A feast needs a story…

I attribute much of my success as a Feast-Maker to focusing on the experience of creating the feast —instead of the end result.  Many of the dishes that I prepare require hands-on, slow processes.  Indeed, I shun the “quick-and-easy”  in favor of the long-and-arduous, leaving my friends a bit puzzled.

During many a feast, someone will suggest, “I know a quicker way to do that…”,  “you can buy that sauce already made and you can’t tell the difference,”  or  “…I can’t believe you don’t know about this product it would save you so much time.”  Of course, as a Feast-Maker my desire is for the feasters to commune with their ideas and celebrate the moment of the feast, so instead of assaulting the helpful feaster with the lecture that rises like a vortex in my brain, I typically respond, “hmmm, isn’t that interesting.”

Today, we get the lecture!

Gumbo is great fodder for a feast and a good example for our discussion.  As any of my three children could tell us before they reached the age of three, for Gumbo, the roux is everything.  For me, making a roux is nearly a religious ceremony (probably Catholic since I imbibe quite a bit during the ceremony).

 

I begin with oil and flour and slowly coax it into the color of a copper penny (or a bit darker if the mood strikes, or more likely, I want another beer).  I’ve been known to dance with a roux for hours celebrating each new shade of its development until it reaches that pinnacle moment when “I” declare, “it is done.”  What a powerful moment! I (the creator) pronounce this roux (the creation) as a new completed thing.  And while similar ones have come before and will come again, this roux is unique and will only live in this moment.  Through this roux, our gumbo may bind together and rouse festive celebration in our brothers and sisters.  Roux-Making Day is a romantic time to be cherished.

Sadly, I have come to realize that not everyone is familiar with the celebration of Roux-Making Day (and other joyous moments in feast- making) and know not what they do, when they suggest, “I bought a roux in a jar for my last gumbo and couldn’t tell the difference.”

First, I must applaud their bravery in making such a self-revealing admission (I’m far too self-conscious to disclose that I have so poorly developed taste that I cannot tell the difference in a mass-produced, preservative-filled substance and a unique creation that was given life just for this one moment of gumbo).  Let us raise our glasses and toast to those brave (taste-challenged) souls: “may you take heart in celebration of the bland until you discover nuance and flavor. Here! Here!”

Let’s suppose now that we have an entire feast of those brave (taste-challenged) souls who have never celebrated or even heard of Roux-Making Day —brace yourself, my friend, I hear it happens.  Assume that nobody at the feast can tell the difference.  Should you as the Feast-Maker simply open a jar?  “Hmmm, wouldn’t that be interesting?”

{Spoiler Alert: the answer is “NO!”}

Dancing with a roux brings me joy —it makes me happy.  And I believe the emotions of the Feast-Maker are reflected in the creations —nothing binds a gumbo like a well-romanced roux.  Naturally, like all romance, it is better to take your time.  A jar simply appears.  No beginning.  No declaration of creation.  Just twist and dump.  Try as I might (or might not), I cannot form a meaningful and fulfilling relationship on such a cheap, unromantic, commercial basis.  For the Convivial Boar, without the romance of Roux-Making Day there shall be no gumbo!

Perhaps, the single biggest problem with roux-in-a-jar (and the like) is that it has no story.  Food for a feast must have a story! Feast-making is an art.  Suppose an artist unveils a painting and when asked about his inspiration for the work (the story), he responds, “well, I set out to paint a beautiful sunrise that I witnessed but when I was at the store I saw this one that is nearly as good —many may think just as good.”   Would we view his painting the same?

For a proper feast, the feasters must feel as though they are part of a special moment —one orchestrated solely for their celebration.  These special moments are only possible if the Feast-Maker pours himself into the creation and gives it a story.

Give your feast a story, my friend.