The Bleu Crab Café

“A Cajun will always share a recipe with you, but they'll always leave out one ingredient.”  Tourist couple from Baton Rouge

Acts 14:7…and yet he did not leave himself without witness, in that He did good and gave you rains from heaven and fruitful seasons, satisfying your hearts with food and gladness

 

     

 By the time she was six Joyce Eva was making Gumbo at her mother’s side and has been cooking ever since.   She is the owner of the Blue Crab Café in New Orleans.  To see the place, you would never guess that it was a café.  It sits quietly on a street in the French Quarter, another row house among all the other row houses.  The only way to recognize it is the bright lime green paint on the siding and the neon pink porch rail. There is a small sign next to the front door with a picture of a blue crab and the words Joyce Eva’s underneath. But locals just call it The Blue Crab. It is well known to locals and a few fortunate tourists.  They say the food has no comparison, part Creole, part Cajun, part southern and all soul.  The recipes are handed down by her grandmother who was the main cook on her master’s plantation. 

 The Blue Crab Café has been a tradition since the 1870’s.  Joyce Eva, the granddaughter of a slave, is carrying on a family tradition, like her mother and grandmother, of serving the best food around.

 She graduated from the famous Le Cordon Bleu school in Paris, and after working as a Chef in several large cities like Atlanta and Chicago, London, and Paris, came home to take care of her ailing mother and just stayed because family mattered, working part-time in the café.   After her mother died, she decided to remain in New Orleans as the chef of this quaint café. Why not? It already had a following from the locals, and besides, she was not married and had no other family ties.  She needed this quieter life.

 Joyce Eva is the acclaimed author of several bestselling cookbooks on blended Cuisine such as The Taste of Possum and In Pursuit of Poke Salad, or the popular Suck Dem Heads and Crack Dem Crabs.  The Blue Crab cookbook, her latest, contains several mouth-watering recipes such as braised Nutria lips and pickled alligator feet as well as some famous French recipes.    

 Her salad garden is grown outback with all the freshest herbs.  “All my food comes from the heart,” she says.  “Good home cooking is what gets us through the tough times as well as the good.  I cook as if cookin’ for a funeral 'cause, you know, there is nothin’ better than funeral food.  It fills you from head to toe and soothes the soul.  You won’t leave nothin’ on your plate, and you won’t go home hungry.  That’s a fact!” 

 At the Blue Crab, Joyce Eva serves only the finest food on tablecloth-clad tables, real cloth napkins and sterling silver.  The chef works with the highest quality, freshest produce available.  Local favorites are her mustard green salad and of course her award-winning poke salad.  The shrimp, crabs and Gulf fish like red snapper are fresh from the gulf. Her down-home dishes can make your eyes water, reminding you of your mama’s cooking.   

 Her pork chops cannot be compared.  The pork is purchased from a very small, family-owned, organic pig farmer in Slidell because she hasn’t found any cleaner pork to match.  “None of my dishes come from the slaughterhouse, baby.,” she says.  “I shop daily at the fish market for the freshest and all my produce is grown in my own back yard.  My wines are suitable for every palate – from white to rose and red to champagne.  You won't find finer food anywhere else; I guarantee.”

 So, if you are in the mood for soup l'oignon, boeuf bourguignon, con fit de canard or chicken, shrimp and andouille jambalaya, red beans and rice, seafood gumbo, or just some mouthwatering soul food then you must go to the Blue Crab Café. If you can find it. 

© Nippy Blair 2015. Posts and pictures on this blog cannot be copied, downloaded, printed, or used without the permission of the blog owner, Nippy Blair.

THE ELEVATOR SHAFT AT EMMANUEL BAPTIST CHURCH

 You know, when little boys are growing up, they can get into all sorts of messes, sometimes without intention.  Sometimes totally on purpose.  This is a lesson on how not to follow the crowd which I didn’t do then.

 I grew up in Emmanuel Baptist Church in Alexandria, Louisiana.  I really cannot recall a time, even into adulthood, when I wasn't involved week to week at that church.  Our whole life revolved around Sundays and Wednesdays there. I had no problems with that.  It was a wonderful life.

 This is a story of a Sunday school class that overlooked an old elevator shaft when I was twelve years old.  An all-boys class.  We were on the second floor of the old building that used to be the sanctuary. It was renovated as an educational building when the new church sanctuary was built on the corner property in 1950.  I was seven. The old sanctuary section was divided into more classrooms for children and the balcony area became extra classrooms for teenagers. The adults had classrooms downstairs.

 When the building was the sanctuary, it had a two-person elevator that went to the balcony. I was told it was built for Mary Calderwood Bolton who had trouble with stairs.  What I most remember, however, was that the Boltons sat on that balcony in rocking chairs on Sunday mornings, after all, they were founding members of Emmanuel.  I also remember going up there when I was six, with a friend, on a Wednesday and rocking in those chairs out of curiosity even though I had been told I should never go to the balcony and sit in those chairs. It was a scary adventure because I was afraid, I might be caught. This was the sanctuary I remembered until 1950 with the beautiful yellow stained glass around the top above the balcony which brought in such a glow to the whole room when the sun was shining. Even as a young child it was ethereal.  During the renovation the elevator was removed, and the empty shaft was left.

 When I was twelve, we were promoted to a new Sunday school room on the second floor. At the back was a window that blocked the shaft. We could look down to the first floor from that window. It was fascinating to twelve-year-old curious boys since inside the shaft was a wooden ladder. We had trouble listening to lessons because our minds wandered and dreamed of being able to explore the bottom of that shaft. During the 1950’s in Sunday school we had an offering envelope with sections to mark like attendance, on time, Bible brought, offering, prepared lesson, preacher attendance. And a place to write our names and the amount we gave each week. Our teacher, Bob Belk, would check these and mark them before leaving us alone while he turned the envelopes in to the secretary down the hall.

 This is when we elbowed each other to get a better look at that forbidden shaft while one was “elected” to stand guard for his return. It was also when we realized that the window was held shut with three or four screws.

 One Sunday we had the bright idea that someone should bring a screwdriver to class so we could loosen the screws when Mr. Belk left the room. Names escape me, but one of us (I’ll just call him Jim) said he could get his daddy’s screwdriver that he kept in his workroom off their garage without his daddy knowing it. He was elected and the next Sunday was to be our escape. The following Sunday we waited in anticipation with silence and sweaty hands.  We made sure Jim set in front of the window. When Mr. Belk left the room, we made a dash to watch him undo the screws, but he was only able to remove one. So, week by week we carefully removed a screw each week, fearful we would be caught.

 The final day arrived; Mr. Belk left the room to turn in our envelopes. We forced the window open, and all climbed down that ladder to the bottom of the shaft closing the window behind us. Our teacher returned to an empty room. He never thought to look down the shaft but I’m sure he searched around the larger meeting room and asked the secretary.  We were scared when we heard the bell ring to end Sunday school because we weren’t sure how we would be able to get ourselves out without being caught. We waited until we were sure church had started before we escaped.  We snuck into the balcony thinking we would be fine.

 Well, we weren’t.  All of our parents had been contacted by Mr. Belk before church started, and one of them saw us sneak up to the balcony. We had a group meeting that Sunday immediately after church with all our parents and the preacher who chastised us severely about our sins and the dangers that could have happened. Our parents let us know how frightened and embarrassed they were, and we were punished.

 Our Sunday school class was moved to a different room after that and our old one was given to the girls. I don’t know who put the screws back on the window, I never went back to check. Lesson learned. Carry on.

© Nippy Blair 2015. Posts and pictures on this blog cannot be copied, downloaded, printed, or used without the permission of the blog owner, Nippy Blair.