I have been fortunate to travel plenty in my childhood and adolescence. Seeing cities internationally, where I heard words strange to me and tried food even when I wasn’t quite sure what I was eating.
And who knew I could have this enlightening experience, to which I call ‘adventuring,’ in my own country!
Already shocked by fried food having grown up in the great state of acai bowls, salads, and almond moms, I am glad to say that my palate has been greatly expanded. I grew up a picky eater, quite frankly scared of anything that didn’t resemble a familiar brown or beige color. As a child, I quickly grew fond of honey nut oats, mac n cheese, and plain vanilla yogurt. Even in my dessert selections, I was always jumping for vanilla bean or something lemon-flavored.
You would think, how strange is that little girl who has all the food in the world available to her in California, only ever reaching for a Caesar salad at a restaurant, afraid of sauces and spice. This is even more shocking when I share that my mother is somewhat of a sauce maniac herself! Putting sriracha on pizza and just about anything edible.
But as I grew older and ventured out myself, I did dare to eat animal testicles (yuck!), schnitzel, and meat pies of all origins and natures. So now, I find myself in one of the most culturally diverse cities in the southern half of the United States, and I have been fearless in trying the vast cuisine!
It is impossible to wander this great place and not be drawn by the various smells, sounds, and people. Small talk, something I have general anxiety about, is unavoidable. That great ‘southern charm’ is real!
So as I have explored the many different neighborhoods, both with my fellow Bookpackers and independently, I have held no fear. I have courageously gone beyond where any member of the Cash family has dared.
Starting with various ‘cajun’-flavored things, ranging from dips, entrees, drinks, and even soups, I began my food journey. Kicking off with a Cajun-flavored pasta sauce that I can’t say was my favorite, to trying a Cajun cocktail and even a Cajun burger! I am beginning to think they slap that word, that particular word, Cajun, on any old dish to bring the sales up. But what can I say, maybe I am just a gullible tourist.
All of this ‘Cajun’ cuisine makes me wonder: what is the importance of labelling food? Why is it that I suddenly feel the need to try an ironically named hurricane or bring home a beignet or two? Is this the result of aggressive marketing strategies, or is it purely because the great city of New Orleans and its food truly deserve the praise?
This impractical question may not be easily answered, but after spending my first week in what my professor calls ‘the big bad city,’ I can confidently add to this dialogue. It does deserve the praise.
From ghost tours, extravagant mansions, quirky theatres, to explosive nightlife, casinos, bars, clubs, music, and fun, I have never seen anything quite like New Orleans. I have never eaten as I have here, with interesting restaurants on every corner forcing me to recall my French language classes in high school to decipher the names. Or even places where real-life ghost stories seem to plague the residents of the French Quarter.
The privilege of roaming this wonderful city has left me hopeful that a place so resilient and beautiful, proudly celebrating the heritage of many peoples, exists and thrives. I have yet, in my many travels, to come across a place that feels alive such as this one, living and breathing with an unfailing heart. My hope stems from that awkward chit-chat I hate so much, and in preservation, something that, as a student of history, I care for deeply.
Although I could begin to criticize the South for its lack of sharing the histories of enslaved peoples of the United States, as I find myself so easily doing. I then experience something like touring the Whitney Plantation. Which ultimately leaves me uplifted that, amid the labels, wars, and tragedy the human race seems to fling upon itself, we can value our respective backgrounds and appreciate little things. Like the importance of Cajun cuisine and how it can turn a picky eater like myself into a food lover.
One of my peers remarked on our 'Ghost Tour' that this city is like an onion, every story, exprience, and person we uncover adds a layer to an already complex ecosystem. These layers can often exist at the same time, cooporating, conflicting, and ulitimately impacting one another. In our thoughtful walking tour of the Business District, our professor pointed out how enslaved people were living, being tortured, and kept in brutal conditions literally across the street from a church, a theater, and lavish hotel. The diacatomy of this city is what makes it so beautiful, and so tragic. And remains a reminder of who we were, who we are, and who we must be.
But before I lose myself in an exceedingly long rant over the current socio-political climate of our planet, I must look out my window and ground myself in what I see. The sub-tropical rain and humidity, gas lamps lining street corners, people laughing and drinking. And I am humbled; I am reminded of the simple truths of this city. That every label, food, cajun or not, person, language, scary tale, is what makes this city alive, gives it a soul. And every whisper of ghost, prayer said, and cajun dish consumed stokes the fire of that soul.