Cochon de lait. Suckling pig.

It’s one of Louisiana’s greatest culinary traditions, dating perhaps as far back as the eighteenth century.

A pig cooked slowly over an open, hard wood fire.

For several years I hosted a cochon de lait in the fall, usually attended by around fifty people. I had a special heavy metal fire box and a tripod with a small electric motor. The pig, which had been injected with a marinade, would turn slowly in front of the burning wood for several hours.

That was the easy part.

There was a greater challenge.

My mother liked to be in charge. And she was good at it.

I often teased her, saying she would join any club that would let her be president. She had a sense of humor and agreed with my assessment. That was the reason she loved the Red Hat organization. If you formed a Red Hat chapter, you got to be queen for life. That was my mother’s kind of club.

I like to be in charge, too. And I’m good at it. I am my mother’s son.

I could see trouble coming. After all, she and I spent three days arguing over the placement of two of dad’s sketches on my wall. It was clear to me that if I wanted to be in charge of my cochon de lait, and I did, I had to find a distraction.

Potato salad to the rescue!

My mother made the best potato salad I ever ate. The perfect solution! A delicious diversion.
Even better, do you know how long it takes to make potato salad for fifty?

As I said, the perfect solution.

Guests were served buffet style. Mother stationed herself behind her potato salad. Anyone who went through the line without taking potato salad was noticed and quickly dealt with.

“What’s the matter?” Mother would say. “You don’t like my potato salad?”

The offender, properly intimidated, quickly spooned potato salad onto the plate.

Was that the end of it? Certainly not!

Mother was nothing if not persistent. She was known to patrol the tables examining plates. If she found one with potato salad remaining, her response was swift and familiar.

“What’s the matter? You didn’t like my potato salad?”

Fortunately, as I noted, she did make the best potato salad ever. Veterans of my cochon de lait knew that and knew her. They happily piled their plates with potato salad and just as happily ate it all. First time guests learned quickly.

I would give a lot to have some of my mother’s potato salad today. A lot. I would eat it all.

Oh, and my dad’s sketches went on the wall where I wanted them.

Did I mention that I am my mother’s son?