9 / 60
ROUSES.COM
7
CRAWFISH CONTEST
I didn’t recognize. And there was Al
Scramuzza. You probably have to be from
New Orleans — and be over 50 years old —
to remember who Scramuzza is, the colorful,
eccentric and shamelessly flirtatious former
operator of Seafood City in New Orleans.
His Seafood City was popular
back in the late 20th century,
but his TV advertisements were
— and remain — legendary.
The last time I’d seen Scramuzza
was maybe eight years ago; he
was hanging out outside One
Eyed Jack’s music club in the
French Quarter, sitting on a
stoop regaling a bunch of millennial co-
eds in mini-skirts with stories about “back
in the day”. I want to grow up to be Al
Scramuzza one day.
• • •
But this was no moment for hero worship.
This was serious business. We contestants
— 12 in all — took our positions at a long
table set up under a tent in front of several
hundred cheering observers behind the Old
Mint building in the French Market. In
front of each of us was placed an aluminum
tray containing 10 pounds of hot, boiled,
seasoned crawfish, along with a second tray
in which we were instructed to deposit our
shells, deadheads and other debris.
Emcee Richard Shea, in a straw boater,
whipped the crowd into a frenzy as the clock
ticked down to starting time: We would
have eight minutes. Eat, drink or otherwise
consume as much as you can of whatever you
can from the tray in front of you.
When time is up, both trays will be collected
and weighed. Then it’s simple: Whoever’s
tray weighs the least at the conclusion of
eight minutes is the winner.
Me, I wasn’t feeling it. My mojo was gone.
The crowd cheered more and louder for the
octogenarian seafood purveyor and ladies
man than they did for me. So I sulked.
I scanned the crowd looking for old friends
but didn’t see any. All three of my kids
informed me the night before that they had
prior commitments that afternoon.
Let me ask you: What kind of prior
commitments do 12-year-old boys have
these days?
Nobody. No one. Not a single person on
earth thought I had a chance.
And that realization kind of made me relax.
I decided to just forgot about the contest
and just enjoy myself. I’m a freelance writer
after all, and a free lunch of any kind is not
to be lightly discounted.
The weather was nice, the crowd lively,
the music blaring, the beer cold and the
crawfish — oh, man the crawfish! — were
sublime. And so I just decided to pretend
that I was not under pressure or scrutiny, but
at just another random crawfish boil among
friends. Just belly up to the table and act
naturally. Do my thing. Have fun.
I put my head down, gazed
into the tray stacked high with
bugs and went into the zone. I
made no eye contact. I spoke
to no one. I started to dance a
few minutes into the contest. I
forgot it even was a contest.
And I just ate. And ate. And ate.
All I could hear was the roar of the crowd.
It was over before I realized it had started.
The contest officials collected our trays and
retired backstage somewhere to weigh them
in private. After a few minutes, they came
out to an amped up crowd.
The emcee began to speak. Tania Dall, the
tiniest person in the contest by far, took third
place. I couldn’t believe it. I mean, she’s tiny!
I was watching her loft her third place
trophy above her head at the front of the
stage when I heard my name called. Then
someone placed a trophy in my hands.
Everything was warm and fuzzy. Lots of
people took pictures. I think I might have
still been dancing. I didn’t even notice when
they called out the first place winner.
(A Mackel, of course.) All I could hear was
the roar of the crowd.
“Me, I wasn’t feeling it. My mojo was gone. The crowd
cheered more and louder for the octogenarian seafood
purveyor and ladies man than they did for me. Nobody. No
one. Not a single person on earth thought I had a chance.”
[LEFT] Al Scramuzza [RIGHT] WWL’s Tania Dall, Chris Rose, WDSU’s Fletcher Mackel