Dear Mom and Dad,
Well, I finally let Jonesy persuade me to go to JazzFest with him. It's not that
I dislike jazz, its that I dislike crowds. The average attendance is around the
population of the whole state of Wyoming! Or maybe that was Mardi Gras. Well,
whatever, it drives him to frenzy that I'm willing to pass up seeing great
groups like the Killer Bees. Surely he knows that I have issues with pestilence
since we moved here?
Then he tried to lure me with Oogum Boogum. I asked him if that was what they were calling the flu now. I do wish he wouldn't gnash his teeth like that. It upsets our dentist.
In the end I went because someone told me about the food. It was a glorious glut, like most New Orleans events, with plenty of excess. One food critic wrote, "You can't call what is done at JazzFest eating. It's more like grazing." And graze I did, through five food booths. We sampled muffalatas, crawfish pies, jambalaya, bread pudding...well, I could go on, but I don't want to torture you with what you don't have there. Suffice it to say, it was heaven.
Though Jonesy totally grossed me out by eating a soft-shelled crab po-boy. They harvest them just after they shed their shells, dip them whole in batter, then deep fat fry them. I can't eat food that looks like it is going to crawl away at any moment, but I couldn't seem to help watching Jonesy do it. Every time he took a bite, the little claws flinched, like it was trying to get away.
Not content with that, he had to try a chunk of barbequed alligator. He conceded that it tasted pretty much what you'd expect a lizard to taste like. After that he couldn't talk much. Apparently it was coated with red peppers.
Right in the center of everything was this huge inflated beer can. Rather apropos, I thought. I'm sure that supplying the beer to cool all that cayenne pepper must have left a serious shortage country-wide--not mention causing a minor plate tectonic shift. If California has an earthquake, I will know who to blame.
I even enjoyed most of the music. Jonesy really liked an all-girl Cajun band called Evangeline. And he thought their music was good, too.
I got a kick out of Washboard Leo and the Nutra Frogs, though not as much as the lady in front of me. She sure could shake her booty--and before ten in the morning! It took me some time to get used to the electric washboard, though I was pleased to see a man playing it.
Looking back, I think what interested me most was the people, so many
different people, all ages, all races, clothed and partially clothes, all coming
together to listen, to dance, to eat. Music seems to have the power to soften
the differences between us.
love,
pj
(A version of this column appeared in The Lovell Chronicle 27 Feb 1992)