Mardi Gras, King Cakes, and That Time I Tried to Tackle a Drag Queen

Ahhhh...Mardi Gras. Fat Tuesday is the last "HURRAH!" before we Catholics enter a 40 day season of penitence and spiritual reflection.  Or according to my past performance, two days of adhering to my Lenten pledge, then lying about still adhering to my chosen penance for another 38 days all the while indulging alone behind closed doors.  But, then I confess about the lying and it's cool.

One of my favorite Mardi Gras (Plural: Graux?) is one I don't actually remember.  There was naturally, a great deal of alcohol consumed. I am not going to lay blame, but I will say this: It was not my fault.  No one can go to New Orleans, Louisiana and not imbibe unless they were dead before they got there. 

(Before I go any further let's address how to address New Orleans. Write it "NOLA" and say "nyoo orluns." "New OrLEENS" is only acceptable in song and "Nyawlins" is allowed only if you are a native. Or you are given permission by a native.  If you are a non-aboriginal and do not have the required papers and say, "NAWlins" you will sound like a douche and be severely ridiculed.  Don't say you weren't warned.)

Picture it: It is 2005 and Hootie and the Blowfish, Gene Simmons and The Pointer Sisters were the Grand Marshals for the Endymion Parade.  Clearly, it was a confusing time for everyone.  We had a base camp at a lovely hotel on St. Charles Avenue.   The idea was to watch the parade from the veranda in smug gentility and superiority.  A few Dubonnet Cocktails and Abitas and the four of us were feeling more superior than a decent servant of our Lord and Savior should, and well... gentility got flushed down the crapper never to be seen again.

It was a Saturday night in NOLA and the Saturday night before Mardi Gras means the people watching is FANTASTIC. I am a great fan of people watching as I am rather socially awkward and would prefer to be sitting on the sidelines observing than making a butt of myself and then fixating on every nuance of my embarrassment for the rest of my life. Seriously, I do that.

Well, we were watching the crowd and the parade pass in amiable drunken company of a group that ranged in age from early 30's (us) to late 60's.  I was being chatted up by a man older that my father (Old guys dig me. I have no idea why.) when my attention was caught by a flash of electric blue in my peripheral vision.  I turned around and saw the MOST MAGNIFICENT DRAG QUEEN (MMDQ) I had ever seen.  She had to be 6' 5'.  I'm tellin' ya - Sista made RuPaul look like a Walmart Greeter.   Yeah. That good. So, naturally, I had to get a closer look. 

One thing that amuses and frustrates my closest friends is that when I drink I get HYPER. REAAALLLY Hyper. Hyper with a capital "H" hyper. Chihuahua puppy on crack hyper.  The crippling shyness from which I suffer and impropriety filter I usually maintain in decent society dissolves and I suddenly lack any attempt at impulse control.  (Which is why I do not often drink to excess anymore.) That being said...

I RAN hell for leather towards the MMDQ.  Luckily, I was in the company of my BFFWAPs (Best Forever Friends With Penises), the late, great Brien "BK" Kelley and Paul Ignatius Larabee. (Seriously.  His mother named him that. But, who am I to talk. More on that another day.) My BFFWAPS know me well enough to keep an eye out for any sign that I may be preparing to "tunnel out" of the prison of reasonably accepted social behavior.  Snap my leash.  Go ape cookies.  <Insert your favorite phrase>.  BK, being of sounder mind and quicker reflexes than Paul, managed to catch up to me despite my almost inhuman-like ability to easily weave through crowds. (I am 5 ft tall.  If I want to see events, I have to get to the front of the house.  Otherwise, I could be stuck looking at tramp stamps and Skoal ring outlines instead.) The MMDQ was holding court on the street and BK managed to jerk me back before I could make a lunge towards her by grabbing the hood the sweater I was wearing. (I don’t know why more parents don’t make their kids wear zipped hoodies.  It is a very effective method of restraint.  Sort of like a choke chain.)  I managed to catch her attention, as it is sort of hard for a 5ft adult woman to “blend in” when a 6’ 3” man is practically lifting her off the ground by a hooded sweater, arms forced outwards due to armhole wedgies.  It sort of looked like this:

But replace the underpants with a hoodie. And I was too entranced to cry. So it was not a “wedgie” in the classic sense. (A “hoodgie”, maybe?) So there I am dangling like a recalcitrant puppy by the scruff of its neck and say, “I like your wig! And where do you get shoes that big that aren’t fugly?!” The MMDQ responded graciously with, “Aren’t you DAHR-LIN! And online, of COURSE!” Now, I don’t remember this next part, but apparently I got loose and lept upon the MMDQ and attempted to touch the wig.  Now, in my defense, it was a lovely wig.  A pageboy cut that was so blue it hurt your eyes.  Anyways, The MMDQ must have been used to this sort of attention, because she took it in stride.  BK dragged me away and the night went on. 

I never thought to see The MMDQ or the wig again.  I felt she was destined to be my great white, whale. (I cannot bring myself to call her “Moby Dick.” It just seems wrong.) However, a few nights later we were again on the veranda and we were having a “Sing for Your (Liquid) Supper” thing happening. I sang the only song that came to mind (besides the theme song to “Silver Spoons”, natch) which was Judy Garland’s “Rock-a-Bye Your Baby (with a Dixie Melody).” (I remember NOTHING about that, but I do know the oh-so-politically incorrect words to the song, so it is plausible.) Well, of COURSE, if there is any reference to Judy, Barbra or Bette, the attention of a certain section of the community is liable to be engaged.  Well, wouldn’t you just KNOW it! The MMDQ witnessed my performance! I did not recognize her because she was wearing a different wig.  (A blond one sort of like the one Frenchy wore to Rydell’s dance in “Grease.” You know the one.  Meh.)  We invited her and her entourage up to the veranda for some Dubonnet Cocktails and chatted a bit.  (BK said he did this to avoid the possibility of me being prosecuted for assault.  Whatever.) She and her court left, but returned a little while later with a Winn-Dixie bag.  I was called to the front of the veranda where I was presented with the MOST MAGNIFICENT ELECTRIC BLUEBERRY WIG. I wore it for the rest of the night and part of the next day.  I would have worn it on the flight home, but Paul wouldn’t let me.

Laissez les bon temps rouler, ya’ll.

Anyways…the King Cake.  It is basically a big honking cinnamon bun filled with raisin and pecan goo. (MMM..."goo.")  There are places that offer cream cheese or marzipan or other fillings but, WHY? It is then iced with confectioner's sugar and water goo (MMM...more "goo.") and decorated with Mardi Gras colors of purple (representing justice), green (faith) and gold (power).  After it is baked, a trinket (often a plastic baby representing Baby Jesus.  You can find them with the favors in the Baby Shower aisle of a craft store.  if not, then use a dried kidney bean or a dubloon or something else.  Be creative. I can't be expected to do everything.) is pushed up into the bottom of the crust. (A baby is pushed up into bottom crust. I just grossed my own self out.)  Traditionally, where there are lots of King Cake Parties, the person who gets the baby is to provide the cake at the next party.  I took a cake into work and declared that whoever found it would choose a cookie, cupcake or muffin to be baked and shared in their honor. The idea was a hit.
  

Assembling Your Team

PASTRY:

1 cup milk

1/4 cup butter

2 (.25 ounce) packages active dry yeast

2/3 cup warm water (110 degrees F/45

degrees C)

1/2 cup white sugar

2 eggs

1 1/2 teaspoons salt

1/2 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg

5 1/2 cups all-purpose flour

FILLING:

1 cup packed light brown sugar (By the way: If you don't have any or the brown sugar you have is as hard as a brick, you can put a cup of white sugar in the bowl of a food processor and add 1 1/2 Tablespoons of molasses for light brown and 3 Tablespoons for dark.)

1 tablespoon ground cinnamon

2/3 cup chopped pecans

1/2 cup all-purpose flour

1/2 cup raisins

1/2 cup melted butter
Two plastic babies, two dried kidney beans or two trinkets to place in cake once it has finished baking.

ICING:
1 cup confectioner's or "powdered" sugar
1 tablespoon water (or more; See Note below)
1/4 teaspoon vanilla or almond extract (Or my favorite, Fiori di Sciilia; If you spill it on you, no worries. You will smell GLORIOUS.)

Lightly coat a large bowl with vegetable oil and place the ball of sweet dough* the prepared bowl.  Spray a sheet of cling film lightly with cooking oil, cover and place the bowl in a warm area until the dough has doubled in size-about 2 hours.  While it is rising, prepare the filling by mixing all the ingredients together.  Set aside.

* This picture show the sweet dough already rising after about 30 minutes.  I forgot I that I wanted to take a picture. So, starting out, it looks a bit smaller. (That's what she said.) 

Now you have a brief respite from mixing or kneading, so take a nap, watch a move that runs an hour and 45 minutes or clean up the kitchen.  Or run out to pick up confectioner's or the colored sugars you will need for the icing, but forgot to pick up or thought you had on hand but don't.

Or, fix a Dubonnet Cocktail

2 parts Dubonnet Rouge (Wegman's carries it near the port and sherry. Wegman's carries everything.)

1 part Bombay Gin

1 slice orange or lemon
2 ice cubes, plus more for shaker

Shake and then strain into a rocks glass with two ice cubes and a slice of citrus fruit.

  

After two hours, the sweet dough will have doubled.  Punch it down and then divide it in half.

Turn one of the two blobs out onto a lightly floured surface and roll out into a rectangle about 11 inches by 14 inches with the long edge toward you.  Sprinkle half the filling evenly over the dough, leaving about an inch of dough along the edge close to you clean.   Brush the edge lightly with water so it is damp, but not wet.  Then, take the long edge farthest away from you and begin rolling towards you, jellyroll style making sure the seam is on the bottom.  Sealing the seam and making sure the weight of the dough and filling are directly over it, helps mitigate the risk of the filling "pooping" out the seam.  Brush on end of the roll to dampen it.

 

 Next, take the two ends and join them to form a ring.
Place the ring on a piece of parchment paper on a cookie sheet.

Finally, take kitchen shears and snip or take a sharp knife and cut slits around the dough to vent.

Let the dough rise again until doubled-about 45 minutes.  (By the way, I have forgotten this step before and everything came out fine.)Repeat with the other ring.**
**Once you have formed a ring, you can freeze the dough. When you are ready to bake it, defrost it in the refrigerator for approximately 5 hours then let it rise in a warm place until doubled then bake as directed. OR, roll the filled dough jellyroll style then slice pinwheels about an inch wide.  Grease a 9in x13in pan and place the slices cinnamon swirl side up about 1 inch apart about on inch apart.  Let the dough double and bake for about 15-20 minutes until golden brown and the rolls sound slightly hollow when you thump them.  Then ice as directed below.

Then bake at 375 degrees F for about 30 minutes.  The bread will be brown and sound hollow when tapped when it is done.  While the cake is still warm, take a plastic baby and insert it into the ring from underneath, making sure it cannot be seen.

Let the cake cool then mix 1 cup of confectioner's sugar with 1 tablespoon of water and 1/4 teaspoon vanilla or almond extract. (The extract is optional.  I just don't like the taste of "raw" confectioner's sugar.) NOTE: You can use more water if you want a thinner "glaze."  It depends on the humidity of the room you are in, just add a little water until you reach the consistency you like.

Finally, using purple, green and gold decorating sugar, sprinkle the cake with the colors in alternating "stripes." You are done!

Here is a picture of my cake and this Year's Mardi Gras King with a refugee from the Krewe of Venus.  Or the Krewe of Kinque.  (Hard to tell.)

However, let's say for the sake of argument that you did everything right but the dough still pulled away from itself and you ended up with a horseshoe instead of a crown.  Then, make the best of the situation and tell everyone it is as tiara, not a crown and it is a Queen Cake. In true Queen fashion, work whatcha got!

And that reminds me...I still have that electric blue wig.  But, my days of scaling 6'5" drag queens are now over.  Nowadays, Zack will take it out of the closet when he needs to feel pretty.