The Crawfish Boil - a metaphor for belonging.
This is a response to anyone who says they don't eat crawfish because it's too much work.
We’re sitting at a brewery with a few friends who are visiting for Mardi Gras. The sun is shining, the beer is cold, and the patio is buzzing with conversation. The lingering smell of crawfish boil spices hang in the air.
There is a food truck parked outside selling boiled crawfish and all the fix-ins by the pound. The line to order is nearly two blocks down the street. We’re watching people bring their heaving bags of boiled crawfish back to their tables, our noses following the sweet, spicy smell. We watch as each person acts out their personal ritual for peeling and eating the spicy bugs. Some suck the savory, mouth-watering juice from the heads. Some stick their pinky fingers in the opening and scoop out all of the delicious salty fat. Some ignore the heads altogether and go right into cracking open the tail and eating the perfectly seasoned meat inside. We watch as parents peel the crawfish for their children. We watch as the vegetarians of the group opt to eat only the corn and potatoes.
“If I wasn’t still full from brunch, I would definitely wait in line for a few pounds of crawfish,” I say.
“It smells so good, but it’s just so much work for such a small amount of food,” One of our visitors says. The other nods in agreement.
My husband takes a sip from his beer and pipes in, “It’s really more about the atmosphere of a crawfish boil. When someone hosts a boil at their house, it’s special.”
A crawfish boil is more than just about the food. It’s about the community. The host has opened their home to you, spent their hard-earned money on live crawfish and all the sides, and you have a front row seat as they cook for you. They may have a family recipe that’s been passed down for generations. They may alter the recipe every time they boil, trying a new combination of spices or sides.
You’re surrounded by friends and family, standing over a table getting your hands dirty. You may be elbow to elbow with people you’ve never met but the host has invited all of you for a reason. As you have crawfish juice dripping down your arms, you’re laughing with people you’ve known for years and people you’ve known for less than an hour. Someone new walks up the driveway holding a 12-pack of their beer of choice. Because of the aforementioned mess on your hands, you greet each other by bumping elbows. Because it’s New Orleans, you’ve probably discovered that you and the host have this mutual friend in common and didn’t know until this moment.
All of this is unfolding in front of you and the same thing is probably happening with a different cast of characters two streets over.
As the sun sets and bellies become full, you start to pack up, helping the host clean out their boil equipment and bagging up the extra bugs that went unpeeled. A new friend shares their recipe for a crawfish pasta that they always make with the leftover meat.
You pack up your camping chair and leave the rest of your beer in the host’s fridge as a thank you for their generosity. As you waddle back to your car, your feet swollen from all the sodium you consumed, your heart feels as full as your stomach.
Sure, at first it seems like a lot of work for a small amount of meat but when you’re with the right people, it’s worth it.