Whenever I smell potato leek soup,I drift back to the Mardi Gras dinner,While serving the steaming hot side dish.Instead of hearing the soft musicPlaying in the background of the cafeI hear the clash of a glass plate falling to the floorAnd the loud chatter of hundreds of people.And whenever I eat pearl couscous,I’ll wander back to the tablesLittered with plastic crawfish and beads.When it’s the day before Fat TuesdayAnd it’s seventy-degree weather,I’ll think of when we playedTruth or Dare in the playground.Wherever I am, I’ll always remember that night,The day before Fat Tuesday.