ROUSES_MayJun2019_Magazine-Print

Bernard writes. “It appears to have been used first by the Portuguese in the form crioulo , which denoted a slave born in the New World (as opposed to one born in Af- rica). By the 1600s, crioulo came to denote a native New World colonist, regardless of racial or ethnic heritage — black, white, or mixed race. In Louisiana, the term — which evolved into criollo in Spanish and créole in French — adhered to this convention, even though it most commonly referred to persons born into slavery in the New World.”

of the tomato name. But as our produce, our livestock, our architecture and our cooking are extensions of our self-image, what we say about these things reflects what we think of ourselves. In the context of Louisiana, the term Creole is often contrasted with the term Cajun, much to the confusion of folks from out- side the state. While Creoles can trace their lineage to a wide range of places, Cajuns are specially descended from those people who migrated from Canada to Southwest

dition to French, Louisiana residents in the early decades of the French colony spoke a variety of Native American languages as well as languages from many regions of West Africa including present-day Benin, Nigeria, Senegal, Congo, Cameroon and Angola. Elements of those languages go a long way toward explaining why Louisiana Creole developed into an “autonomous lan- guage” rather than a mere variation on con- versational French. It is difficult to separate the term “Creole” from the politics of race and culture. You could probably create a chart demonstrat- ing that definitions of the term fall along the same liberal-conservative fault lines as our electoral politics. But as is often the case in a place so richly blessed with great food, what is on our plate could well save us, if only we’d let it. Whatever other differences divide us, people along the Gulf Coast tend to agree that our food is the best indigenous cuisine to be had in the United States. In defending the honor of our native dishes, we tend to focus less on the distinctions between how your mother and my mother make their respective versions of roux. Rather, we stand together in our conviction that the United States could be made an infinitely better country if Cre- ole seasoning was sprinkled more liberally in the pots of the nation. A chicken in every pot? Yes! But don’t forget get to add the Holy Trinity of Creole aromatics — onion, bell pepper and celery. We would be wise therefore to focus more on what unites people of Creole descent than what divides us. Roux can be more than an agent to thicken, season and darken sauces. It can also be a tie that binds.

Whatever other differences divide us; people along the Gulf coast tend to agree that our food is the best indigenous cuisine to be had in the United States.

Inca Garcilaso de la Vega, the son of a Spanish conquistador and an Inca mother, did not look to Latin etymology to describe the origin of Creoles. In 1602 he wrote that “it’s a name that the Negroes invented…it means Negroes ‘born in the Indies,’ they invented it to distinguish those…born in Guinea [Africa] from those born in America, because they consider themselves more hon- orable and of better status than their children because they are from the fatherland...” he wrote. It wasn’t long before the term Creole start- ed to be applied not merely to human beings born in the Americas, but also to plants and animals thought to have their origins or fin- est expressions here. In South America, for example, the term Criollo has been given to horses bred in Argentina, Peru, Venezuela and other Spanish-speaking countries. In Portuguese-speaking Brazil, the horses are called Crioulo . These horses are said to be hardier and have more stamina than their European parents. In that way, what is said about these horses reflects what self-defined Creole human beings often say about them- selves — that they are not only different but perhaps slightly better than the peoples from whom they descended. If you walk down the produce aisle of a Louisiana supermarket in the summer, you are apt to see Creole tomatoes and even Creole okra. The term is not meant to sug- gest that these are special varieties of veg- etables, separate and distinct from breeds grown north of I-10. The term is meant to boast that vegetables grown in the soil of Creole Louisiana have a distinct and — dare I say? — superior flavor. In this era, when supermarket shelves are filled with heirloom tomatoes of every size, shape, color and fla- vor, it is quaint to hear local folks speak of Creole tomatoes as if no other fruit is worthy

Louisiana after 1763, when the Treaty of Paris expelled French colonists from Canada. While Cajuns are a specific and distinct subset of Louisiana residents, they also have much in common with their Creole fellow citizens. For evidence of this, you need look no further than the emblem- atic dishes of both cuisines. Gumbo, jamba- laya and étouffée differ in preparation from one part of the state to the other. But whether you consider yourself Cajun or Creole, you tend to take pride in your ability to execute those crucial dishes. As is often the case in discussions of Louisi- ana culture, the French get even more credit than they deserve for their influence. Even though Louisiana was a Spanish colony for much of its colonial history, and even though the Spanish administration was more suc- cessful than the French, it is the French who get the lion’s share of the praise. The Creole language spoken in South Louisiana is often assumed to be French with variations. But lin- guists are increasingly analyzing other influ- ences on the language. “[T]he Creole language continues to be used in Louisiana, and in recent decades it has received more attention from the state’s institutions and scholars,” Shane Bernard wrote. “These scholars generally regard Creole not as a dialect of French but rather as an ‘autonomous language’ because of ‘major differences in grammatical structure.’” Where did those other influences come from if not from France? Roughly a decade after the Louisiana Purchase, a large influx of Creoles came to Louisiana, fleeing the revolution in Haiti. To varying degrees, these people spoke both French and Creole. Creole, like other lingua franca around the world, developed as a means of communicating between people whose native languages are different. In ad-

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