Mirliton Festival

(That title should be read phonetically: "melli-tohn" festival.)

Who knew there were, or even could be, so many ways to eat mirliton? That beautiful, pear-shaped, light green vegetable of the squash family, called chayote in other parts of the country, but beloved as the humble "mellitohn" here in New Orleans. When my sister L informed me last Saturday that she, her husband, and some friends were heading out to the Bywater Mirliton Festival and Arts Show, I knew immediately what Big Man and I were going to do for our time together. ("Our time together" on a Saturday means the time from whenever Big Man wakes up from the gig the night before to whenever he has to leave for that night's gig -- I usually write my sermons while he's at the nightclub.) I came home and announced, "We're going to the Mirliton Festival!" and he told me about a television program he saw when he lived Up North, long before we met, when he didn't even fantasize about living in belle NOLA, that was all about the many different food festivals we have in South Louisiana, and he had thought to himself, "Those people are CRAZY!" Crazy or not, we were going to the 2008 Mirliton Festival.

It was another gorgeous day, and I've described enough of them that you know exactly what I mean. When we got out of the car, Big Man said, "You gotta love a place where you can get sunburned in November!" And it was true that you needed a both sunhat and some good sunblock to combat the brightness of that cloudless sunny sky. It was kind of hot, too, low 80s.

The crowd was well mixed -- black and white, young families, older people, Baby Boomers, kids running around -- and not overwhelming in numbers. There were booths set up all over the playground in Bywater that hosts not only the annual Mirliton Festival, but also the monthly Bywater Art Market. (It would have been almost unthinkable in previous times, but Bywater is now a hotbed of creative artist types, opening foundries, studios, and galleries in converted factories, grocery stores, and houses.) The booths housed drinks, crafts, art work, baked goods and produce (fresh mirlitons, naturally), a children's play area, and food, most of which featured mirliton in some way as an ingredient.

My mother used to make two kinds of stuffed mirliton for us when I was little, chopped shrimp and ground meat. In either case, you bake or boil or steam the mirliton, and mash the pulp with sauteed holy trinity (onions, celery, and bell pepper of course), spices and bread crumbs, and then add whatever you're using, like the chopped shrimp or the ground beef, then you bake the whole thing with seasoned bread crumbs as a crust on top. That's basically how we ate it. So I was surprised to find such entrees as gumbo with mirliton, shrimp chowder with mirliton, Indonesian curried mirliton, slices of brisket on paneed mirliton, and of course stuffed mirliton with crabmeat, shrimp, sausage, and/or ground beef. All of this is well and good, and while it was new to me, it did not freak me out.

What freaked me out was the dessert mirliton. Yes, that's right -- dessert mirliton. I went over to the booth that was selling the concoction (along with some very nice gourmet coffee) and asked them about the unusual dish. "Try it!" they wheedled, "just TRY it!" From their tone, I judged that a lot of people were freaking out. I asked them about the dish, got all the details, and I just shook my head in disbelief. "Y'all," I said, "my mama is rolling over in her grave." (That was just a figure of speech, as my mother was cremated, at her wish, after her death. But still, I was thinking that my mother would have just gone crazy at the idea.)

So here's what caused all the consternation: It was a square of puff pastry, covered in a rich and dark home-made fudge sauce, and topped with a mirliton marshmallow, toasted to a golden brown. Yes, don't look at it like I'm the one who's crazy -- a MIRLITON MARSHMALLOW!! They had followed a recipe for home-made marshmallow, added slivers of cooked mirliton to the batch, and then toasted it to a golden color before cutting it into little squares.

I hate to be a chicken, and I pride myself on at least tasting "new food." So we bought one, and the thing was absolutely delicious, although wildly improbable. (A little while later, over at the Phoenix Recycling booth, we were raving about it to a young woman and she exclaimed, "I feel like I've been punked! I just had a brownie for dessert!" Before we left, we caught her over at the mirliton marshmallow booth, rectifying her situation.)

So thanks to the creative folks who dreamed up such an innovation, and thanks to the weather gods for the lovely day. I may not ever make mirliton marshmallows at home myself, but at least I can say I've tried 'em.