Fat Magic

Lara, I wrote in the lobby of the Ace Hotel today after an appt in that part of town, but this table was full, so I had to sit in a chair.

Oddly, I was never approached about buying anything.

I then went and looked at a sad Fat Tuesday king cake at Whole Foods.   All of their boxed King Cakes looked as if they all completed a full night of Bourbon Street partying.  The box indicated there was a baby to be discovered in each one, though.

After this, I took my heavy, heavy laptop to yet another cafe where I added more words.

The Fat Tuesday plans we had with friends at the Great Jones Cafe got cancelled due to illness.  Too bad--they had beads, king cake AND a crawfish boil.  Last year, the place was mobbed by six.

Think I'm going to walk over and get a big cajun pizza at Two Boots to bring home, then I'll hop over to this Andy Kaufman thing a bit later.

Trying to keep the magic going, L!

Indulgence and Penitence Envy: But I'm Not Giving Up a Thing, Are You?

Our harried server dumped a bucketload of beads on our table.

In my zeal to celebrate all holidays--even those that don't have ostensibly to do with me or are not part of any cultural tradition I grew up in (Diwali, anyone?)--I was determined (almost as if someone would prevent me from doing so) to observe Mardi Gras tonight with the kids.

It took me well into adulthood to be consciously aware that Mardi Gras is really part of the Catholic Calendar--a night of revelry and over-indulgence which kicks off the Lenten Season, the long stretch of denial and penitence and tightness (if you will--am I getting this right?), leading up to Easter Week and eventually Easter morning (when you can re-indulge in your sugar, cigs, pickles, Facebook, again).  Mormonism has none of these rhythms and it's really a shame.  Because what is a year without cycles and rhythms, indulgence and penitence?  Just an endless succession of days?   And the fact that I grew up a Mormon in a low desert meant that I not only lacked the rhythms that the many Catholics around me had, what with their extended Christmas season and Lent (getting ashed on the day after Mardi Gras--not fair!), but I also could not look forward to any significant change in the seasons.  But that's another not so interesting story.

Anyway, this year I planned several days ahead.  I had a family lined up to meet us at a restaurant, and the mom suggested the tiny Cajun-themed Great Jones Cafe, which she hadn't been to since the '80s.  We arrived at six sharp and not a moment too soon, because by 6:30 the place was packed with the bar four deep with bodies.  

(It's actually harder than you might think to find a kid-friendly place to celebrate Mardi Gras without a fat cover.)

But we had a table for five!  (I am beyond dorky that I take so much pleasure in avoiding a wait.)

As we were pleasantly jostled in our seats by passing bodies, my friend and I ordered, over the cajun music in the background, jambalaya that came with jalapeno cornbread; the girls got burgers.  We tentatively asked for beads and the server dumped two luxurious handfuls on our table.  For dessert, we had key lime pie and chocolate pudding, although traditional king cafe was available.  

And now we are home listening to Amy Winehouse, natch.  I've been sitting here wondering about my love of holidays.  It it the obvious?--that it gives one license for a bit of escape?  That one's place doesn't feel so tight anymore, if only for a day?  

Do you observe Fat Tuesday and Lent?  I'm all ears.

The menu's on the wall!  CRAZY!

Everything went as planned!