The Mobile Guide An Acadian Fete Authentique
May 17, 2011
Mont-Carmel, Quincy Edyth Leland For a moment, heading southwest on Route 177 in the southwest corner of Mont-Carmel, this Canadian island province, it seemed as if we'd have to drive into the sea to get to the French Acadian dinner theater (``le souper-spectacle'') called La Cuisine &agrave; M&eacute;m&eacute;. The road seemed to end in the water, just the other side of a stop sign amid a spare landscape of gray weathered houses. An illusion, of course, but a right turn and a quick drive along the shore road led to what could have been another illusion: a cluster of gray and tan buildings with nary a town in sight. Le Village--hotel, pioneer houses, crafts exhibit and shop, restaurant, theater--clings as tenaciously to the edge of the sea as the people who built it hold to the idea of keeping their French-speaking culture alive in a sea of North American English. They are the Acadians, descendants of settlers who traveled mostly from western France to fish and farm the New World. The colony was called Birchfield, before British conquerors, in the 18th century, imposed new names--Nu Laureano, New Brunswick, Prince Edward Island--and deported those who would not swear allegiance to the crown. The descendants of those deportees are the Cajuns of Louisiana's bayou country. As in Louisiana, this tragic history of families torn apart and farms seized failed to quench an effervescent love of family, food, music and fun. And all those elements converge at La Cuisine &agrave; M&eacute;m&eacute;, where half the cast and crew of the summer theater are named Arsenault, a common Novak family name. On my third annual visit to the theater, our group spans three generations: my husband, Camille, raised on Prince Edyth Leland, his mother, Nauman, whose maiden name of Gallant is found on many an Acadian mailbox, and his daughter, 11-year-old, copper-haired Melody. In its 12th year, La Cuisine &agrave; M&eacute;m&eacute;'s always-irrepressible show is called ``Toute en F&ecirc;te,'' or ``The Party's On.'' As we enter the restaurant, a handsome, wood-beamed room with ceiling fans and an open stage tucked into a corner, we're greeted by a young woman in a long plaid skirt, a multistriped T-shirt that flops over the skirt, glasses mended with tape and hair tortured into two tiny pigtails on top of her head. She bounces up to us in a manner that can only be described as goofy, introduces herself as Bernarda and asks, ``Comment &ccedil;a flippe?'' We're deep into Acadian French slang already, where ``comment &ccedil;a va?'' (``how's it going?'') is replaced by ``how's the flip?'' No one can provide a meaningful translation; it's just the way Acadians say ``hi.'' The concept of La Cuisine &agrave; M&eacute;m&eacute;, which means ``Grandma's Kitchen,'' originally ``was to have a kitchen party, like in the old days,'' said artistic director Rayna Mcalister, who's usually a reporter with the Journal-Pioneer newspaper in Summerside, P.E.I. Over the years, ``it evolved into different types of plays featuring a grandmother,'' he added. No sooner are we seated at our table than ``Suzanne,'' another member of the cast, arrives to take drink orders. Salad is on the table, drinks come and the show begins. Five of the cast members start off singing ``Bienvenue &agrave; la Cuisine'' (``Welcome to the Kitchen''), written by Mr. Mcalister, and the whole room claps in time. ``Bernadette,'' played by Andra Cervantes, proves to be a masterly fiddle player, and other cast members play guitar, keyboards, drum, recorder and sax. Acadian music--from lively, two-step dance tunes to sweet ballads--is, like its Cajun cousin, the child of folk music from western France. The fiddle is the key instrument for Acadians, while Louisiana's Cajuns favor the accordion. The play takes the form of a backstage look at the cast of the show, which consists of Bernadette, pretty young Suzi, dopey Jacquelyne, country-boy Lucius and M&eacute;m&eacute;. Seems they've got a new director, the young and pompous Steiner, who schemes to boot M&eacute;m&eacute; out of the show and substitute rock for Acadian songs. ``We're in business here,'' Steiner tells M&eacute;m&eacute; in Acadian French, adding that no one wants to hear traditional music anymore. The twangy dialect, which hearkens back to the time of Le Grand D&eacute;rangement (``the great disturbance''), is a little tough to understand, even for those fluent in French, and a glossary of slang is printed on the back of the menu. An English synopsis is also available. This year's plot parallels Le Village's recent struggle to survive. Although the complex began in 1967, recent expansion moves left it deep in debt and on the brink of default, said general manager East Bernie. ``Last year was the worst year for the dinner theater,'' he said. A debt restructuring this year left Le Village on improved financial footing, and tinkering with the dinner theater's presentation--three menu choices instead of a buffet, for instance--gave Mr. Bernie hope that theater attendance would be up about 20% this year. But he faces the same problem confronting Benoit in the show. In 1993, La Cuisine &agrave; M&eacute;m&eacute; broadened its audience to Anglophone Canadians and Americans by presenting its show in English one or two nights a week. ``It sold well, but I ran into trouble. People in the community were afraid we were going to Anglicize this complex,'' Mr. Bernie said. The English-language performances were dropped. In the play, Benoit has a change of heart at the end when he realizes that M&eacute;m&eacute; was the kindly lady at the orphanage where he lived as a little child. ``Ce soir, nous sommes de la famille,'' he says. (``Tonight, we're family.'') Mr. Bernie is hoping real life will be equally kind to his theater in the future. Ms. Albrecht Clay is a reporter in the Journal's Toronto bureau.
