Shitpantstastic: New Orleans J”ass”fest 2008
Cochon de Lait
Only in New Orleans does the line “my friend shat his pants today” win you the favor of locals and the cathartic epiphany of a weekend well-indulged in festival foodlines. Both of these were the result of my 8th journey to the New Orleans Jazzfest last weekend. Marking the finish line in this manner is all too easy – it is truly the landmarks along the journey that provide inspiration for a future generation of festival goers.
A quick note on logistics: although you may think that a redeye flight from Cali to Atlanta to Baton Rouge followed by an economy car rental to New Orleans with mid-weekend dropoff to enable a frantically dispatched return taxi ride to a missed shuttle and fortunate backup Greyhound bus back to Baton Rouge with return flight to Atlanta and Cali is your BEST LOW COST option for Jazzfest travel, my recent experience informs me you may want to reconsider. The taxi ride is a bit overpriced.
To set the virtual table before you, imagine arriving at the Jazzfest site – a sprawling carnival-meets- NASCAR fanbase- meets-hipster 30something mess of people tangled across a landmass that resembles the grounds of a nightmarish Renaissance fair gone music conscious. You know the scene. Music charges the air from all directions as you trudge your way through a turkey leg graveyard from one stage to the next.
But lift yourself out of the drifting herds and take a bird’s eye view on this confederacy of dunces: you will see that at the very center of the festival, not unlike a diseased and atherosclerosized heart, lie the objects of our fancy…the unmistakable Jazzfest food stalls. With several locations maliciously situated as far from the portoshitters as possible, these food stalls are a glimpse into God’s pantry. If God is a jumbo-sized, grease-mongering, spicy assblast-inducing Cajun, that is. Here is but a glimpse of the foodstuffs that sizzle, steam and squish behind those celestial curtains:
| Item | Overview | Slam® Caloric Equivalent | Assblast Factor* |
| Smoked Boudin Sausage | Think of an ultrathin latex condom steamed and stuffed to explosive capacity with your mom’s best fried pig’s blood, smoked liver and sautéed garlic rice. Try to swallow whole. | 2 French Toast Slams® | 2 |
| Boudin Balls | Let your tongue drift slightly below that sausage and playfully encounter a set of crispy deep-fried balls filled with the same juicy mixture. Now cover that with a creamy remoulade and suck with joy. | 2 Grand Slams® | 5 |
| Crawfish Sack | For the more refined palate, wrap your lips around this crispy yet ultimately grease-bottomed concoction. Once your teeth nibble through the delicate exterior, glutinous globs of mudfeeding minilobsters gurgle into your mouth. Don’t choke! | 5 All-American Slams® | 7 |
| Jalapeno & Spicy Sausage Stuffed Bread | It doesn’t take a genius to grab a slab of flatbread, slice sleazy chunks of red hot sausage, mix liberally with cholesterized cheese and blazingly spiced japs and melt into a crunchy goofest. But it takes a hero to maintain ass control after consumption. | 8 All-American Slams® | 11 |
| Cochon de Lait Poboy | Take the ass of a milk-fed, life-caged, 2-month old piglet and shred it into a thousand mouthwatering meat strings. Mix with a gallon of mayonnaise and stink-steamed cabbage and stuff into the tightest bun you can find. Slurp out the meat filling for the ultimate “suckling pig” experience. | 5 French Toast Slams® | 3 |
| Cracklins | If Silence of the Lambs had been titled Silence of the Pork, Cracklins would have taken home the Oscar. Take the mama and papa of Cochon de Lait, rip off their skin and underlying fat, grind it into bite-sized chunks and deep fry those motherfuckers until they squeal their way into an unsuspecting mouth. | 22 Lumberjack Slams® | 9 |
* All caloric values expressed in Denny’s Signature Slam® breakfast equivalents
** Assblast factor ranges: 1 (laughing ass) / 5 (crying ass) / 10 (lava ass)
Smoked Boudin Sausage w/ Boudin Balls
Cracklins
Stuffed Bread
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