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JANUARY | FEBRUARY 2021

King Cake Bread Pudding

COOK WHATCHA WANNA MARDI GRAS RECIPES

A LOOK INSIDE CAJUN COURIR DE MARDI GRAS

FEEDTHE SECOND LINE THE KREWETHAT GREW

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PHOTO BY CHANNING CANDIES

MARDI GRAS IS STILL MARDI GRAS

Even though most parades are cancelled, thankfully, Mardi Gras is still on, and we’re all determined to let the good times roll even if the parades aren’t. I’ve seen some really creative ways to celebrate with neighbors and friends while keeping everyone safe; in New Orleans, people are decorating the exteriors of their houses like floats for Mardi Gras. I love this idea, and I hope other cities follow. Food is such an important part of any celebration, and Mardi Gras is no different. You can still have king cake this year and, yes, you still have to buy the next one if you get the baby. You can boil sacks of crawfish. You can make your famous jambalaya. You can eat moon pies, even if you can’t catch them at a parade. And you can have fried chicken for breakfast on Mardi Gras, even if you’re not out on the route. Because Mardi Gras is still Mardi Gras, and we still love to celebrate with our traditional delicacies.

No matter how you decide to celebrate Mardi Gras this year (and I hope it’s with Rouses king cake), thank you for making us part of it. - Donny Rouse, CEO, 3 rd Generation

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

FROM OUR KREWE 1 Donny Rouse

ALL ON A MARDI GRAS DAY 12 Iko, Iko by Alison Fensterstock 14 The Krewe That Grew by David W. Brown 20 Play Me Something Mister by Jason Berry 24 Mighty Cooty Fiyo by Alison Fensterstock

Marketing & Advertising Director Tim Acosta

Creative Director & Editor Marcy Nathan

5 Letter from the Editor

7 Ali Rouse Royster 9 Cookin’ on Hwy 1

Art Director, Layout & Design Eliza Schulze

Illustrator Kacie Galtier

Production Manager McNally Sislo

30 Courir de Mardi Gras by Sarah Baird

Copy Editor Patti Stallard

33 We Gonna Do That Bayou Thing by Alison Fensterstock

Advertising Amanda Kennedy Harley Breaux

34 Reach for the Moon by David W. Brown

Marketing Stephanie Hopkins Robert Barrilleaux

Nancy Besson Taryn Clement

COOK WHATCHA WANNA MARDI GRAS RECIPES

Page 38

Cover photo by Romney Caruso. King Cake Bread Pudding recipe on page 53; “Love Your City” Beadwork by Duane Cruse of the Wild Magnolias. Read all about the Krewe of Red Beans and their philanthropic founder on page 14; Muses shoe by Mollye Hardin. Photo by Erika Goldring. See Erika’s photos of Big Chief Monk Boudreaux and members of his Golden Eagle tribe of Mardi Gras Indians, starting on page 24. Read about the anthemic song, Indian Red, on page 25.

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SARAH BAIRD Sarah Baird is the author of multiple books including New Orleans Cocktails and Flask , which was released in summer 2019. A 2019 Knight Visiting Nieman Fellow at Harvard University, her work has been featured in the New York Times, Washington Post, Saveur, Eater, Food & Wine and The Guardian , among others. Previously, she served as restaurant critic for the New Orleans alt-weekly, Gambit Weekly , where she won Critic of the Year in 2015 for her dining reviews. JASON BERRY Jason Berry is an author and documentary film director whose works include the music history, Up From the Cradle of Jazz: New Orleans Music Since World War II. EMILY BLEJWAS Emily Blejwas is executive director of the Alabama Folklife Association. She lives in Mobile, Alabama, with her husband and four children. ROMNEY CARUSO Artistic food photographer Romney Caruso is a seasoned pro. He has been styling and shooting editorial, advertising and cookbook projects for over 25 years. You see his work in this magazine, in our stores and on our website. He also shoots photos for restaurants, hotels, and real estate and large commercial clients. Romney lives in Mandeville, Louisiana. Contributors

DAVID W. BROWN David W. Brown is a freelance writer whose work appears in The Atlantic , The New York Times , Scientific American and The New Yorker . His next book, T he Mission: A True Story , is now available for preorder, and will be published by HarperCollins in January 2021. Brown lives in New Orleans. ALISON FENSTERSTOCK Alison Fensterstock is a former music critic for The Times-Picayune and Gambit Weekly , and a current columnist for the Louisiana Endowment for the Humanities’ magazine 64 Parishes . Her work has also appeared in Rolling Stone , The New York Times and NPR Music. ERIKA MOLLECK GOLDRING Fine art music photographer Erika Molleck Goldring’s portfolio features her photos of such celebrated acts as Beyonce, Keith Richards, Willie Nelson and Fats Domino. Her work is regularly featured in Rolling Stone , People and Entertainment Weekly , as well as The New York Times and other major newspapers. Erika lives in New Orleans. RYAN HODGSON-RIGSBEE A native of Chicago, Ryan Hodgson- Rigsbee now makes New Orleans home. He collaborates with New Orleans nonprofits, businesses and artists such as the Krewe of Red Beans, Feed the Second Line, the Jazz & Heritage Foundation, and WWOZ to reach the public with photography that is both compelling and culturally responsible.

I was a total marching band nerd, which meant spending many a Mardi Gras carrying a 40-lb bass drum down the streets of Downtown Houma. My favorite number involved the entire band dancing and marching in a “snake” formation between the barricades. The energy from the crowd was unforgettable! – Kacie Galtier, Designer & Illustrator

I love a good mix of Mardi Gras traditions from my current home, New Orleans, and my birthplace, Acadiana. We go all out with weekend parades and face paint, then spend Lundi Gras enhancing our fringe and perfecting our masks for an early morning courir. Last year I finally caught a chicken! – Eliza Schulze, Art Director

HAIL YES, IT’S STILL MARDI GRAS Making plans to decorate the exterior of your home for Mardi Gras, maybe even joining a group like Krewe of House Floats? If so, tag us @RousesMarkets. Every tag is an automatic entry to win a famous Rouses king cake, shipped anywhere you choose! And if you’re in the New Orleans area and want to hire a Mardi Gras float builder, parade designer or artist to help you decorate, visit www.hireamardigrasartist.com . This Mardi Gras house initiative – a project of the Krewe of Red Beans - supports Feed the Second Line, which provides food and employment to the culture bearers of New Orleans.

My grandmother always woke up before sunrise to get to Felicity and St. Charles to claim a Mardi Gras day spot for “her grandbabies.” My siblings, my cousins and I got to sleep in and enjoy a hot beignet breakfast before heading down to the route where our spot was taped off like a crime scene. – McNally Sislo, Production Manager

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LETTER FROM THE EDITOR

By Marcy Nathan, Creatiive Director The first year I got to ride in the Muses parade, the theme was, appropriately, Makin’ Groceries. I got so excited I threw all of my shoes before we even hit Louisiana Avenue (readers, that’s not even halfway down the route). I then threw my headdress. At one point my float was surrounded by a sea of screaming people holding signs with my name and face on them. As anyone who has ever ridden in one of the big Mardi Gras parades will tell you, it’s the closest you will ever get to being famous. So my second year — now a bit of a seasoned pro, hehe — I made more shoes. After I generously handed an elaborately glittered flip-flop to someone I already didn’t like, she tried to return it for a high heel — seriously, can you imagine? She gave me back the flip-flop, and I gave her back a dirty look. No shoes for you! Somewhere around the viewing stands close to the end of the route, I made the mistake of lifting up my mask. Your mask has to be worn at all times — sound familiar? — and I ended up with a $250 fine from the City of New Orleans. You get whipped at Faquetaique Courir de Mardi Gras in Eunice if you take off your mask, so I guess I got off easy. Like most New Orleanians, I have loved Mardi Gras since I was a child. My mother never missed a parade. She would dress us in matching clown costumes to watch Rex and Zulu and a never-ending parade of truck floats. My dad was in charge of the ladders — yes, I said plural ladders — for me and my three sisters. I still have a slew of Mardi Gras traditions that I observe. I live conveniently right off of the Thoth parade route, and my neighbors and I set up outdoor bars and indoor buffets to serve everyone who comes

French Quarter for lunch, and the French 75 bar next door. Eventually we make our way down the block to the Old Absinthe House on Bourbon Street to meet friends who lunched at Antoine’s and Galatoire’s. Invariably, I miss Orpheus that night. The Jefferson City Buzzards, the world’s oldest Mardi Gras marching club, fly down my street Mardi Gras morning. You can’t miss them, even if you try. My neighbors and I gather on the sidewalk to watch, some of us still in pajamas. I’m usually in costume by then — I graduated from my childhood clown costume to beauty queen Miss Sippy, complete with sash and crown, cocktail glass and Southern drawl. I usually go downtown on Mardi Gras, which is all about the costumes — no one is trying to pass off a Saints jersey or Mardi Gras polo shirt as a costume downtown. It’s a big walking day. We join the Secret Society of Saint Anne and the Society of St. Cecilia, which parade on foot from the Bywater through the Marigny into the French Quarter. Some years I make it to Bourbon Street for the annual Bourbon Street Awards, where prizes are given for things like best drag costume. (The Mardi Gras my boyfriend wore a silver dress and makeup, he easily could have taken a gold — if we’d made it to Bourbon Street.) Some years I make it to the Backstreet Cultural Museum to see the Mardi Gras Indians, some years to Crescent City Steak House to say farewell to the flesh with a sizzling steak. Some years, I never make it past Esplanade Avenue. But no matter how much fun I’m having, I never miss the St. Augustine Purple Knights Marching 100 band. We filmed them rolling through our Tchoupitoulas store in Uptown New Orleans one year — you could see their patterns in motion as they paraded down the frozen food aisle. The Marching 100 were the first Black marching band to take part in the Rex Mardi Gras parade. They are 100% my favorite part of Mardi Gras — I’m dancing in my chair just writing this – and they are what I will definitely miss most about no parades this year.

by on their way to the parade. There’s always a crawfish boil and a porch band. Invariably, I miss Bacchus that night.

Muffaletta Muses shoe by Jamie Richardson​. Photo by Erika Goldring.

Lundi Gras is a true social occasion. We get all dressed up and go to Arnaud’s in the

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you oughta go see the

I’m at the Royal Street store in the French Quarter so I see everything, and I mean everything . From the streets, to the balconies, even the dogs dressed up for Barkus, there’s just so much creativity. I love all of the costumes. – Jomo Smith, Store Director, New Orleans

We live in Abita, so we go see Krewe of Push Mow every year. Instead of floats, they have decorated lawn mowers. It’s completely wacky. We know everybody in the parade, and everybody at the parade, and everybody’s having fun. – Marc Ardoin, Store Director, Kenner

My favorite part of Mardi Gras is the Bay Ratz Marching Battery, our homegrown youth drum corps, which marches in the Bay St. Louis parades. – Russell Veazey, Regional Director of Operations, Mississippi-North Shore

Music is how we know Mardi Gras is in full swing at Rouses Tchoupitoulas. Some of the greatest bands in the city take over our parking lot for a battle of the bands each year. There’s Carver High School vs. Kennedy High School, and the classic West Bank battle, L.B. Landry vs. Edna Karr, and so many more. Throughout the season we get thousands of parade-goers yelling for their favorite high school band. It’s just so much fun. – Stanley Duplessis, Store Director, New Orleans

I’ve got binders full of Rex doubloons that go back to 1960, which was the first year Rex threw them. Even though I’m not as big a collector as I used to be, I still want to get a Rex doubloon every year. – Chris Campbell, Regional Director of Operations, Baton Rouge

Move back…move back…move back. All three of my girls played in the band at Central Lafourche. I was a chaperone when they marched in the bayou parades, and a couple of the New Orleans parades. Move back…move back. – Morris Soudelier, Regional Director of Operations, Bayou Region

I grew up in a town where a parade was the little league team riding on the back of convertibles. I tell everyone back home, you haven’t been to a parade until you’ve been to Mardi Gras. I love looking at the fans as much as the floats. Everyone is just so happy, all because it’s Carnival time.

The best part of Mardi Gras is the king cake, although the parades are a close second. I love the smaller, local parades, like the one that rolls here in Denham Springs. Then there are the more eccentric parades, like Spanish Town. Everyone wears pink to that parade. And you’ve never seen so many pink flamingos.

I’m right there in the middle of the packed crowd trying to catch a moon pie. – Kenneth Jones, Regional District Manager, Alabama

– Larry Diehl, Regional District Manager, Greater New Orleans

– Michelle LeBlanc, Store Director, Denham Springs

I’ve loved Mardi Gras since childhood, when I rode on a kid’s float in the truck parade. It started in Shreveport and ended in Bossier City. It’s the only time I ever rode, but it’s probably one of my favorite Mardi Gras memories. – David Cadwallader, Regional Director of Operations, Lafayette-Lake Charles

I just love seeing the customers who I see every day in the stores out on the route celebrating. Mardi Gras is something we all celebrate together. – Chad Seales, Store Director, Lake Charles

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ROUSES JANUARY FEBRUARY 2021

I appreciate the spectacle of the opulent New Orleans Mardi Gras, but I rarely participate in it. I love seeing pictures of my friends decked out in ball gowns and glow-stick necklaces, or at parades in costume and glitter, but I’m more than content to just watch. Even when I lived in New Orleans for a hot minute as a college freshman, I went to a few of the nearby Uptown parades but that was it. Here I am 20 years later, and I’d still rather appreciate those magnificent parades and balls from afar. In my younger days, “big city” Mardi Gras to me meant Houma. But I love my small-town Thibodaux Mardi Gras. Our parades are held mostly on the two Sundays prior to Mardi Gras, and they’re daytime parades. In my post-college, pre- kid years, I had the best time watching our Thibodaux parades downtown. We’d go around 10am, sit on coolers, dance in the streets, bar-hop and mingle with the rest of town (this list sounds downright cuckoo in 2021, doesn’t it?), then go home to shower and sleep it all off around 7pm. I appreciate my small-town Mardi Gras even more now that there are little children to keep an eye on, to make sure they aren’t putting anything caught from a float into their mouths ( gross! ) or running into the street — unless we see a friend underneath a mask and then, yes, we can run into the street but just for a second to get a good throw and only in a grown-up’s grasp! (I can see why this gets confusing for the kids.) I also very much appreciate my brother building a house on the parade route, even though he doesn’t really like parades! I feel like he moved there just for his nieces and nephews to have a safe, clean place to potty — really, what’s more important than that? Now we’re into preschool parades — a rite of passage for all four-year-olds on the bayou! My handy hubby is in charge of float design and construction; he built a great airplane float for our oldest once. I’m pretty sure Krewe of Pre-K might be on hiatus this year with the rest of the world, but we’re still planning to build a float and have a Krewe of Kiddos in our driveway. My current four-year-old can pick the design

and help her dad bring it to life — honestly, that was her older brother’s favorite part! Last year we had a parade with just our little fam-of-five, and my husband said it was his favorite parade of the season (like me, he can live without the big parades). My plan for 2021 is to do that driveway up right — along with our homemade float, we’ll have music, throws from the ghosts of Mardi Gras past — don’t you, like me, have a bag of Carnival stuff stashed somewhere? — and purple, green and gold clothes from the costume closet. We’ll head to Rouses to get some candy and moon pies to throw too. And obviously, we’ll get at least a few king cakes! They’re not only great dessert, they’re the breakfast of champions — a surefire way to get little butts moving and off to school. But this is only permissible during Mardi Gras season! A sliver of king cake, a banana and a big glass of milk is a balanced meal, right? It is in Southeast Louisiana. Last year, my oldest child asked if I made the king cakes at Rouses, and then asked if we could make one at home. He loves to discover how things work and how they’re made, which I love to foster, especially in the kitchen. So I looked up a kid-friendly recipe to try, but between parades and school parties we never got around to it. This year, we’ve got nothing but time, so I dug out my notes, and I’m both excited and nervous about making our very first king cake from scratch at home. (I will of course have a Rouses traditional king cake hidden in our pantry in case it is a disaster.) You just can’t have Mardi Gras without king cake!

PHOTO BY CHANNING CANDIES

JUST A SMALL TOWN (MARDI GRAS) GIRL By Ali Rouse Royster, 3 rd Generation

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Ain’t gone no more!

NEW IMAGE

Peeled & Ready-to-Eat BBQ Shrimp Serves 4

COOKIN’ ON HWY 1 by Tim Acosta, Advertising & Marketing Director at Rouses Markets You can get barbecued shrimp at many restaurants in New Orleans, but my wife and I love the barbecue shrimp served at Pascal’s Manale Uptown and Mr. B’s Bistro in the French Quarter. Neither one tastes like shrimp with barbecue sauce, unless that barbecue sauce is mostly butter and Worcestershire. We like to re-create dishes we’ve enjoyed at restaurants at home, but I always tinker with them. Manale’s and Mr. B’s both use head-on shrimp. You can great fresh, head- on, wild-caught Louisiana shrimp at any Rouses. We keep them stacked fresh on ice in our Seafood Department. But I de-headed, peeled and deveined them before cooking because — let’s be honest — peeled shrimp are a lot less messy to eat. To replace the fat and flavor in the heads and shells, I used some seafood stock. Our Rouses Italian Dressing added a nice flavor — it’s a nod to Manale’s dish, which is made with butter and olive oil (Mr. B’s just uses butter). And instead of making a spice mix, I just added some of our Down Home Seafood Boil Mix. I don’t mind handling shrimp, but you don’t have to. We have our own line of frozen Louisiana shrimp, in various counts; they’re de-headed and deveined and frozen straight off the boat to preserve their flavor. Let the unopened bag thaw overnight in the fridge or submerge it in a bowl of cold water for about 45 minutes, and you’ll be good to go.

WHAT YOU WILL NEED: 2-3 pounds (16-20 count) wild-caught Louisiana shrimp, heads removed and reserved to make a simple stock (recipe below), peeled and deveined Salt, to taste Lemon pepper seasoning, to taste 2 tablespoons Rouses Down the Bayou Seafood Boil 1 large yellow onion, diced 8-ounce bottle Rouses Italian Dressing

5-6 dashes Worcestershire sauce ½ cup Cajun Power Garlic Sauce 2 teaspoons hot sauce 1 sprig fresh rosemary, stemmed

Juice from 1 lemon 1 fresh lemon, sliced

1 stick unsalted butter, cut into 1-inch pats Rouses French Bread, cut into 6-inch pieces Large aluminum pan

HOW TO PREP: Place reserved shrimp heads in large pot and cover well with 3 cups of water. Bring to a boil to make stock, and let continue to boil as you prepare rest of recipe. Place peeled shrimp in medium aluminum disposable pan. Season with salt and lemon pepper seasoning, and sprinkle with seafood boil. Add onion, Italian dressing, Worcestershire, Cajun Power Garlic Sauce, hot sauce, rosemary and fresh lemon juice to pan. Toss to combine. Remove shrimp stock from heat. Let cool slightly, then strain into large clean bowl. Add ½ cup of the strained stock to pan with shrimp. Any additional stock may be frozen (once cooled) and saved for future use. Top shrimp with lemon slices and cold butter pats. Cook on gas grill over direct heat on medium for 30 minutes, or in an oven at 350°F. Serve with French bread for dipping. Or, place the cooked shrimp on French bread to make a po-boy.

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IKO, IKO

By Alison Fensterstock It was in the late ’60s that Quint Davis first heard Theodore Emile “Bo” Dollis singing. Both men were in their early 20s. Davis, the future New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Festival producer, was a Tulane undergraduate with a voracious interest in New Orleans music and street culture; Dollis, just a couple of years older, was already Big Chief of the Wild Magnolias Mardi Gras Indians. According to Jason Berry’s New Orleans music history, Up from the Cradle of Jazz , it was the photographer Jules Cahn, who had been shooting second-line parades and jazz funerals since the ’50s, who invited young Davis to a White Eagles Indian practice at a small Central City lounge. Davis brought a reel-to-reel tape recorder, and as he later listened to the chants and clattering percussion he’d captured, he found himself drawn in again and again by one element in particular: Dollis’ raspy, powerful, soulful voice. He sought the young chief out again with a request: Dollis should write a new Indian song, something original, and they’d make a record.

PHOTO BY GOLDEN G. RICHARD III

Davis was also a fan of keyboardist Willie Tee, who’d had several R&B hits — notably “Teasin’ You” — in the mid-’60s. Davis booked Tee, who would soon form the seminal New Orleans funk band the Gaturs, to play a show alongside Bo Dollis and the Wild Magnolias on Tulane’s campus. Onstage, the traditional sound of Indian chants, drums and tambourines met electric soul music, likely for the first time. “It was probably the first time that Mardi Gras Indian music had been done outside the culture,” Davis told OffBeat magazine’s David Kunian in a 2011 interview. “And Willie created the whole thing right there. He got up on piano and started playing with them and he went in and out and way in and way out, and it just happened.” Dollis went and wrote that new Indian song, and Davis put together a band led by Willie Tee, which included Snooks Eaglin on guitar, Alfred “Uganda” Roberts on congas, Joseph “Zigaboo” Modeliste on drums and a murderers’ row of New Orleans sidemen rounding it out. “Handa Wanda,” the first single by the Wild Magnolias, came out in

1970. Its follow-up, the first full-length Mardi Gras Indian funk album — with drumming, backing vocals and beadwork for the cover art by Big Chief Monk Boudreaux — was released in 1974 on the Polydor label. The Village Voice music critic Robert Christgau rated it among his top albums of the year in the newspaper’s annual Pazz & Jop poll, calling it “the most boisterous recorded party I know.” The Wild Magnolias weren’t the only group marrying electric New Orleans funk to the city’s older traditions in the ’70s. Along with their uncle, piano player George Landry — also known as Wild Tchoupitoulas Mardi Gras Indians founder Big Chief Jolly — the Neville Brothers participated in the recording of a masterful platter of Indian funk with The Wild Tchoupitoulas in 1976. Zigaboo Modeliste, who also played with Art Neville in the Meters, drummed on the Tchoupitoulas release as well. In the early ’70s, the success of the Wild Magnolias’ and Wild Tchoupitoulas’ funky amalgamations drew eyes and ears from aroundtheworld,sparkingnewdocumentary

interest in what had been a relatively secret, highly localized African-American tradition. Journalists, photographers and filmmakers began chasing the story behind the wild men and women in their elaborately beaded and feathered suits who took to the streets on Carnival Day, banging drums and shouting chants in a hybrid language. But the original roots of the largely unwritten tradition remain mysterious still, as Berry writes in Up from the Cradle of Jazz : “Where does it all begin?” he asks. “Written sources offer small assistance: no letters culled from dusty trunks. Timeworn memories, lodged in the minds of aging men, guide us down the path.” Some historians note that the plumed and beaded suits of New Orleans Mardi Gras Indians, or Black Indians, bear resemblance to costumes seen in the carnival celebrations of Latin America and the Caribbean, regions whose cultural influence is strong in New Orleans. Another long-held piece of the tale points to Native Americans who took in and sheltered enslaved Africans in Louisiana when they had escaped their captors. The particular language of the chants, familiar

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phrases like those transcribed as “mighty cootie fiyo” and “two-way pocky way,” Berry writes, are a creole dialect with possible roots in some French, some Spanish and some Native American languages. The music, critic John Swenson wrote in OffBeat in 1988, is a “missing link” — a “new world fusion” of West African roots and early American jazz, blues, gospel and parade shuffles. The first tribe of Mardi Gras Indians who masked as we recognize the phenomenon today appears to be the Creole Wild West, which was active in the 6th Ward by the 1880s; in his book, Berry cites a memoir written by a New Orleanian named Elise Kirsch, who remembers “a band of men disguised as Indians … shouting and screaming war whoops” and running down St. Bernard Avenue on Mardi Gras Day 1883. Although the screaming, costumed men were an intimidating sight, Kirsch wrote, she always looked forward to seeing them. Jelly Roll Morton, in his extensive 1938 Library of Congress recording sessions with the famous folklorist Alan Lomax, recalled

watching the Indians take to the streets in his youth at the turn of the 20th century, claiming that, in fact, he had masked as a spy boy — the Indian who scouts ahead, looking for other tribes on the move — himself. In 1956, field recorder Samuel Charters caught the first live tape of Mardi Gras Indians out in the streets on Fat Tuesday morning, consisting of raw call-and-response chants over the syncopated rhythm of handheld drums and tambourines. By that time, musicians in New Orleans had already transposed Indian words and melodies onto popular music forms. In 1953, guitarist Danny Barker self- released four sides of Indian-inspired rhythm and blues material, including a song he titled “Chocko Mo Feendo Hey.” The same year, Sugar Boy Crawford recorded his own version of the song, “Jock-A-Mo,” for Chess Records. And close to a decade later, a trio of teenage girls called the Dixie Cups waxed a tune inspired by the same chant, using a name we’re more familiar with today — “Iko Iko.” The song “Iko Iko,” covered by Cyndi Lauper, the Grateful Dead and others,

brought the sound of the New Orleans streets at Carnival time all around the world, just as the Wild Magnolias and the Wild Tchoupitoulas did in the early ’70s. In post-millennial New Orleans, funk and rock bands — from Galactic to Cha Wa to the current version of the Wild Magnolias, which Bo Dollis’ son Bo Jr. inherited after his father’s death in early 2015 — continue to interpret and borrow from those unique Indian chants and polyrhythms. And over the years at Jazz Fest, founded the same year that Dollis and Quint Davis first released “Handa Wanda,” fans from all over the world can see those acts onstage — or just the tribes in all their glory, roaming the Fair Grounds on schedule. But there might be no better way to hear Indian songs than the way they’ve been delivered for at least a hundred years and change: out in the streets, on Mardi Gras Day.

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THE KREWE THAT GREW

Mardi Gras had come and gone in New Orleans, and Annelies De Wulf, an ER doctor at University Medical Center, arrived home with grim news. COVID, she said to her husband, Devin, had arrived in New Orleans. Thus for them began a bleak ritual, with Annelies returning home each day and describing for Devin the cases, the strain, the fear. What she and her colleagues were dealing with was the hardest thing health- care workers had ever encountered. No one at the time knew much about COVID, but they knew enough to know they were risking their lives. Worse, they knew they could go into work, get unknowingly infected, and bring it home to infect their families too. On March 15, however, Annelies’ daily debrief started a little differently. “A nurse brought cookies,” she said, “and it was awesome.” Devin De Wulf is the founder of the Krewe of Red Beans, a social group that marches every Lundi Gras, its members dressed in suits bedazzled in beans. The krewe also hosts an annual charity event called Bean Madness — a play on the “March Madness” name of the NCAA college basketball tournament — which involves a block party, food and celebration. With COVID-19 seemingly ubiquitous and New Orleans now known to be a Carnival-fueled hot spot, the krewe canceled its festivities. Devin, still in touch with the event’s restaurateurs, however, had an idea. “I understood what the shutdown would do to restaurants, and I knew very quickly that these are mom-and-pop businesses really important to the identity of New Orleans,” he says. He realized he could help two groups at once, and Feed the Front Line was born. He emailed his krewe. “Hospital workers are on the front lines, protecting us from a new, largely unknown and scary global pandemic,” he wrote. “Here’s one small thing we as a krewe can do: Raising money to buy food treats for hospital workers.” They would help everyone from physicians to security guards. “I know 100% they would appreciate the love right now…so…let’s buy them all a cookie! Or a brownie! Or something delicious — which will also support one of our local restaurants in this time of need!” The krewe loved the idea. Devin used $60 previously set to be spent at Tropicália Kitchen, a caterer for the now-scrubbed Bean Madness, and asked them to prepare something different from what was originally planned. He requested 60 brigadeiros , a Brazilian dessert evocative of chocolate

truffles or bonbons. It would be enough to treat a shift’s worth of workers at his wife’s hospital. Tropicália Kitchen was glad to help, and Annelies brought the goodies to work the next day. They were an instant hit. The Krewe of Red Beans, scrappy and grassroots, beat its drum on social media and, between that and word-of-mouth, Feed the Front Line built momentum. Donations started streaming in. Eleven hundred dollars on the first day. Five hundred on the second and $1,668 on the third. Devin realized immediately that he had to make a decision about how to spend that money. Restaurants, he figured, would do better if he spent as much money as possible as quickly as possible, which would, in turn, feed as many hospital workers as possible during some pretty dark days. But it was more than a matter of buying treats and racing them to hospitals: Because of COVID’s high level of contagiousness, doctors didn’t want people to just show up, regardless of intention. So Devin worked with Annelies to figure out how Feed the Front Line could make its deliveries safely, and at the best times possible for day and night shifts, without disrupting care or risking becoming a vector of transmission. The details determined, he opened his Rolodex and started dialing. “I’ve got all these restaurant contacts, and I told them: ‘ I don’t care what you make but make it delicious. They need the best meals ever right now ,’” he says. The program, born of a virus, itself went viral. Within a week, krewe members who worked at Children’s Hospital and Tulane Medical Center asked if Feed the Front Line could feed their clinics, too. The answer was yes — and it snowballed from there. People fromacross the city reached out and asked for other hospitals to be added. Devin received an email early on that underscored just how important the program was becoming for the community: “She said her dad had died at Ochsner Medical Center West Bank, and she said the staff did a great job. She was grateful that they had tried so hard, done so much, and asked if we could send food so we can say thank you to them. And it was like…we are creating love. We are helping the grieving process.” He received an email from the wife of a doctor at one hospital. She said that morale was cratering, and could they help? “Absolutely,” Devin replied. “We’re going to hook that hospital up. Give me two hours and I will have dinner for them, and every single day we will send them food.” All of the Ochsner locations were added, EMS workers, every emergency room in the city and every intensive care unit. The money

By David W. Brown It started with $60, a box of cookies and a desire to do something .

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was doing double duty, improving the spirits of healthcare workers and also saving local restaurants, which had fallen into dire straits due to the quarantine and stay at home orders. The program took on a life of its own, growing until Feed the Front Line was literally feeding every single hospital in New Orleans twice a day, every day, for six weeks. For donors as well, the money was helping. “Everybody was stuck at home and scared, and you felt powerless,” Devin says. “This was something that people could do. And the community started to rally behind it. We were this little group from the neighborhood. We aren’t wealthy or have a ton of money, but we were getting stuff done, and people were rooting for us.” At its peak, the program spent $30,000 per day, feeding 2,200 hospital workers twice a day (once for the day shift and once for the night). By the end of the program, it had delivered 90,000 meals, 10,000 cookies and coffees, and supported 49 local businesses. Devin wanted to help as many culinary

establishments as possible. “We asked restaurant owners the bare minimum they needed to survive,” he said, “because if we could hit that target with one, we could help somebody else, too.” Ultimately, Feed the Front Line raised and spent $1.2 million over six weeks. Doctors, dining and donors benefitted, and Devin found a way to add one more group to the list: musicians. When you run a successful Mardi Gras krewe, you know local musicians. Like restaurant workers, everyone in live entertainment was hurting, so the program hired musicians to deliver the food. “They had just lost French Quarter Fest and Jazz Fest. From my parade organizing, I knew a lot of musicians, and I texted them.” Musicians were each assigned to specific hospitals to learn the processes for safe delivery and to build relationships there. The program built a network of 35 musicians who delivered food, and they took the job deeply seriously, Devin says, never missing a single delivery. It was for them an inspiring job: In the middle of a terrible pandemic, they were making a difference and also getting paid.

The program ended once donor fatigue set in. Devin is particularly proud that every penny of the $1.2 million is accounted for. “We spent zero dollars on the administration of this effort. It was all volunteer. I will forever be proud that every dollar that was given to us was spent in a way that was impactful to the community.” Feed the Front Line was only the beginning. Devin soon started plans for something bigger, that would help even more people and help preserve the culture of New Orleans during unprecedented times. Feed the Second Line was born. Devin De Wulf grew up in Charleston, South Carolina. In high school, he read Che Guevara: A Revolutionary Life, by Jon Lee Anderson , and it set him on a path to At left, bean piece created by Red Bean Krewe member Cate Swan as a thank you to New Orleans medical workers; at right, Babydoll Honey of Le Bon Ton poses while filming an FTSL promotional piece in Rouses Markers (photo by Ryan Hodgson-Rigsbee)

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experience that every young person should go through. If you can’t communicate, you are forced to be uncomfortable and go through that tough learning process.” Devin was ever in possession of a dictionary and notepaper, listened intently to Brazilian music and watched local television, and over time he learned not only the language but also the culture, from food to music. “I learned more in that year than in all of college. That was my education.” While there, he also encountered beans for the first time. They aren’t a South Carolina staple, but in Brazil, they’re served twice a day, every day. In the university cafeteria, they served rice and beans with a protein like chicken on the side. On Sundays, he would eat feijoada (a black bean dish made in large batches and served at home or at bars, where everyone watched football) with everyone else. Beans were a culinary

study Latin American history at the College of Charleston. He came from a family of lawyers, and the idea was to go to Brazil and learn Portuguese, and to Mexico to learn Spanish, and on the other side of his degree, he could enroll in law school and become an immigration lawyer. He studied abroad “like a fiend,” he says, and would take extra courses each semester to maximize the time he could spend in other countries. He developed a deep appreciation for other cultures and peoples, and he would eventually spend a year as an exchange student at Universidade Federal de Minas Gerais in Brazil. It changed his life. “Not being able to communicate is an interesting process, because you lose your personality,” he says. You can’t make jokes or do even the simplest things, and only over time, with great effort, can you slowly rebuild yourself and your abilities. “It’s a really good

revelation for him, and his new favorite food. Not long before his residency in Brazil ended, he watched in horror as Hurricane Katrina hit New Orleans. When he returned to the United States, he decided to volunteer in New Orleans as a photographer. He would take photographs for nonprofit organizations, and give them the prints for use in fundraising, marketing and archiving. “I was here for a week with a couple of friends who came too, and we were idiots exploring a city we knew nothing about,” he says. He was struck by the New Orleanian sense of resilience. In the terrible aftermath of the flood, the people, he noticed, didn’t complain. That feeling of coming back from the brink created a sense of civic pride unlike anything he had ever experienced before, and he saw vividly that the people of New

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Orleans chose to come back, chose to fight for their community. On his second day in the city, he stumbled onto John Boutté singing in a church. He ate a shrimp po’boy from a corner store. He sat on lawn chairs someone had put out along Bayou St. John. The combination of those things brought home to him that certain specialness of New Orleans, and his love of culture and people found a home in the U.S. During his final year of college, every time a break came up (Spring, Thanksgiving, Christmas) he would drive 13 hours cross- country to the city. When he graduated, no ties held him to Charleston, so he packed his belongings and drove the 13 hours — this time one-way. He moved into an Uptown apartment and got to work building a new life. He found work as a teaching assistant. The job played to all his strengths: He was fluent in Spanish, artistic, and in possession of a boundless love for the community. (As for his plans of becoming a lawyer: While still in college, he was scheduled to take a practice LSAT, the exam necessary to get into law school. It was the most beautiful day, he thought, walking into the building, 80 degrees and sunny, and when he arrived in the classroom where the test was being administered, he looked around the room and thought, “I am clearly not going to hang out with these people the rest of my life.” Five minutes into the exam, he handed in his test and went to the beach. That dream died on the spot.) His first fall in New Orleans, he was sitting at Pal’s Lounge in Mid-City brainstorming what his Halloween costume should be. He thought about the things that made New Orleans special, and he arrived at the New Orleans tradition of red beans and rice on Mondays. When the Saints played on Monday nights, that tradition, paired with (a different kind of) football, evoked memories of his time in Brazil. He had an epiphany: He would make a suit of red beans and rice. Back he went to his little apartment Uptown, and he holed up in his room with a hot glue gun, a sack of red beans and an old suit. You start hot-gluing red beans and rice to your clothing, and there is only one option: total commitment. He guessed it might take an hour, maybe. (He grossly underestimated the task.) But by Halloween, he had done the unusual, and his jacket and pants were now entirely and elaborately made of red beans and rice. “I walked around Frenchman Street, and people freaked out,” he recalls. “People were taking my picture like paparazzi! And I thought there was clearly something to this.”

Concurrently, he was still doing volunteer photography in the city, and a family who was part of the Black Feather Mardi Gras Indian tribe invited him to their house, a place in Gentilly, for Mardi Gras. He arrived the day before, on Lundi Gras, and spent 24 hours documenting their night of final preparations. “I was a fly on the wall. It was the coolest thing I’ve ever seen, watching months of work being pulled together.” The Mardi Gras Indians are celebrated, among other things, for their ornate suits of beads, feathers and sequins that can cost thousands of dollars to design, and take nearly a year to make. For Devin, that night and the next day were mesmerizing. “I saw how if you put so much of your heart and soul into a suit, it becomes who you are. It can be transformative. When I saw the Big Chief put his crown on, it was like witnessing a religious moment.” Again, just as he did in Brazil, Mexico and across Latin America, he saw with clarity how the culture of a place is shaped by its people. Inspired by the Mardi Gras Indian tradition and the style of the second line and brass bands, he decided to start a parade. He made a PowerPoint presentation

and everything. He invited the friends he had made during his teaching certification program to join him. He proposed the creation of the Krewe of Red Beans. They would march on Lundi Gras — the traditional day for red beans and rice — and they would wear suits decorated in beans, as he had done for Halloween. Twenty-five people were in, and every Sunday, they gathered in Devin’s little apartment, hot glue and beans all around. The night before Lundi Gras 2009, they had a little celebration. Musician and local legend Al “Carnival Time” Johnson even turned up at the festivities. The next day, they marched. At two in the afternoon, sharp, they met on the corner of Port and Royal streets. They had no permit, no spectators and no idea what they were doing. But Benny Jones of the Treme Brass Band joined them, and for the rest of the day, The Krewe of Red Beans attracts 15,000 spectators and includes 350 members. To help manage the crowds, they’ve started three separate and simultaneous parades. (Photos by Ryan Hodgson-Rigsbee)

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cut off, but you can’t cut out food. Groceries were an inescapable expense. Thus was born Feed the Second Line, a nonprofit effort to bring fresh groceries and meals to the elder cultural figures of New Orleans. In practice, the program involves a social worker checking in on vulnerable culture bearers and getting a feel for how things are going. The artist is given a pencil- and-paper shopping list of about 80 items. (The generation most in need is not the savviest with technology; low-tech is best in this case.) What food could you use for the next month or two? A freezer, fridge and pantry could be stocked for around $200 to $400. With the shopping list in tow, volunteers could do the shopping and bring the groceries back. Feed the Second Line is also a job creator. Like Feed the Front Line, Feed the Second Line employs younger local musicians to do the grocery shopping and delivery for the elder, more vulnerable musicians and artists of the community. Rouses Markets partnered right away with Feed the Second Line to make the program a success. For Rouses, local is everything. The company provided a credit line for the nascent effort, allowing it to do

they walked, 25 people in bean suits, with a shopping cart carrying a keg of beer. Hours later they were exhausted but jubilant. “We weren’t trying to be a thing,” says Devin. “We were trying to have a fun time.” They were definitely going to do it again. And they did. Again and again and again. Two on the dot every Lundi Gras afternoon. Eleven years later, the Krewe of Red Beans attracts 15,000 spectators and includes 350 members. To help manage the crowds, they’ve started three separate and simultaneous parades. “We stay true to the philosophy of a small neighborhood walking parade.” They were in their 20s when they started, and are now all in their 30s, with children. The second generation walks in the parades now, too. “It’s kid-friendly. We are all about the neighborhoods and cele- brating beans and the carnival.” While running Feed the Front Line, Devin began to worry about Al “Carnival Time” Johnson and Benny Jones. Both are in the high-risk categories for COVID-19, meaning a trip to the grocery store could be fatal. Krewe members volunteered to grocery- shop on behalf of the music icons, but the city

of New Orleans is filled with such cultural figures. In the past, every loss of someone like musician Allen Toussaint or chef Leah Chase was devastating; now, here was this virus that was specifically targeting some of the aging legends who make New Orleans what it is. Devin wondered if he could take everything he learned while building a million-dollar philanthropic effort in a matter of weeks, his experience building a huge operation like the Krewe of Red Beans from scratch, and his understanding of local culture, and build something long-term to help the culture bearers of New Orleans. “We have to protect the culture that we have,” he says. “Culture is built by people. If a Big Chief dies, they are irreplaceable.” How many walking cultural treasures do we have in the city, he wondered. What if half of them died? What would New Orleans do? Moreover, those artists were among the hardest hit economically in the pandemic’s wake. Mardi Gras was canceled. Most music venues were closed. Already, many of the city’s most notable cultural figures were from impoverished neighborhoods. Run out of money, and power and water could be

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all the shopping it needed to feed the men and women responsible for the city’s cultural identity, and to do so in a way that would be respectful and grassroots, coming from the community itself. “Grocery shopping is great because it is sustainable. You can scale up or down depending on donations,” Devin explains. Presently, the program is able to feed about nine people per day. To maximize the time available, volunteers have mapped the inside of Rouses and know the most efficient routes to get every item on grocery lists. Already, the program is helping around 75 culture bearers. There’s something in it for the donating public, too. You go to a Mardi Gras parade, and you might get a picture of — or if you’re lucky, a picture with — a Mardi Gras Indian. But there’s never before been a way to give back. Feed the Second Line is that way, and people can sign up at feedthesecondline.org to donate monthly. The average monthly donation is $22. “The only way this program is possible is if people become monthly donors,” says Devin. “It doesn’t matter how much. A dollar or five or 10 or 100. Anything. It’s a way of saying, ‘ Thank you for being you. Your creation of culture has enriched all our lives. ’”

With the public’s backing, Devin plans to help as many Mardi Gras Indians, Social Aid and Pleasure Club members, artists and musicians in the city as possible. His record of achievement and devotion to New Orleans says that if anyone can do it, he can. Which isn’t bad for someone whose whole destiny was determined over red beans and rice. “Over the course of all this,” he says, “I met my wife when she joined the krewe, and that’s why I have all this, have my children. That moment sitting in Pal’s Lounge and deciding to make a bean suit was the most important moment in my life.” Clockwise from left: Feed the Second Line’s motto, Love Your City (beadwork by Duane Cruse of the Wild Magnolias); Mr. Victor Harris, Big Chief of the FiYiYi Spirit of the Mandingo Warriors; Cagney Goodly filming an FTSL promotional piece in Rouses Markets; Al “Carnival Time” Johnson, Grand Marshal for the Krewe of Red Beans (photos by Ryan Hodgson-Rigsbee)

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