The Lafayette advertiser. [volume] (Vermilionville [i.e. Lafayette], La.) 1865-19??, 1906-05-30
More About the Papabotte.

We are in receipt of a somewhat
peremptory demand for further infor-
nation about that Louisiana bird. the
papabOtte, to which reference was
made in these columns two or three
weeks ago, says the Washington Post.
Our correspondent, however, is a we'll
known citizen, justly famous as an
epicure and bon vivant of great expe-
rience, to say nothing of his estab-
lished reputation for highly cultivated
taste. 1t gives us pleasure, therefore,
to make a brief explanation, the more
SO since we quit sympathize in the as
tOnishment and indignation he must
have felt when the Post told him of
a princely dish he had never tasted or
up to that time, so much as heard OF.
"Papabotte" is the Louisiana name
for what is known in this part of the
country as the upland plover.' 1t is
one of the finest of birds in Virginia
and Maryland, but down in Southern
Louisiana, after it has been feeding for
some weeks on a certain insect which
infests the lowlands from late February
until the end of summer, it becomes so
transformed in every respect save that
of mere plumage that to refuse it a
new name would be an act of barbar-
ism. We shall not undertake to des-
cribe the peculiar, the wonderful flavor
which has set this bird apart from all
others in the philosophy of the cog
noscenti of every land who have visited
New Orleans during the papabotte sea-
son. AS we'll endeavor to put in words
the sweetness of loves first kiss, or
paint the light that never was on land
Or sea. Nor a that flavor be carried
to any distant point. 1t were as impOs-
sible to transport the papabotte of New
Orleans to Washington or Baltimore as
to breed the nautilus in the Ohio river.
Some years ago, when the late Jo-
seph Jefferson was playing in this
town with dear old Billy Florence, a
midnight supper was given inhis honor
at John Chamberlin's, and on that oc-
cssion he discoursed to a gathering of
kindred spirits touching the same bird.
As an owner of certain orange groves
sugar fields and marsh lands on the
gulf coast of Louisiana, he had had all
the experience necessary to inform him.
As q master of picturesque, poetic and
ornate narrative, he was perhaps bet
ter qualified to convey his feelings to
Others than any man then living. He
spoke with almost uncomfortable emo
ton. None of the survivors of that
symposium will eve for
get it. The papabotte is not really
food; it is a drug at once harmless and
Two of them, with a pint
Of real champagne or mellow bur-
and a little Creole coffee and a
large, fresh, Havana cigar, not more
than six days old-that's all you want
until you wake up>a couple of hours
later. No Involvement soups or inn
pertinent entrees; just ~papabotte, and
of it with the accessories above
specified. Then you get into a loung-
ing chair. and dreams take you on their
bender wings and bear you to a land
where it is always afternoon-a land
Of spacious landscapes. many streams,
and shaded places resonant with un-
seen melody. Wood nymphs throng
from hooks and glades to dance upon
the checkered forest floors. Long,
deep, thrilling notes, as ifdrawn from
the strings of fairy cellos, mark the
cadence of the tune. You
arc on Olympus, or think you are.
You s'sport with Amarylis in the shade,
Dr. with the tangles of Neaera's hair"
The perfumes of the date groves drown
your senses in q helpless ecstasy.
The beat of the music and the frou-
'rOu of the dancing hamadryads fill the
air. Then you try for a st~ranglehold
On Amaryllis, and then, as Mr.. jeff.
explained. you wake up.
That's papabotte!