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The Italian Cajun Kitchen by Donald Rouse M eals have always been momentous in my family. That’s one of the things that drew us into the food

the tomatoes a very long time, at least four to five hours. These days, it’s hard to find time to make red sauce an all day event. My sister-in-law Karen has managed to speed up the sauce without sacrificing flavor. In Sardinia, pasta is usually served as the primi or first course, and a light sauce topped by shavings of Pecorino Romano tends to replace the more familiar red sauce or gravy. The secondo or second course is usually meat or seafood. At our house, that was more likely to be a deer someone shot than a goat or sheep, which are popular in Sardinia; fish caught in Grand Isle; and Louisiana crawfish instead of Mediterranean or even Maine lobsters.

business. My grandfather, J.P. Rouse, immigrated to Louisiana from Sardinia, one of Italy’s largest islands, second only to Sicily. (The name Rouse comes from his German host family). My grandfather went on to found the City Produce Company in 1923. My father joined him in the late ‘40s then moved on to groceries. My grandfather settled in Marrero, Louisiana, and when we were kids, we used to drive from Thibodaux to the West Bank for supper with family, usually at my Uncle

Joe’s house. There would be 25 people at each table, and what seemed like 25 different versions of pasta, along with cheese, bread, olives, salumi and vegetables, like fresh mushrooms with onions and ham. I especially remember my Aunt Marie’s artichokes, which were stuffed with sausage, cheese and bread crumbs. We never got the recipe for those artichokes, but my brother, Tony, comes pretty close, and my sister, Cindy, has perfected a New Orleans-style stuffed artichoke. Growing up in Thibodaux, we ate a lot of gumbo, jambalaya, etouffée, deer, duck, and seafood. I still do. But like so many locals with an Italian heritage, we were just as likely to have Italian sausage as fresh green onion sausage in our refrigerator. And olive salad was just salad. Dad always wanted anti pasta before dinner – clearly that was the Italian in him – but in our case, that usually meant fried oysters

When my father was alive, he did the cooking. If my mom tried to make something, or one of us started a dish and he was anywhere around, he would completely take over. Nowadays, we all cook, and we share our recipes and memories, and compete to see who makes the best ribs, jambalaya, etc. My son, Donny, swears he makes the best lasagna; Tommy swears his wife Karen does. All of this cooking brings us together, the way only food can. As my sister, Cindy, says, “Dad would have loved it.” We’re not Sicilian, but we celebrate St. Joseph’s Day. Every year, my father’s sister, Aunt Anna Mae, brings us the same fig cookies, anise cookies and sesame cookies that we ate growing up — she even spent some time last Christmas teaching my nieces Ali and Rachel how to make them. Even though we make our own Rouses versions, I still take an extra few of Anna Mae’s. Last year we erected altars in our stores for the first time. To learn more about last year’s altars and this year’s, turn to page 22.

and dips. My brother, Tommy, has followed in my dad’s footsteps: he actually served guacamole at Thanksgiving — just like the pilgrims. My favorite anti pasta was and still is anchovy bread, which is fresh bread, usually a roll dough, stuffed with anchovies and Pecorino Romano cheese, a sheep’s milk cheese traditionally made in Sardinia (we sell it at Rouses), and topped with grated Parmesan. I make it the way my father did, by poking holes in the bread and filling them with the anchovies and cheese rather than layering them on top. As Italians, and Louisianaians, we worshiped tomatoes, Italian, Creole and otherwise. I shared my version of my dad’s recipe for spaghetti with meatballs and beef daube in our November-December issue (available online at www.rouses.com). Dad believed the trick to red sauce is to cook

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