February 21, 2012. Melbourne, Australia. Pancake Tuesday as it’s known Down Under, for the day before Lent it is tradition to eat the delicious breakfast carb for dinner. However, this Pancake Tuesday I broke with tradition.
A couple hundred people gathered outside the city cemetery wearing brightly colored plastic necklaces, bewildered and awaiting explanation as to why, among other curiosities, there were no pancakes. The flyer that had assembled us contained only gobbledygook: words like Mardi Gras, Gumbo, Fat Tuesday, Second Line. Mardi Gras I knew, but, in the Aussie context, it is a gay and lesbian pride parade. With nary an ass-less chap in sight, I was forced to open my mind to alternate meanings. A small brass ensemble started up and soon we were dancing, beads clacking and smiles spreading. I still had no idea what was going on.
This was my first Mardi Gras experience. And it happened in Melbourne. It was the height of the All-American food phenomenon. Used to be, the only place you could get anything so exotic as a chilli dog was Soda Rock, a kitsch ‘50s diner wannabe. But by the southern hemisphere summer of 2012 it was all about the pulled pork, beef brisket and sliders. Naturally, the South became everybody’s darling. Now, foodies scootch into designer booths to enjoy buttermilk slaw and Southern fried chicken. Melbourne’s long-held obsession with Rockabilly and Americana Vintage lends itself nicely to the theme; the hipsters are generally content as long as Johnny Cash gets a spin and the bartenders are bearded, hair slicked with pomade and tattooed as a gaunt sailor
It wasn’t until coming back from Shreveport that I could really see the colors of Louisiana shining through my hometown. Literally. Purple and yellow, gold and black – Tigers and Saints fans exist in these parts. But I’m talking about the current trending American flavour: Louisiana Soul Food. There’s Cajun Kitchen offering Jambalaya downtown for the lunchtime suits; Gumbo Kitchen keeping it creole with Red Beans and Rice; Po’ Boy Quarter, where I sought refuge with a catfish po’ boy upon my arrival home; and paying homage to the French Quarter is a new bar named Le Bon Ton, on account of Australians can’t be trusted to pronounce “temps” correctly.
I’ll admit there’s not always a direct translation. I’ve eaten “crawfish” at The Gem, a bar I can best describe as an Elvis mausoleum. With The King watching over me, God rest his soul, I cracked and sucked at a pot of yabbies, the local crustacean equivalent more commonly considered bait than food. One particular incarnation Shreveportians may find amusing is Vegan Southern Food. I have sampled “shrimp” and “sausage” gumbo, the starring roles played by textured vegetable protein shaped, colored and seasoned to emulate their namesakes, the end result as much visual art form as food.
The next big thing for Louisiana fare in Melbourne? Craft beer. Michael Cotter, owner of Gumbo Kitchen and Po’ Boy Quarter, has just opened Huey Long’s, a haven for edible and imbibable Louisiana imports on the infamous Smith Street, the heart of Hipsterville. Here, one can pair an Abita Purple Haze cocktail (no seriously, it’s amaze) with Bread Pudding and Bourbon Sauce, or freshly shucked oysters with a Ramos Gin Fizz. Huey Long’s played host to a Good Beer Week event – think American Craft Beer Week – that aimed to showcase Louisiana craft beer. Tragicomically, a hold-up at customs resulted in 7 courses of Abita pairings, but the bar now boasts a range from Parish Brewing Co (Broussard), Bayou Teche Brewing (Arnaudville) and Covington Brewhouse. Cotter is the main instigator of all the Louisiana-love, sparked by a New Orleans vacation. His Gumbo Kitchen team were the ones responsible for the clueless crowd of “Mardi Gras” revelers back in ‘12, an event he’s persisted with yearly.
It’s clear that Cotter’s efforts have gained traction but I must deduct points for neglecting the North of the state. When I tell him I’m moving to Shreveport, his eyebrows shoot to the ceiling and I win some serious Louisiana cred. Walking away, I pause to shout down Smith St, “Y’all remember: I liked Shreveport before it was cool.”