Showing posts with label Swine Festival. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Swine Festival. Show all posts

Sunday, November 2, 2008

Save the last dance for Basile.

The Swine Festival is the smallest
of the festivals I have yet been to
and it feels almost like a family
barbeque for a really big family
who just happen to know the best
Zydeco bands. From the tiny
Swine royals to the elderly couple
dancing under the pig barn roof,
it was a true all-ages party.
The welcome was warm,
the music great, and
I thank Basile for sharing
its tradition with me.

Hogs at Swine

As the late afternoon sun started throwing long shadows, a dozen or so Harleys roared into the fairgrounds, the riders all suited up in leather and denim and bandanas. But don't think Hell's Angels just yet: once they parked, the group--mostly in their 40s and 50s, men and women both--politely approached the gate to apologize for parking without having yet paid admission. They lined up, paid five bucks each, and donned the proof-of-admission: little robin's-egg blue paper bracelets that added a cheery note amid all the skulls, crossbones, metal jewelry, and rawhide cuffs.

She's walked a mile in those baby shoes

During a portion of the day when the Visiting Queens joined the Swine royalty onstage to introduce themselves to the fairgoers, the littlest royals were lifted up by their "big girl" role models for introductions. The Petite Miss Swine is held here by the new International Rice Festival Queen, Devin Babineaux, who knows what it's like to a pint-sized festival royal: at 8 months old, she was won the Baby Rice pageant, and then every two years won the next title up (tiny, petite, and toddler). After the children's divisions, there is only Junior queen, chosen by the schools, and nothing again until the Queen's pageant. So when she wasn't picked to be Junior Queen, she cried so hard that her mom consoled her with the encouragment that, "One day, you'll go on and be the big Rice queen." And now, at 18, she is. She was given the option of competing for Queen of Queens, but has turned it down, because she doesn't want to risk winning and then having to give up her Rice title. "Rice was my dream," she told me, "And I want to keep it."

Try this on for size

Misty Picard, age 22, is the new Swine Queen, and new to festival pageants in general. She has dipped her toes in the waters of two other kinds of pageants, first what she refers to as "a glitz pageant," and then in a city title as Miss Church Point. She set her sights on joining the festival sisterhood after attending Swine last year and being impressed by the friendliness and spontaneity of the queen. At the festival last year, Misty caught the greasy pig, a feat which came naturally because she loves animals. This year, she has a hog on her crown, not in her hands: with her new title comes a crown taller than her own head, and adorned with a pink rhinestone pig. (Hmm, does that make it swinestone?) She says she's glad to have joined the festival system because, "It has more personality. You really get to talk to people in your
travels, so you can work on your people skills." She's already thinking about competing against 84 of her new sisters at Queen of Queens in February. "I just got
the title, but I promise you, I'll be ready!"

The Away Team


Unlike in Ohio and Washington, where festivals tend to send their full courts to other festivals, in Louisiana, it is often just the official Queen (the winner of the Miss title) or the Queen and her Teen Queen who travel. When you see an entire visiting court it makes quite an impression. Shown here at Swine are the Frog court: Tadpole, Miss, Teen, Deb, Ms. and Junior.

The Home Team


At most festivals, you see the whole slate of a town's representatives appearing together. At Swine, that included the Ms., Miss, Petite Miss, Teen, Junior Teen, Toddler, Deb, and Queen Petunia winners all above.

The family that sparkles together...

With festival pageants playing such a major role in so many towns' local traditions and civic fundraisers, it's no surprise that often whole families have been involved. Three generations here include: 2 year-old Breanna (past Baby Miss Swine), mom Kayla (the reigning Ms. Evangeline Parish), grandmother Janice (Evangeline Parish She's My Grandma Queen), and little brother Brycelin (1st runner up Baby Mr. Swine). Several weeks ago, when I attended the Rice Ball (the formal festival event, not the arancini served in Italian restaurants), every person at my table either was related to, was friends with, or had been a festival queen.

Prize and prejudice

It is remarkable to me how many
of the elements of a fair from my childhood have not changed at all: the Zipper is still a ride (and still called The Zipper); the scent of fried dough still fills the air; and midway games still offer terrible prizes. I overheard a young couple arguing about such a win: TJ, left, spent $3 on a balloon game to win this painting of a scary clown, which irritated Danielle, on the right. She has a prejudice against anything in costume. "I hate clowns. I don't like them at all, or the Easter Bunny, or Santa Claus. None of it." She agreed to look at it for this picture, but otherwise demanded he keep "the stupid thing" covered up.

There are no safety codes involving rhinestones

Hang on to your crown, missy--it's gonna be a bumpy ride.

Greasy Pig Contest, Part 3: Dive! Dive! Dive!

In the final stage, those who haven't intentionally been left behind or simply chickened out at the last moment make full-body dives to try and tackle the beast, a victory offering simple rewards: satisfaction, bragging rights, and a trip to a faucet to get the grease off your hands.

Greasy Pig Contest, Part 2: On second thought...

The second stage of the contest
is re-consideration, as the pig actually
nears the queens, and some
appear to have a change of heart
about actually embracing the
vaseline-smeared living football
headed their way.

Greasy Pig Contest, Part 1: Run for it!


The most photographed event of Swine Festival is the Greasy Pig Contest, in which a pig is turned loose on the field and contestants (in this case, the Visiting Queens) run to catch the poor squealing beast until one of them actually pins him down. The first stage, when the judge yells "Go!" is full on enthusiasm, as you see here.

You can't hurry cracklins.

You'll just have
to wait for this
man to be done.
And it'll be worth it.

The Other Fall Classic


With the World Series over, Basile still had teams locked in struggle to win the Swine Festival Pork
Cook-off. Local teams, often just buddies who enter on their own or get a business to sponsor them, cook up ribs, pork stews, and other swine delicacies, and serve up samples to the fairgoers. (Note: "Sample" in the Northeast means something on a toothpick or a dixie-cup-sized serving; sample here means the entire bowl in the hands of the guy top center.) This can be serious business, as in the case of Team le Porc Cuisine (top), who bought matching outfits, got glossy banners, and had the nicest tent. But they're so doggedly competitive, even some of their own loved ones went to work for other teams this year (including a team named "We Left the Pigs Looking for the Hogs"). The winners of the Grand Champion prize, were much more likably low-key in contrast: Todd Fontenot, JT Durio, and Walter Klump (representing Trappers Bar) cooked under a blue tarp next to a pick-up truck and wowed the judges with cracklin', boston butt roast, stew, and ribs. By the time I met them, they had also been consuming the product of their sponsor for about nine hours, so it would be judicious of me not to publish all of what they said in their post-cook-off condition.

Creole Cowboy and the Cupid Shuffle

Though a carnival was set up in the field behind the open-sided pig barn, most of the action took place under the roof, where live Zydeco bands played all day. Gino Delafose & French Rockin' Boogie kept the crowds dancing in the afternoon (top) to their swirling Creole Cowboy music, a blend of accordion, scrub board (worn over the chest), vocals, and guitar. Earlier, the visiting queens moved "to the left, to the left, to the right, to the right," for the wildly popular Cupid Shuffle, a crossover craze which defies easy labels: it's a Zydeco-influenced hip-hop line dance.

Hot dogs are for wimps


One of the most iconic foods of Cajun country is boudin, a chubby sleeve of sausage casing stuffed with a moist (if slightly unsettling) blend of rice, pork liver, and pork heart. If your boudin is dark, it probably also contains pig blood, and (for my money) is more intense. At the Swine Festival, there are boudin-eating contests, including one for the visiting queens who must speedily consume a boudin log the size of a fat baby doll arm. Chelsea and Summer, representing the Frog Festival, posed gracefully with their boudin before the contest started and things got serious (and, as you see from the top right photo, a little queasy for some). But a few gulping seconds later, Summer, arms up, was the winner.

Under the Pig Top


The festival originated as a celebration of the local trade in "feeder pigs"; a live hog market operated under the tin roof of this same barn which is now the focal point of this event. For the days of the festival, the pig barn acts like a rural circus tent, offering entertainment, fair foods, and a carnival midway.

Going whole hog: Swine Fest in Basile, Louisiana


The first weekend of November took me to tiny Basile, Louisiana, where pretty much the town's entire population of 1,700 comes out for the Swine Festival, now in its 42nd year. This is really a core family tradition in these parts: this year's directors are four Fontenot sisters who grew up attending the Swine festival.