Part of good health is eating right. My own diet, when I'm not on a wilding spree and killing my own prey, is admittedly eccentric, as my profile suggests. But it keeps me healthy beyond belief: I can run for over twenty-four hours at a stretch, swim up a raging river well over a mile, outdig the most determined badger, and maintain an erection for over three weeks without permanent damage. Perhaps my coyote upbringing accounts for my toughness, its effects maintained despite decades away from the prairie, slowly moldering in libraries as vibrant as the local beggar's tomb, my many years of indoors schooling threatening to strip me of my ferality but failing, genes prevailing over environment in my case, as an earlier posting documented. But for the washed majority, the twoleg crowd, attending to proper nutrition is vital, and constitutes an important part of our treatment program at the Balzac Institute, where patients leave, on average, weighing a good stone-and-a-half less than when they entered our facility. And while none of the men has yet reported getting it up as long as I am able to regularly (they don't have a chance!), they do note improvements, which I attribute largely to better nutrition, our meals entirely planned by that doyenne of pole and stage, Miss Gator Ethel Thibodeaux, the Cajun Maven. Today's Gator Ethel recipe is for "swamp eggs," a delicacy I confess to enjoying if I run short on my supply of Andorran jellied eels. Here she is, our chef and muse:
"Dis is Miz Gator Ethel, cher, talkin' wi' you about de needs of de body, not what's you thinken, either, but de fuel for our motor, as it were, de foods we eat an' de fluids we drink. My oh my but do us Cajun folk know de way around our plates! My Uncle Raoul Rene Thibodeaux wuz de biggest eater I ever saw an' yet he ate healthy and weren't too fat neither, cher, no sir. Uncle Raoul was a poacher an' a drinker an' a professor and he wud a spent life in prison most likely had his airboat not been powered by two Mezzashitz engines from a Nazi bomber, he got them from a gud friend down in Argenteen, that boat cud fly an' de game wardens never had a chance. Plus Uncle Raoul lived in de mos' remote part a de bayou an' it wuz like a watery maze getten to his complex deep in de' swamp. I never seen nothin' like his house, cher, it wuz de mos' interesten colleckshun of buildin's you ever wud want to see. Dey wuz all raized uppen poles stuck right deep in de' swamp mud, ten yards in de' air at least, six or seven a dem, and connected by gangplanks, rickety ol' things dat swung dis way an' dat, it scared me outta my undies to visit. You'd pull up in Uncle Raoul's airboat he tied to a dock, den climb up an ol' rope ladder dat musta been knotted together by Methuselah hisself. You'd climb an' climb and reach de first home where his conjammed twins, Gus an' Gus, lived, dey shared many of de' same organs but had only four limbs, dey was kinda double-wide like my sixth husband's trailer, dat ol'boy was rich, and Gus an' Gus were about my age, dey had dese two heads poken outta dey t-shirt, one canten one way, de other de other, dey looken pretty different as well, dey voices also weren't at all de' same, Gus he wuz gay an' had a voice dat matched dat trait like a shandleer inna ol' maid's parlor, while Gus wuz a womanizer an' quick wid de one hand he controlled, you kept yore distance! His voice was deep an' growly an' smutty an' I didden like Gus, but I did like Gus. De two hated one another fierce, an' one mornen Gus wuz sick a bein' called a fruit an' a fag by Gus, I didden blame him a bit, an' in de night Gus strangled Gus, but dat wuz a most unfortunate mistake, cher, for Gus controlled de heart of de both of them, an' when Gus died so did Gus, but smilen cuz he got his wish even though he lost his life.
"Anyway, I got off track, like my dog, Boo, does when he chasen de' possums outta de French Quarter in de' mornin', Boo keeps de Quarter clean a pests. Back to Uncle Raoul's place: You went from de twins cabin to a separate builden where Raoul hisself lived, den to a big kitchen, den to Raoul's wife's home, den to a shitter, den to a 'normous den an' liberry, Raoul taught at Tulane an' he had thousands a books, mostly 'bout Raoul's special area a interest, Cajun Studies. An' one whole shelf wuz books about Cajun an' Creole cooken, mos' of dem recipes tried and tested by Uncle hisself, dat ol' boy cud eat as I said. His very favorite dish of all took two whole weeks to prepare! Here's de recipe:
"Take a gator 6-8 feet long an' shoot him in de brain. Have a pit dug first, maybe four feet deep an' 9 feet long. Fill dat pit wi' sappy pine cones an' branches, an' some dried pine needles, an' some hard wood. Light a fire an' burn it gud an' hot. Keep adden hard wood an' pine cones and keep it burnen day an' night for three days. Meanwhile take de dead gator an'pull out his brain an' his innards. Clean out his body an' his guts. Start stuffen de gator wi' onions an' garlic an' sausages an' peppers of all types. Pour vinegar all over dis mess an' stitch de' gator closed. Take de' cleaned guts and putten 'em in a cauldron full a Dixie Beer an' horse piss. Boil dat whole load a slop for three days itself. Once you done wi' all dis, lay de gator on de incredible hot coals and dump de' cauldron over de' gator. Shovel clean sand on top a de' gator till dat big bastard's all covered. Start a fire on top a dis closed pit an' keep dat burnen two weeks. Den let de fire go out, an' once de ground's cool dig up de gator. Now you got yoreself one big smoked treat, and oh, cher, but dat meat is gud! Succulent an' smoky an' spicy. De whole critter's good for eaten, de skin, even, which is chewy an tasty. De eyeballs is what you fight for, as dey is sweet as cherry pie. De nice thing is, too, is dat de gator will keep for days without needen a fridge. Jes' scrape any rot off de' beast an' eat de rest. Uncle Raoul loves his smoked gator and I do too.
"But dis aint a meal mos' folks can fix for theyselves. What to do, den, when yore appetite spikes an' you want somethin' good an' real quick? 'Swamp eggs' is my choice every time, cher. Dey's scrumptious an' nutritious an' quick to make. Hell, I even taught Whiski Rae Shamrock how to whip up a batch for us to eat in between shows when we poled together in de old times. Dat girl wuz smart wi' de books but dumb in de' kitchen. She actually tried to toast a pair a pork chops for us once for supper! Unique effort, I have to say, but de chops only burnt in de toaster an' started to flame. I 'bout split my g-string laffen to see dat pretty young girl tryen to blow out de fire an' only maken it flare brighter! I grabbed dat toaster by de cord and flunged it outta de window a de river boat where we performed, an' it crashed into de Mississippi an' sank from sight! Some alligator gar ate gud dat evenin', an' so did we. Behold:
"Take a dozen gud speckled hen's eggs an' dump 'em in a pan a boilen tomato juice dat's got tequilla an' Barq's root beer mixed into it. Cook dem eggs for three or four minutes, den drain de pan an' fill it wi' ice water. De shells a de eggs will bust open maken de peelen easy. Take dese naked eggs, den, and put 'em in a corn meal mix dat's moistened wi' buttermilk till it's gud an' smooth. Add a liberal dose a Tabasco, a tin a sardines smashed into a paste, goodly amounts of peeled garlic an' salt an' cayenne pepper to taste. Den spoon a healthy dollop a bacon grease into a skillet and crank de heat up high. Once de grease bubbles angrily, upend de whole mess an' fry everythin' up, taken pains not to rupture de eggs. Once de coaten is crispy an' brown, remove de eggs to a plate, squirt mustard over em' an' serve wi' Wonder bread an' ripe pears. Oh my god but you got yoreself some tasty treats! First time Whiski Rae made dem she ate ten herself! Dey's 'bout as healthy a food as you'd like. Come to think a it, Gus an' Gus prackly lived off a swamp eggs due to dey strange digesten problems. If a food is gud enough fo' conjammed twins, it gud enough fo' you, cher. Try it tomorrow an' get a little Cajun in yore sad dumb life. Jes' kidden."
Thanks, Gator Ethel, for that wonderful culinary tip. Would you believe me if I told you I ate twenty-four swamp eggs this morning? It's true! If only my coyote mother, Ki, could have eaten some during our years together. I hope they're on the menu in the Great Meadow. They certainly are at the Balzac Institute for Partial Recovery, where we believe that what goes down between your teeth is every bit as important as what passes back up through them.
That's it for today. Bon appetit!
Rusty
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