She was from New Orleans. To me that seemed exotic, unusual. A different country almost. Our freshman year, as we shared a dorm room, we shared tales of our short histories.
My stories were down to earth. Tame.
Her stories were anything but. The different culture that is the city of New Orleans. And the tales of Mardi Gras. Of weeks off from school. Of the parades and crew balls.
And then it came in the mail. Express delivered from her mom. King Cake.
I never knew quite how a wreath shaped braid of dough with purple, green and yellow sugar sprinkles, with a tiny baby inside could be so absolutely delicious.
In the years that followed my introduction to Mardi Gras, I've been to New Orleans many times. Even for Mardi Gras a couple. Gone out to celebrate Fat Tuesday in other cities.
None quite compare to King Cake in a dorm room with one of my life-long best friends hearing her tales of the celebration and the city.
Happy Mardi Gras!
1 comment:
It sounds delicious.
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