Each garden I tend bears the fingerprints of my beautiful Mother who honors the earth with her gentle tending. Everything I have learned of flora and fauna, I learned at her knee, a toddler pulling weeds in her fragrant garden.  I am humbled by her knowledge of things that are green, fruiting and floral, blessed every day by her unending faith - in things that grow - and in me.

I am the fortunate daughter of a Master Gardener, she can revive even the most derelict of specimens with the correct mix of nitrogen, phosphate & potassium.  Through her tutelage I have learned a great deal, mostly Latin, and chemistry.

My earliest memories of my Mother involve her garden, the feeling of grit against the skin, damp knees and dirty nails, learning to distinguish between plants wanted and unwanted. In her teachings I found the undercurrent of harmony, a life instep with nature and the seasons, the cycles of the moon, the angle of the sun.

The Gypsy Garden, in progress...

I have found that diggers of the dirt know best the little secrets of life.

With my master gardener Mother so far away in Nova Scotia, I must lean harder on my other mother, Mother Nature, to continue my garden education.  Her schooling is not as gentle at times, but it is always in perfect balance, and timing.  Under her hand I have learned an ever deepening respect combined with appreciation and patience.

These are the things my Mother already knew, but they are lessons one must learn in one's own garden, some might call it wisdom.

For the many wonderful women in my life; tillers of the soil, who inspire me to dig, seed and grow, I bid you a Happy Mothers Day.  May your garden grow, may it feed you and yours; be it beauty or bounty, may it bring you joy and teach you well.

Happy Mothers Day, Mom.

In our recent conversation I asked Chef Lynn Crawford about the two tattoos in the center of her palms.  For years I have had a curiosity about them, as I've watched her hands on Food Network's Pitchin' In and Restaurant Makeover.

I can tell by her response that she is tired of answering this question "Why does everyone want to know about my tattoos!?" she says with an undertone of exasperation, but she is kind and indulges me.

Forgive the question Chef but we, your people, want to know more about you - and your hands.

I have no ink myself, I've never found an image that I felt I could live with, permanently.  Hell, I can't commit to a hair colour for longer than six months.  I adorn with jewellery, charms, and talismans; they are tokens of my life's journey, while others tell their stories on their skin.

Chef Crawford, hip deep in cranberries on Pitchin' In. Photo Credit: Food Network Canada

Our hands are perhaps our most visible feature, our face may represent us, smile and frown for us but while many cultures cover the face, I don't know of any land that conceals the hands.  Hands grip, grab, reach, caress and scratch, they type, touch and play and (of course), they work.

You can tell a great deal about someone from their hands and you see a great many of them here on Food Gypsy because frankly, it's extremely difficult to craft food without them.

The tattoos we see in glimpses as Lynn Crawford flies though her mise en place are labyrinths, a tribute to the twists and turns of life.

"They are dear to me," replies Chef Crawford  "but, why does anybody really get a tattoo?  I don't know.  I had those done so long ago, like... twenty... twenty-five... a long time ago."

The labyrinth is an ancient symbol, struck in coins as early as the 430BC. Labyrinths appear on cave walls, in pottery and baskets, in sacred texts and on the floors, walls and art of churches all over the world.

It has only one path.  The way in is the way out. There are no blind alleys. The path leads you to the center and out again. It represents the journey of life, to the soul, to oneness; one way in and one way out.

"I am interested," I explain "in what the labyrinth represents in your life.  You have had some very interesting twists and turns in the last few years."

"It's funny how opportunities present themselves in your life, you never know really what would be around the corner" says Crawford.  "If you'd said to me five years ago that I would be at this point it would have been unbelievable.

It really feels like I won a lottery [laughs] because... [more laughter] I'm a very lucky chef!"

In 2009 Chef Crawford left a 24 year career with the Four Seasons Hotel chain, a career that moved her from her native Toronto to New York City and what many consider the pinnacle of success, then she ditched it began a new chapter of her life.  Turning that corner she shifted from employee to employer as she opened her own restaurant in Toronto's Ruby Watchco.

"You look at what life is, your constantly growing.  Hopefully you're growing and your learning and your challenging yourself" says Crawford. "You come to a point where you say 'OK, this is fantastic and I'm so enjoying it but... what's next?'

I always knew I would come back to Toronto.  My mom is here and this is very much home.  I guess you could live anywhere in the world, it sounds like you've done it too, right?  There you are, you're a bit of a Gypsy, I think I'm a bit of a Gypsy myself, I've always moved around and traveled, but home is very important to me.  So coming home to open up a restaurant was always something I've wanted to do."

"Is it everything you thought it would be?"  "And more, much, much more" says Crawford with a wistful tone, a tone that hints of a deep contentedness that only comes from a happy heart.

Head Chef, Lora Kirk and Chef/Owner Lynn Crawford in the kitchen at Ruby Watchco. Photo Credit: Tanja Tiziana yongestreetmedia.ca

With a schedule that sees her day in, day out at a thriving business (two business actually, along with Ruby Watchco there is Ruby Eats, a chef's pantry filled with fresh, local ingredients) and a hit series on the Food Network, that involves a great deal of travel; how does she stay grounded?

"Keep on going" Crawford replies without a flinch, then she laughs "just keep on rollin'!  Of course life is about balance and [pause] I've got to work on that for sure.

But, I enjoy myself, this is my life this is what I do. The traveling [for Pitchin' In], we start off in March and we shoot throughout the whole year. We don't do one big block of shooting, I'm still at the restaurant so I'm out [of town] five or six days, sometimes seven depending on where the location is, it works out to be once or twice a month."

The ideal schedule for a part-time Gypsy, with a love of home.

In life our connections come in many forms, the lives we lead and the stories we share, feed the soul; they nurture, entertain and inspire, thank you Chef Crawford for sharing yours with us.

In the kitchen, food has one way in and one way out, it passes through many hands... like these hands.

Ottawa, you still have time to get your tickets for Chef Lynn Crawford's From The Farm To The Table gala dinner! American Express Winterlude Opening, Friday, February 3, 5:30 pm
Tickets are available until Monday' February 1, at midnight, more information: Winterlude.gc.ca.

Top Photo Credit (Chef Crawford`s hands) coopspeakeats.blogspot.com

Lynn Crawford, hands on and in the kitchen. Photo Credit: lifestylermag.com

Instead of new years resolutions, for many years now I have given each year an overarching life theme to promote personal growth.

Resolutions focus on largely on external change, loosing weight, quitting smoking, eating healthy.  For me a theme takes the focus off the external and focuses on the internal.   Under each theme I have goals, objectives and desires but often times I find that the action organically materializes as a natural consequence of the inner shift, as I set my intent for another year well lived.

In 2010 the theme was "My Life From Scratch" and as soon as it was set, I sold my business, home, car and television and started again.  I traveled 30,000 miles, launched Food Gypsy, reunited with those I loved and pursued my wildest dreams.  I went to culinary school, moved to Ottawa and started over a new city; I created a whole new life, from scratch.

The theme for 2011 was "Bigger & Better".  I thought this meant more cuisine knowledge but quickly found that path was not for me.  Another of life's little twists came when the phone rang and a former (flirty) cuisine instructor asked me out ( here I thought he moved my scorching pans out of a love for butter).  My love life got bigger (and better), I moved to a bigger, better apartment with a bigger, better kitchen.  My career got bigger (as my skills got better) and when my found myself suddenly ill, I got better... while my pants got bigger. (One must be careful how one words these things.)

2011 was a year of challenges and overcoming challenge makes us bigger and better.

This holiday season as the snow fell outside, Chef B (former cuisine instructor, mover of scorching butter, love of my life, companion in the kitchen) produced a small box from under the tree.  He then proceeded to stammer though a disjointed speech that started with "Look, you're a good woman..."

There was some confusion as to what exactly was being asked "I was wondering if you would like to commit to this relationship for a very long time... with a ceremony in between" and what exactly the answer was, I was too distracted by the sparkly ring to reply.  One thing's for sure, life with us is never dull.

So.  Looks like I'm planning a wedding AND a move.  Thus the theme for 2012: "The Great Coming Together" --- an homage to that 'ceremony in between' and the gooey stuff that unites us all.   As usual, I think I have an idea where this will take me, but I've learned it will surprise in new and wonderful ways.  It always does.

The theme for the year was easy, the theme for the wedding is proving much trickier.  Themes that have (so far) been shot down in flames include:

My Big Fat, Gypsy Wedding.  "Think of the DRAMA!" Gypsy. "I'd rather not." Chef B.
The Star Wars Wedding.  "Use the force."  Gypsy.   "Over my dead body." Chef B.
The Nude Wedding, on a beach. "Double the flower budget..." Gypsy. "One word: SAND." Chef B.
The Star Trek Wedding. "Going where no man has gone before." Gypsy "OH MY GOD..." Chef B.
The Hillbilly Wedding, complete with John Deer tractor. "I loves me a tractor." Gypsy "Actually, I kind of dig that." Chef B.  What?  That was a joke...

Back to the drawing board on the wedding thing.  Let's think about the move first, we need a place with two kitchens.

Sharing my life with him is one thing but if he thinks I'm sharing a kitchen, he's got another thing coming.

He got something shiny too...

“Apologies, we appear to be out of soup, can I offer you something of a more philosophical nature?” ~ Corifucius

LIFE is an extraordinary journey.  A little over a year ago I let loose a powerful freedom in my life as I sold my home, my business, my car (and my television) and walked, head up, eyes clear, into adventure.  I decided to allow myself everything I desired; travel, adventure, visits with people I love, education, new vocation and re-location.

I lived like it was my last year on earth.

30,000 miles later, in my new life, I found myself in a hospital with an earnest looking young Doctor saying “Miss Horton, you realize you are in very critical condition, right?”  No, of course not.  "This is NOT what I ordered!” I said.

I know what I ordered, I ordered HAPPY with a side of giggles and extra rainbows.  Don’t remember “sudden-death-due-to-exploding-minor-organs” even being on the menu, so I sent it back.  (It's not the first time I've sent back a medical diagnosis.) Yet another lesson in “be careful what you wish for”.

“When one lives as though one is dying, one may find themselves facing death.” ~ yup, me again.

Thing is, I haven’t always been happy.  Suffered from varying degrees of clinical depression for large chunks of my life, much of it self induced.  I had a serious case of Trytooharditus as well as a nasty bout of Imsoimportant and the side effects of Imustbeperfectateverything.

I'm fortunate to have found a cure for all that... it’s called... HAVING FUN.  I (re)learned it from the great keepers of wisom on this planet, people under the age of seven.

When well meaning friends talk about nuclear fallout, evil conspiracies and doomsday prophecies I counter with: “Ahhhhhhhhhhha, WE’RE ALL GONNA’ DIE!  Oh, wait...”

I’m pretty comfortable with death.  Not ordering it, but very at peace if that’s what I find on my plate because I've really LIVED.  I have had brilliant days and terrible days and love and heartache and passion and deception and if so I slip on a banana peel and go skidding sideways into at the path of an oncoming bus I hope my last thought is: “Hey, is that a shiny dime on the sidewalk?!”

We are all organic bits of flesh, just as sure as that peach in my fridge has a shelf life --- so do I.

So, while I’m here, I choose laughter.  I choose adjectives.  I choose far too many exclamation marks!!!!!  I choose loud singing (slightly off key) in public places and frequent bouts of spontaneous dancing.

I choose to get up early - or late.  I choose quietly sitting in the backyard in the evening watching wild rabbits hop by without fear.  I choose to listen while others are speaking.  I choose to be accountable for my actions.  I choose to love friends and family even when they disappoint.  I choose chocolate and bacon and butter.  I choose not to watch commercials.  I choose to fill my mind, my home and my LIFE with beauty.  I choose all these things because, they make me SMILE.

Some call me naive. (Some have called me worse.)  Oh well.  Don’t see them breaking into spur-of-the-moment fits of giggles, so who’s naive now?

When I take a deep breath and look out the window all I see is miracle after miracle.    And I just... smile.

“There are two ways to live: you can live as it nothing is a miracle; or you can live as if everything is a miracle.” ~ Albert Einstein

I’m gonna’ go make a peach, melon salad now (with a little lime juice and cilantro) I hate to see a peach live an unfulfilled life.

*insert cheesy smiley face emoticon here*

PS:  I feel great!

Kirk Franklin - I Smile

The stomach is a sensitive organ, our source of digestion and nourishment, but let's face it, it doesn't get very good press.

If you are having difficulty with something you "can't stomach it", if you're feeling poorly people promoting pink liquids sing about "upset stomachs", if you can eat anything you're a "garbage gut", if you're nervous you have "butterflies in your tummy". 

What I wouldn't have given these past few months for a few little butterflies.

Instead, I found myself flat out on a hospital bed, not once but twice for a multi-day, multi-hospital tour of the Ottawa healthcare system as my appendix first burst - then (six weeks later) this past Friday, was removed. 

Spare parts, who needs 'em!

Along the way I found myself with a great deal of down time, and in very capable hands.   I even got to take a ride in an ambulance, it was FUN!  (May it be my last.)

To my mind, attitude is everything in life, and along the way I took great care to be grateful for small kindnesses; the extraordinary life I have lead,  and all the truly wonderful people in my life.  What good is creating an extraordinary life if you never give thanks for it?  I do... and often.

Thank you to all those who inquired as to my health and laughed at my quips as I lay there:

"They would not give it in a jar.  They will not let me go too far.  They like me oh so very much.  They are keeping me 'till Monday's lunch." ~ Gypsy Seuss

And made me laugh in return:

"I'm glad that you are feeling well!  Feeling ill's akin to hell.  And soon you'll be as good as new, cookin' bacon as you do!

The time is nigh for you to heal, regain your strength, refuel your zeal.  And to the kitchen you should run--a Gypsy's work is never done!"  ~ KJ Seuss

(Wine blogger extraordinaire, currently propping up the wine industry on my behalf.   Bless him. http://wowinecraft.com/ )

And laugh...

"I do not like it where I am.  I cannot work here on my tan.  For my own home I am achin'.  Where I'll commence with cookin' BACON!"  ~ Norm Seuss

(Fellow bacon lover, posting in my stead when I did not post in Seuss rhyme, shame on me.  Dude.  Really. Wicked. Meds.)

Laughter is the best medicine.

And finally, to the physician that wrote a script that forced me to eliminate all dairy from my diet:  "I curse you with mosquito bites, BIG ONES, on your ankles."  It's a short prescription, so not a horrible Gypsy curse - not as bad as say boils or fleas or --- earwigs.

A BIG "Thank You" to all those who read Food Gypsy, the numbers swell and I am delighted.  We have a few (super) exciting changes coming our way.  Some interesting stories to tell and more eye-popping, tummy-rumbling, life-giving sustenance to shoot.  (I'm in the mood for All Day Breakfast - who's in?)

And back to the business of food and smatterings of gallivanting, and please, oh please, let there be wine again.

"Fan the sinking flame of hilarity with the wing of friendship; and pass the rosy wine." ~Charles Dickens

I'll drink to THAT.

Spent much of my week  horizontal, in the care of the medical professionals at the Ottawa Hospital, Civic Campus.  Turns out my self-diagnosis; first of stomach flu, with resulting pulled muscle, then revised to gallbladder attack (via Internet/Grey's Anatomy) though excellent, was not accurate.  Hello burst appendix.  

Should you or a loved one ever experience a "stomach flu" (vomiting, nausea, fever) with pain that starts in the center then moves and intensifies on the lower right of the abdomen, get thee post haste to a physician, you may have appendicitis.  DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT wait a week. --- this has been a public service announcement. 

The resulting infection could have killed a mere mortal.  Of course, for a Jedi like myself it is simply a matter of realigning with wellness - body, mind & soul.   It will take a while but robust individual that I am, having taken extraordinary care of my health for many years, I bounce better than many. 

My medical care was truly excellent, the nursing staff was kind and attentive.  Where the medical system failed however was in providing one of the basic components of life:  FOOD.

The tray that sent me sputtering, spitting and looking for my soap box.

First there was the tiny matter of attempting to kill me with aspartame.  

When a person is battling infection, why would one tax the liver further by making it filter a chemical sweetener?  The liver is a superstar organ; metabolizing fat, aiding in detoxification, and production of biochemicals necessary for digestion.  Add that to glycogen storage, decomposition of red blood cells, plasma protein synthesis, hormone and bile production; quite frankly; my liver is busy enough already.  

Next they fed me a gelatin dessert.  Now, I have nothing against a good gelatin dessert but again, how many chemicals is one overtaxed system supposed to handle?  I'm in the hospital already.  "Are you trying to keep me here?  Who do you work for?!  WHO DO YOU WORK FOR?!"  (It's a conspiracy, they were trying to get me hooked on chemicals.) 

All this after I made it a point to tell staff that I react to "food additives & preservatives", I even had a red bracelet that informed staff of same.  On my tray, again and again processed, chemically coloured, artificially favored items appeared.  How can I digest this plastic you call margarine and why is there no 'natural' option?   How is one to heal fed by adipic acid, artificial flavor, disodium phosphate sodium citrate, fumaric acid, and the colorant red 40?    

On admission I was asked what religion I practice ("Jedi") but never once did someone talk to me about food.  Why? 

In this flesh cocoon, that we call the human body we require three things for life  & vitality on this planet - air, food and water.  By not attending to my needs nutritionally, in my mind the system failed to deliver one of the basic human needs.  Simple.  

Now, before medical professionals and dietary hospital workers get all up in arms saying that large hospitals cannot possibly customize each plate to each patient - I would like to point out that I never once received someone else's medication, IV drip or diagnosis.   

There is chasm of difference between can't and won't.  All I want is healthy, natural food.   

That being said... where the dietitians, prep cooks & delivery personal did go right was in the last tray of hospital food set before me.  Breakfast consisted of coffee (watery, but still coffee), grape juice (chemicals, no thanks) 2% milk, cooked oatmeal (can't go wrong with oatmeal), dry brown toast and a boiled egg (perfectly cooked).  (Condiment options included margarine, artificial sweetener, pepper and diet jam.  Diet jam?!)   

This tray was the key to my being released to recuperate at home until surgery in several weeks time as opposed to further 'incarceration'.  The conditions were:  a fever-free night, clean blood work and keeping down solid (hospital) food.  

A food challenge.  I simply smiled... "Obviously you do not know who you're dealing with.  Bring it."  

Home.  At last.  There is no aspartame here.  I am safe.  I see a cause in my future.

GYPSY NOTE:  In light of current health, the blog may be a bit spotty from time to time, we thank you for your patience.  The good news is, I'm on a holistic health mission so dishes delivered promise to be tasty and good for you!  More soon, but first we nap.  

Your challenge should you choose to accept it.

Moving.  An extraordinary way to come to terms with just how much stuff you have, by picking it all up and trotting it down the hall, into an elevator, out the parking garage, into a truck, down the highway, across a bridge and up a flight of stairs. 

It's heavier than you think and more than you will ever need.

My legs benefit, shorts weather is fast approaching.  This following a week of painting.  Brilliant new shape up routine. 

Now I face the kitchen, which is cobbling together quicker than I'd imagined.  Bright sunny yellow and a couple of red cocottes.  I shall be cooking, writing and shooting in no time. 

Joyously, the new digs include a large patch of dirt to play in and much to my delight signs that someone before me loved this same soil; green things are shooting above ground to be tended, admired and eaten --- including a veritable hedge of rhubarb.  

Big green leaves and red stems, now shooting up flowers, which we shall top, and a few sunny days from now, arm-fulls of rhubarb will be trotted upstairs into one receptacle or another. 

I see much delicious baking in my near future... plus the possibility of a few compotes, jams and chutneys. 

Let the pie begin.

I'm gonna' eat this!

The weekend arrives and Mr. Patience - who has an extraordinarily low tolerance for waiting in line, full parking lots and incompetent people - suggests a trip to Ikea.

One must assume he has a need to self-punish, perhaps he burned something in the kitchen or he was particularly hard on the commentators on the Golf Channel and now he feels guilt.

Without a strategy this is a day that could disintegrate into temper tantrums, chain smoking and torrents of French cursing or worse yet... silence.  Which is why, in the magic land of build-it-yourself furnisher --- there's Ikea hot dogs.

Like the finish line after a marathon race, those 50 cent Ikea hot dogs loom like a blue ribbon.

Clever people the Swedish.

So, would the forth one be "red herring"?

Of course there are other Scandinavian delicacies to be had; herring, princess cakes, pannkakor and cinnamon rolls. What?  Wait... cinnamon buns aren't Swedish. (terrific though, oh Ikea cinnamon rolls, how I adore you.)

Unlike other items at Ikea, Ikea Food comes pre-assembled, no allen key required, simply dress and go.

I ask you, where else can you get a 50 cent hot dog?

All beef wieners, steamed to perfection, on soft, enriched, white buns, served in a delicate paper wrapper with your choice of ketchup, mustard and relish and only 195 calories.  (Don't worry your pretty little head about how many of those calories come from fat, you just walked through that HUGE store.  Fine, if you really must know Ikea has very thoughtfully posted the nutritional value of all of its food - click here.)

If a meltdown was imminent my instructions were to go immediately for hot dogs and run back yelling --- "START THE CAR!  START THE CAR!"

Fortunately, were were able to cleverly navigate isles full of couples squabbling and cranky children as well as several surly staff members and managed (instead) to find the three, lone, happy Ikea employees working on this particular Saturday.  Even bravely attempted food styling with three women behind me, seven trays of hot dogs between them and only one condiment machine working.  There was much rolling of eyes.

Now the proud owner of "Ikea's Real Swedish Food Book" ($3.99, should have bought TWO, start Christmas shopping early), I see meatballs in my future.  Of course, I must insist on wearing a Viking helmet while cooking from it, the kind with the horns.  I also have tea lights, everyone should have a bag of 500 tea lights.

Only 90 minutes from the first moment that we stepped foot inside, we stepped outside - after one, final line-up, to enjoy a little sunshine  and a hot dog at our impromptu "Scandinavian Tailgate Party" in the Ikea parking lot.

"This is how the Vikings watched football!" declares Mr. Patience, exuberant with his purchases - and his hot dog(s).

Happy "Scandinavian Tailgate Party" Day.

No... seriously. Parking lot + picnic = instant romance. We are simple creatures...

Celebrate every moment, every milestone, every day, every corner turned.  This is your life. ~ Gypsy

Friday, March 25, 2011. Graduation day at Le Cordon Bleu Ottawa.

A day to celebrate the achievements of friends and former classmates, cheering wildly from the bleachers, herding them into small groups for forced photo opportunities.  These are the moments that make up our lives.  Milestones remind us how far we've come, they demonstrate the trajectory of our life and allow time for renewal and adjustment.

Each life is formed by the choices we make.  Perhaps the most important life lesson - learned at any age - is the lesson of learning to trust yourself and the choices you make.  Interesting that this day of celebration should fall on the anniversary of the day that changed my life.  One year to the day since my final departure from The Dragonfly Inn, the day I embarked on a whole new life.   In it - I gave myself a freedom that before I'd only dreamed of.

I created something totally new and recreated myself in the process.  On those days when doubt creeps in, I step back to see the bigger picture, the underlying passion that is the foundation of this new life.  Five countries and 30,000 miles.  I let my desire for salt and sand lead, followed with an insatiable desire to learn.  I did things I've never done before, I learned to 'wing it' in whole new ways, and the results are nothing short of amazing.

I learned to think less and feel more.  The heart has greater intelligence than the brain --- it will tell you when to move forward, when to stand still and when to run like hell.

I learned to listen to my heart... one thing I know for sure... it always works out.   Every single time.   So if it looks like it's not working out that just means it's not done cooking yet.

"How long do we cook it Chef?"
"Until it's done..."

I chose not to walk across the same stage as my former classmates now graduating from Intermediate Cuisine. Instead I chose my own stage, pushing to new heights and professional achievements, following my bliss.  I have my own trajectory of life, love and personal happiness.

The way we create success is not by turning our back on those we love, but by wrapping our arms around them at every opportunity, no matter where we go, because that is where happiness lies...

... in the heart.

I have a good heart.  It guides me well.  I trust it.  It loves champagne and celebrations, naps, chocolate and laughter.  Can't wait to see where that heart takes me next.  It keeps going on about Italy... this should be interesting.

Apparently, it's not done yet.

This is my own version of  'Superior Cuisine'.   This Gypsy has itchy feet.

Congratulations on a job well done! Drink in your life...

Cab divers are an excellent source of information when traveling. 

Upon arrival at any location, I cross my fingers and hope for passable English, and then pursue a rapid-fire question and answer session on the way to my accommodations.

Never have I had better advice than upon arrival than in New Orleans on a solo business trip in 1998.

My taxi driver, Ray, was an older gentleman, tall and lean with bright blue eyes, and a head of silver hair as thick as his Louisiana backwoods drawl.

I began peppering him with questions, as he drove me to my French Quarter hotel, scribbling notes in a moleskin I keep in my purse just for such conversations.  In the first ten minutes I had the local rundown on the best blues, jazz and hurricane cocktails in town; all with a smile, his front gold tooth gleaming.

Then I followed Ray's recommendations on crab cakes, crawfish and pralines – along with the requisite pronunciation corrections on same.

“It’s PRAW-LEENS dahlin’, not PRAY-LEENS.  I won’t have ma’ gal talkin’ like a Yankee” he said shaking his head.

‘Ma’ gal’ in under 30 minutes.  New record.  Roger that, nixing ‘Yankee speak', rounding vowels for duration of stay.

Soon Ray was weaving through traffic using only his elbows, as hands were required to fully illustrate his point, giving me the skinny on “grits & vittles” in the French Quarter, the directions taking me down lesser traveled alleys and through back doors.

But it was his after dark advice that truly won me over, his blue eyes suddenly steely in the rear-view mirror...

“Naw, I don’t want to see a nice gal like you, all the way from Canada, flashin’ her titties for beads. The gals that do that get themselves into a heap a’ trouble thinkin’ it’s all fun and games. It’s not.

I say the same thing to ma’ own daughters... yo’ titties are worth more than a string of plastic beads!”

Truer words were never spoken.

Not really a big fan of plastic myself.  When I say “shiny” I mean “SHINY”.  Silver perhaps.  Then dinner.  At the very least a crab cake or two, a bit of candlelight, perhaps the gentleman would care to submit a financial statement...

And even then --- I dunno.

Ray became my on-call cabbie for the duration of my stay, going so far as to walk me to my door when the party was on in the French Quarter.  I remained safe and sound and extraordinarily well fed in the midst of the chaos that is New Orleans with his sage Cajun advice, and became a big fan of New Orleans and her people.

Funny. Kind. Makers of many things truly delicious.
Believers in cream, butter, pork fat, spice and great music.

Glad to see New Orleans tourism recovering after Hurricane Katrina and the people of the city below sea level bouncing back once again.   The city legendary for its party certainly did not let me down.  One current wish on my life list is a return to New Orleans for Mardi Gras, along with ‘Carnival In Rio’ and ‘Tom Jones, live In Las Vegas’. What can I say, I love a good party... and Tom Jones.

With Mardi Gras right around the corner (March 8, 2011), thought we would do a little Cajun tribute on Food Gypsy with a simple menu that includes a spicy Jambalaya and classic Beignets for a little Louisiana heat and sugar (or as Ray would say "sugah"); no matter where in the world you may be.

In honour of Cajun Ray and savvy cabbie advice - everywhere.

Click here for Gypsy’s Spicy, Saucy Jambalaya Recipe and here for Ben’s Beignets de Carnival.

(Flashing is optional.)

Gypsy Note:  Sadly, all of my archive photos (on 35mm), including shots from that New Orleans adventure remain in storage.  It won't be long before they're rescued.   Even then, no shots of Ray, he flat out refused to have his photo taken claiming a voodoo curse was on him... then he laughed.  To this day I'm not sure if he was kidding.