To Hop or Not to Hop

Los Angeles, California

I cannot imagine how my mother came to make Hoppin' John for our family's New Year's celebration. As far as I know, none of my family hastens from south of the Mason-Dixon, and it is certainly a southern tradition. But Mom picked up recipes and ideas from the homemaker magazines of the era, and she also had some superstitions about luck. She and my grandmother loved to play slots when we happened to be in Nevada, and Mom continued this on later family cruises. Once, when I dipped into her bucket to pull out a handful of quarters (daughterly entitlement), she stopped my hand. She then reached into her wallet and pulled out a ten-dollar bill. "Here," she said. "Go get quarters." I pointed out that she had a full bucket of quarters. "You'll steal my luck," she said. I took the ten.

Perhaps the concept of starting the year with good luck, that which is said to come with the eating of Hoppin' John, appealed to her. So on January 1st, we ate Hoppin' John, a dish which at the time I found rather starchy and bland. Nevertheless, after marrying, I continued the tradition after finding some new. and perhaps fancier, recipes. I had become rather partial to red beans and rice, but that wasn't going to cut it in the luck department. By then I was reading Gourmet, (pre-Reichl Gourmet, when it wasn't yet necessary to know the antecedents of the pig before you cooked sausage). Thus, my own Hoppin' John experiment began. I ended up with a recipe made with dried black-eyed peas and Andouille sausage. But, as with buffalo wings, the real magic was conjured with the hot sauce; in this case, Crystal Louisiana hot sauce. And as with most stewy things, with making the dish in advance.

After a decade of so of marriage, my sister, who had also carried on this tradition with her own recipe, remarked that every time we ate Hoppin' John at New Year's, either as a family at large or in our individual homes, we had the worst year. I began to track this: Years begun with Hoppin' John versus years sans the dish. I came to believe she was right. The years which we began with this tradition didn't tend to pan out. The years without seemed better. And cut to recent years when I began attending an annual open house at my friends, Lisa and Steven's home. They serve tacos. That seemed to work... until 2020.

Last year I ran across a recipe for Black-eyed Pea Cassoulet. I was in. The taco party had been scrubbed, and I was completely on my own having spent a FaceTime New Year's Eve with Joel. The cassoulet could have served about twelve. It was good, but most of it went into the freezer. And so the year began. On January 31st I received my first vaccine. By summer, Joel and I welcomed house guests, attended a game at Dodgers' stadium, and started to dance again. And then... do the words Delta, Omicron and breakthrough ring any bells?

So, it is now time to make the decision. Hoppin' John or no Hoppin' John? I lean towards the latter. Whatever 2022 will bring will not be determined by luck. It will be determined by knowledge, attention, and an ability to delay gratification. That will be the goal in my home. Joel votes for tacos, and I think I quite agree. 2020 aside, I have to think that a year that starts with tacos can't be all bad. So, to hop or not to hop, that is the question? Clearly Covid waves aren't about the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, rather about the slings and arrows of stupidity. And if tacos are a cure for that, then this is what I am thinking: Perhaps we should feed them to the world? A happy, healthy, and liberated 2022 to you all! Be safe out there...