#asiancajunfusion

[thebarefootcajun]

Josef and AsianCajun

Around midnight, there was a knock on the door. Wondering who might be calling at my place on an isolated three quarter acre of land on L’anse Trois Filles. I have an open door policy at my place, never lock a door or a window. Friendly folk live on and around L’anse Trois Filles.

Named so because a family had three girls one year after the other starting in 1959. These girls all became farmers and never married. They farmed cotton on thirty acres of land. Each of the girls was responsible for ten acres of land; however they pooled all of their resources together. The three girls with the last name of Dijon, yep like the mustard.

However, these three girls have nothing to do with this short story other than to explain the uniqueness of the name Trois Filles.

Now, readers, back to our story. The knock on the door. I sleep early; my house is a tiny cottage, all made from recycled woods and unpainted. Screens on the windows for mosquitoes, slithering snakes and the like.

Not alarmed, thinking maybe a family member or friend had come for help or with an urgent announcement. I had no phone.

I rose from my bed and walked towards the door, a screened door as well. There I saw a boy whose siblings I had taught, not a stranger. Not a problem since I’m open to drop-ins . Whatever I have is to be shared: shelter, food, drink and a will to listen.

My estimation is that he was about thirteen years old, just a teenage kid in trouble or lost. Right up my alley, I was a retired math teacher and part time coach at the École de Français junior high school where all studies were still conducted in French.

The Louisiana State Department of Education had tried to close them down, but the village of Francois was not backing down. A resilient community with a desire to keep the mother tongue of French. Actually, Francois was a rather progressive community; staying true to their French language was passionate.

Okay, back to the kid who showed up at midnight to my house.

His name was Joseph, pronounced Josef. An eighth grader, he was rebellious about education carried on in French. Joseph had befriended a guy from New York. And this guy had told him that French was out and English was in. Josef saw himself as a hipster. He wanted to bust out of Francois, go places, be trendy and modern. Now before we want to be hard on Josef, we’ve all been there. Grass is always greener in another pasture; either we want to be in a city or we want to be in the countryside. It’s good to experience both and find your heart.

As Josef chatted about his woes with being trapped in Francois, I just listened. BTW, my name is Jerry, pronounced Jere. I’d gone away chasing my dreams, too, at a much older age. Eventually, I made my way home to the prairie again where my soul is at peace. Josef told me that he was running away from home. I asked him about his plan of sustenance and he said that he had none. After leaving he freaked out and decided to come to my place. He knew me, I had taught his older siblings.

I fed Josef some cool food. I decided in his mood a sauce piquant might just push him over the edge. We did a stir fry using yard eggs, green onions from my garden and a bit of fermented soy that I had been working on for some time. I had married a Japanese woman that I had met in the war. She adored the Cajun culture and its food. Often we cooked AsianCajun infusion. I wanted Josef to experience something different. Maybe give him a glimpse into

another culture married with Cajun.

Josef and I chatted way into the morning, and then he crashed on my front porch til noon. After a cup of very strong coffee milk, better known as a shaken espresso, he was feeling better and ready to face his parents. Little did Josef know that I had ridden out to his house on my old bicycle to let his parents know that he was with me sleeping the night away on my porch swing on a full stomach of AsianCajun fried rice. I had a good history with that family and they trusted me.

Together, Josef and I walked home to his parents. They were thrilled to see him and mom bought him a bowl of chicken and sausage gumbo. For dessert she brought out a huge slice of blackberry pie with two scoops of homemade vanilla ice cream. Josef looked like a little boy tucked into a big wicker chair on the screened-in porch with his pie and ice cream.

His dad joined us on the porch and gave Josef a big bear hug. The two lingered in that embrace, both smiling, and I think I noticed wet on their shirts, I think their joy spilled over into salty tears. After that I excused myself so that the family could have some reunion time.

The next day I heard from a colleague, a peer of mine still in a classroom at École de Français in the village of Francois, teaching science. She said that Josef was laughing and in good spirits after his mini runaway.

Josef graduated from Francois High School. After spending several summers on a rural farm in Iowa helping a veterinarian, he decided that farm living was the life for him. He was committed to coming home to work with the aging veterinarian in Francois at the Hôpital Français des Animaux de Francois.

Josef found his place and his calling after a night of AsianCajun cuisine!

[blackcatbone64]

#asiancajunfusion is a thing. And it’s delicious 😋 Spicy #edamame sautéed in #garlic #asiancajun #foodporn #delicious #crawfish (at Taste of Cajun) https://www.instagram.com/p/Bw5fQ6oF_x2/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1k6o32z4ttm1p

[broviathan]

I did it because I could. #asiancajunfusion #food #foodbeast