Growing up, Mama taught us that near about any occasion can be turned into a celebration. I already told you about those MLK Jr. Day parties she'd host. We once got to go out for ice cream just because it was Leap Day. And on sweltering summer nights with no A/C, Mama sometimes woke us up for peaches and ice cream. Not every occasion got an ice cream party. The first snow meant an early wake-up, long before the sun, to sit on the couch and watch the flakes fall out the big picture window. But since I don't live at home anymore, I've got to create my own celebrations.
I even managed to find some true Louisiana olive salad way out here in Oregon.
I used Southern Living's recipe as my guide, so you can hop over to this link if you want to give it a try.
The first time I ever had a muffuletta sandwich was actually in Little Rock, Arkansas. Which my entire family took to pronouncing as "Our-Kansas," because Kansas was our least favorite state to drive through on those long treks, and Arkansas meant we had only one more day left in our journey.
That was back in 1996, the first time I ate a muffuletta. I remember liking the sandwich. But what I remember most about that meal was the table full of businessmen sitting nearby.
I don't remember what this crew of nicely dressed men were eating. But whatever it was, it was hot, Hot, HOT! Either that, or they just couldn't handle a little spice. They were sweating bullets. All of them. Faces redder than an August tomato.
We watched them throughout the entire meal. Laughing, and wondering when someone was gonna tell the poor fellas to order a glass of milk to cut the spice. No one ever did.
We tried to stop back by that fun little Louisiana style eatery on the way home later than summer, but it had closed down.
What about you? Do you celebrate Fat Tuesday?