. We’ve both paid some dues. Some of the others that will be at the party will have their time on stage as well. After I told her about the gumbo I was going to make and music we’ll probably molest the neighbors with, she made me an offer. I could have the peppers if she got an invite to the party. I hastily agreed. Not only was I getting the needed cayennes, but she was pretty easy on eyes. She asked if she could bring something. I said no need. She insisted and we compromised on a salad.

“is it OK if my sister comes with me?” she asked. “We live together and she likes a good party.”

“That’s fine” I said. “You’ll probably be pearls among swine there.”

I left with my stash of peppers, the last ingredient needed.

“All the trouble finding those peppers seems to have worked for the best” I told myself. “Gumbo and a pretty lady.”

The party had been going on for a while. Beers were being liberated from the stainless-steel tub of ice. The bottle of Patron had been passed a couple of times. Wayno was at the grille, getting ready to throw on the burgers and dogs. I saw the car pull up and park across the street.

“Who is this?” someone asked, as the pair of ladies was walking up the driveway.

“Made it” she called out when she saw me.

“Welcome” I replied. “Glad you made it.”

Her brown hair was loose, hanging down her back. There were streaks of grey that said she had a natural look, not being Clairoled. She was wearing denim shorts and a Common Ground Fair tee shirt. Her sister’s hair was brown too, though without the grey streaks. She wore shorts, too. Her tee shirt was tighter and accentuated her figure.

“Happy birthday to me” I thought.

“Hi.” She said. “This is my sister Livian.”

“Hi Livian” I said. “I’m Gus and this is the gang.”

“Hey Gang” I called out. “This is Livian and Danielle.”

Greeting rang out in response.

“I can’t wait to try some of that Gumbo” Danielle said. She handed me the large bowl of salad she had carried in. I put it on the picnic table that held the other dishes. The burger and dog fixings were there next to a couple of packs of buns. A stack of compostable disposable bowls and plastic forks and spoons were ready for when the gumbo would be served.

“Couldn’t have made it without you. It’ll be out soon. Want a beer in the mean time?”

Both heads nodded. I reached into the tub. I twisted off the caps and handed them each a bottle. I picked mine up and we clinked them together.

My friends Elmo and Slim were on the stage, ready to play. They broke into a version a Credence song with Elmo on guitar and Slim on harp.

“You’ll mostly get sixties rock or blues from this group” I told them.

“That’s good with me” Livian said.

“Me too” Danielle agreed. “Will you be playing?”

“In a bit” I said. “Hope I don’t offend your ears too badly”

“Nothing I can’t handle” she said. “I’m used to Livian singing in the shower.”

“How’d you like to join us on the stage?” I asked.

“OK, but talk about ears getting offended.”

“Just pretend you’re in the shower” Danielle told her.

“Do you know ‘Suzanne’ by Leonard Cohen? Livian asked.

Hey, Wayno, Do we know Suzanne?” I shouted so he could hear me over the grilling.

“Suzanne who?” he shouted back.

“We can do it” I said. “I love Leonard Cohen.

“Me too” Livian agreed.

“Either of you up for a dance?” I asked.

They both answered “Sure thing”

I kicked off me sandals and we were dancing on the grass.

After a couple of numbers, I noticed that people were grabbing burgers from the plate Wayno was filling up.

“I’m gonna go get the gumbo” I said.

I set the pot on the table.

“Want the first bowl” I asked, looking at Danielle.

“Sure thing” she said. I ladled some gumbo into a bowl and handed it to her. I took another and handed it to Livian.

“This is good” Danielle said. “I think I taste the cayenne.” I ladled some into my bowl.

“I dedicate this to you” I said while looking at Danielle. I looked at Livian. “I couldn’t have made this without your sister’s help” I said.

“She told me about giving you the peppers” she said. “That’s how we ended up here.”

“Those were definitely lucky peppers” I said. “Can’t think of a better birthday than gumbo and a couple of pretty ladies.

“Happy birthday” they both said.

“We didn’t bring a present” Danielle said.

“No worry” I said. “Best present I could think of would be a kiss.”

Danielle pressed her lips to mine. The kiss took but a few seconds. It was over.

“Mine is next” Livian said. Her kiss lasted longer and had a flicker of tongue as a bonus.

The song ended.

“I can smell that gumbo all the way up on the stage” Elmo said as he left the sage and picked up a bowl and the ladle.

I got complements all afternoon from those who tasted the gumbo. Katie was there and I told her I went to the Amish farm she had told me about. I shared with her the story of how I ended up with the cayenne peppers and how Livian and Danielle were here because of it. I scored a sisterly kiss from her for my present. Was still thinking about the wet one I got from Livian. No comparison.

On the stage later Livian sang her version of Suzanne. She has a great voice. She stayed with us for a couple of others singing along to Blue Suede Shoes and a couple of blues standards that’s in our usual repertoire. After we left the stage for the next performers, I got another tonguey kiss.

The party eventually died down and people began heading to their vehicles, I started cleaning up. Danielle and Livian offered to stay and help.

Soon, it was just the three of us left.

Livian whispered something to Danielle.

“Do you mind if I stay and give you the rest of your birthday present?” Livian asked. “Maybe you can take me home tomorrow.”

Best birthday ever.