A Good Good Friday?

In my family and in many families in this area, a common custom on Good Friday is to gather friends and family to eat boiled crawfish. At first I protested. "What are we doing having a party on Good Friday?" But no one paid attention, and the tradition was established and carried on - now for a good many years in our family.

Back in the day, (I know y'all get tired of hearing me say that, but all old people do it, so get used to it) we kept an austere Good Friday, often attending the three hour church service. No radio, no movies. We were encouraged to do spiritual reading only, no novels or trivia allowed. It was a solemn day.

No longer, and I've come to wonder if the old way was best, after all. I make room in my day for a church service, but I go along with good humor and enjoyment now with the Good Friday crawfish boil.

Pictured above is the greatly diminished pile of crawfish, after most folks have had their fill, although, after a little rest, some go back for seconds. You can see the other ingredients that go into the pot with the crawfish - onions, whole garlic pods, corn, potatoes, lemons, along with the many seasoning ingredients. The crawfish were delicious! My son did a terrific job of cooking them.

The only time I drink beer is when I eat boiled shrimp, crabs, or crawfish. My preference is Corona. I ate a whole pod of garlic. I couldn't resist, although I was going to church after the gathering. We were only a faithful few at the simple, but very nice, 6:00 PM service, most of the parishioners having attended the 12:00 PM service with the traditional musical drama in the churchyard preceding the service. I read two parts in the Passion narrative, the slave and the gatekeeper, but even with that, I had only two lines early on, so I could sink into the rest of the reading without having to worry that I'd miss my cue.

Below are pictures of the doggies who were at the gathering yesterday. The first is Gino, the Maltese, who belongs to my daughter and her family. Isn't he the cutest thing ever? I want one just like him. Do you think we might find a rescue Maltese? Of course, we must wait until Diana passes on, because she thinks all small animals are cats, and I fear that she would do harm to the little dog.


Pictured below are the three Bassets that belong to my son and his family. In the foreground is Trigger, the father of the family. On the right is sweet Babs, the mother, who was supposed to have died of untreatable cancer some time ago, but is still here. She seems comfortable, is apparently not in pain, and is not off her food. In the rear is the dumb son of Babs and Trigger, Junior, one of the stupidest dogs ever. If you knock on that huge head of his, it rings hollow, proof of a very small brain.


The cauldron below, attached to the butane tank, is the cooking pot for the crawfish, crabs, or shrimp. We seldom do large-quantity shrimp boils any longer, because shrimp are more expensive now.

I also use the pot to make my "Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn, and caldron bubble" witch's brew for my voodoo practice.


When I was in England, I gave MadPriest a very special set of Mardi Gras beads with the ingredients for boiling crawfish strung between the beads, a tiny crawfish, a garlic pod, an ear of corn, a lemon, a potato, and even a tiny chef!