• Five lbs fish cut into two inch squares One cup bacon drippings One large onion (chopped) One large bell pepper (chopped) Five stalks celery (chopped) Two cloves garlic (chopped) One eight ounce can of tomato paste One sixteen ounce can of stewed tomatoes One small bunch of green onions (chopped) One small bunch of parsley (chopped) Salt, pepper, cayenne pepper, Worcestershire (to taste)

1. In an iron pot, saute the onion, bell pepper, celery and garlic very slowly until vegetables are fully cooked but not yet brown.
2. Add tomato paste, a can of water, and the stewed tomatoes.
3. Add green onions and half of the chopped parsley.
4. The remaining parsley will be used to garnish.
5. Cook two to two and a half hours at a very low temperature.
6. Add fish, which is deboned and cut into two inch squares.
7. Cook only twenty minutes after adding fish.
8. Serve over hot, cooked rice. Garnish with chopped parsley.

The modern American worker depends upon the labors of the fry cook. Everyday at noon, office buildings across the United States empty and millions of rushed souls flock to their favorite fast food restaurants. In the confines of cramped cars, these speedy men and women eye the clock while they inhale greasy servings of artificiality at a frantic pace. After the gorging, these bloated diners hurry back to their respective places of business, brushing away the only reminders of a mechanical meal as they speed. Quick, dirty and fattening, this noontime ritual reduces food to fuel.

Once, long before the McDonalds lunch hour, the midday break meant a little more. Before the advent of the drive thru window, dusty, sweaty, work-weary laborers travelled homeward around midday, their spirits buoyed by the thought of a waiting meal and a brief respite. Elegie LeBlanc, a contractor from rural Breaux Bridge, Louisiana, made this noontime trek with a troop of hulking, famished workmen, underlings under his employ. While Elegie drove home, his wife Mae Rees worked dutifully, adding the last touches to a steaming, boiling pot of cortbullion, a fish stew many claim she perfected. Grandchildren joined her, pouring into the kitchen like crazed furies. Mrs. LeBlanc shooed them away or put them to work, laying out dishes and readying cups as she issued orders in Americanized French. Eventually, Elegie's truck came to a stop in the front yard and a load of workers, many of them black, exited the bed. Constantly embattled in the racially charged atmosphere of 1950's Louisiana, these men took their places alongside white co-workers on Elegie's plank porch and waited for their meal. Inside, Mrs. LeBlanc heaped rice onto every plate and, with a steady hand, she raised a soup-filled ladle. The matron carefully spread a layer of fish-peppered broth over each bed of rice. Elegie, his employees, and his grandchildren all lined up, plates in hand. With varying speed, the lunch guests found seats outside and began to eat. Askew, begrimed overalls lost their foul stench as the thoroughly seasoned redfish broth cleared sinuses. The shade of the porch sheltered the sun-beaten bodies of the workmen and cool, clear water slaked unbearable thirst. The children finished quickly with slurps and smacks, satisfied sounds their Cajun matriarch welcomed. Done with their meals, the grandchildren resumed their play, chatting idly and performing for a chewing, captive audience. After a proper and timely period of digestion, the crew gathered itself, returned to the truck and departed, bound for another grueling half day of construction.

This lost spectacle, the homemade lunch and the down home lunch hour, still sticks in the mind of those aging LeBlanc grandchildren, men and women who are quickly approaching their late sixties. The porch where Elegie's sagging crew regained its strength fell to a bulldozer, but one of those dancing grandchildren still lives in the house Elegie's son built, the house she left everyday around noon on her walk to a workingman's lunch. Its back windows look out on the lawn where Elegie parked his truck and its kitchen is occasionally filled with the smell of cortbullion.