Author Archives: Kyle Henderson

Cajun Kringle cakes

One day an old Cajun man told his grandchildren this story. “Come over here,” he said, “Set yo’sef down and lemme tell ya da story of da Cajun Kringle.

“It all happen a long time ago. D’ere was a little baker called his ‘sef Alfonse. Dis man was very generous. Every mornin’ he would wake up at 4:00 a.m. an den light his oven and begin da process of makin’ his Kringles. When he would finish baking dem Kringles, he would load dem into his pirogue for the trip down da bayou to begin deliberin’ dem to his family and friends.

“One mornin’ on the bayou, a big gator jumped on his boat and said ‘Gimme all your Kringles.’ Alphonse grabbed his push pole and beat dat gator on his head and told him da Kringles was not for him. Dat night da baker started cookin’ his Kringles early cause he had a large order to deliver. As he look out da corner of his eye, he saw dat gator cryin’ at da window. Being a very compassionate ole man, he made a promise wit dat gator. He said if da gator would pull Alfonse and his pirouge down da bayou to make his Kringle deliveries, Alfonse, he would give a special Kringle to the gator each day. The gator agreed. The next mornin’ all da Cajun families got their Kringles from Alfonse and da gator.

“So legend has it dat all da families along da bayou wait each mornin’ to see Alfonse and his gator bring dem their Cajun Kringles®. So children, remember dat lil ole baker, Alfonse, and his gator every time your family receives a Cajun Kringle.

My informant insisted that I recopy the entire story from the back of one of the Kringle cake packages.  She tells me that she grew up with Kringle cakes and that they were a staple of every Christmas party she went to as a child.  She even actually read me the story with a Cajun accent because she said I needed to hear it as a native Louisianan would tell it!  To her, this story is a part of her childhood that demonstrates the area’s connection with food.  My informant is always telling me about the food in her native town of New Orleans and that nothing around the country can compare to it.  I have to say that I believe her because when I visited the city myself, I was blown away by the deep-seated affair the city has with its food.  Although I didn’t grow up with this story (having been raised in Chicago), when I heard it I immediately felt a connection with the Kringle cake before I tasted it, and since then I’ve always associated the taste with a funny story about an alligator on the bayou.

Tupac

Tupac isn’t really dead, he just faked his death to escape the spotlight.

My informant tells me about how he believes that Tupac Shakur did not really get shot in Las Vegas in 1996, but rather faked his own death.  He says that he believes Suge Knight when the former friend of Tupac claims that no murderer was found because there in fact was no murderer.  When I ask my informant why he would do this, he says that it’s a good way to become an instant legend in the recording industry.  This is a big deal to my informant, who is from LA, because Tupac recorded much of the most influential rap music in the mid-90’s when my informant was growing up on the Westside.  Although I find it amusing to entertain the myth that Tupac faked his own death, I have to admit that I am more skeptical about it than my informant.  I believe that, no matter where Tupac may have been hiding for the past sixteen years, somebody would have recognized him and called him out.  On the other hand, I know that Tupac would have the resources to stay pretty well hidden, so maybe it is not entirely out of the realm of possibility?

Irish farewell poem

May the road rise up to meet you,

May the wind be always at your back.

May the sun shine warm upon your face,

The rains fall soft upon your fields.

And until we meet again,

May God hold you in the palm of his hand.

Maybe it is just because I am Irish-American (like my red-headed informant), but I feel like this is possibly the warmest goodbye a friend or stranger could offer me.  My informant tells me that, although his upbringing wasn’t stocked with Irish poems, this is the one that he remembers best because of the sheer beauty of it.  He and I both agree that while the Irish can come across as a bit feisty sometimes and nearly always a bit too loquacious, they are the most kind-souled people either of us have ever met (we have both had the fortune of going to Ireland).  The way that this poem ends perfectly encapsulates the Irish attitude towards God: a loving figure who watches out for his children and gives them the gift of the world’s beauty every day.  My informant and I were both raised Catholic in the Chicagoland area, so we are used to being around Irish Catholics.  For whatever reason, this poem resonates with both of our childhoods, and we both look forward to sharing it with our respective children one day.