It started with a gift from a friend
Right before we headed to Greece this summer, my friend Melinda gave me a book called New Orleans Legacy*.
Melinda is originally from California, but she lived for over 30 years in Italy before moving to Portugal. She is a writer and a wonderful photographer who sees light and color like an artist. You can check out some of her work at melindakapor.com. Melinda is an avid reader and we swap English books with each other like Wall Street day traders trade stocks.
New Orleans Legacy was written by Alexandra Ripley and published in 1987. It’s an historical fiction novel set in New Orleans during the 1850’s. Most reviewers praise the accuracy of its historical details but are more or less ho-hum about the fiction.
I LOVED IT!
First of all, I love historical fiction. I was a terrible student and found history to be dreadfully boring. But take historical facts and throw in some sham marriages, yellow fever, adultery, sex, and voodoo and I’m all in. I finished it before the wheels touched down on the tarmac in Athens.
My new word
While reading NOL I learned a new word. Most of us discover a new word or two or three every week. So do I. But unfortunately for me they go from my eyes to a definition in a dictionary, to my brain and are quickly forgotten, only to be rediscovered again on another day. But this was not the case with this new word. I found great delight in looking for it, seeing it, saying it, and giving thanks for it.
My new word was lagniappe.
As most of you know, I was called a “blue bird” in the first grade. The blue bird label wasn’t meant to hurt my feelings, but it did let my teachers know that I was a bit slow in the learning department. (If you want to know more about my life as blue bird, you can read about it here.)
I became a bit obsessed about my new word and would use it as often as I could.
“Hey Mike, have you ever heard of the word Lang-a-nappy?”
“Melinda, do you remember the word Lang-a-nappy?”
“Look everybody, they gave us a lang-a-nappy.”
OMG – I wasn’t just a blue bird. I was speaking booklish, too.
The word is pronounced lan-yap.
Where did this word come from?
Lagniappe, according to Wikipedia, “entered English from the Louisiana French adapting a Quechua [indigenous Peruvian] word brought into New Orleans by the Spanish Creoles”.
(That sounds like the linguistic equivalent of the old party game “Telephone”.)
A lagniappe is “a small gift given to a customer by a merchant at the time of a purchase” or more broadly “something given or obtained gratuitously or by way of good measure”. It can be used more generally as meaning any extra or unexpected benefit.
Wikipedia
I’ve heard the practice is still alive in the southern part of the US – especially in New Orleans. Mark Twain wrote about lagniappe in the chapter on New Orleans in his book Life On The Mississippi.
He called it “a word worth traveling to New Orleans to get”.
We picked up one excellent word—a word worth traveling to New Orleans to get; a nice limber, expressive, handy word —”lagniappe.” They pronounce it lanny-yap. It is Spanish — so they said. We discovered it at the head of a column of odds and ends in the Picayune, the first day; heard twenty people use it the second; inquired what it meant the third; adopted it and got facility in swinging it the fourth. It has a restricted meaning, but I think the people spread it out a little when they choose. It is the equivalent of the thirteenth roll in a “baker’s dozen.” It is something thrown in, gratis, for good measure. The custom originated in the Spanish quarter of the city. When a child or a servant buys something in a shop—or even the mayor or the governor, for aught I know—he finishes the operation by saying—
“Give me something for lagniappe.”
The shopman always responds; gives the child a bit of licorice-root, gives the servant a cheap cigar or a spool of thread, gives the governor—I don’t know what he gives the governor; support, likely.
When you are invited to drink, and this does occur now and then in New Orleans—and you say, “What, again?—no, I’ve had enough;” the other party says, “But just this one time more—this is for lagniappe.” When the beau perceives that he is stacking his compliments a trifle too high, and sees by the young lady’s countenance that the edifice would have been better with the top compliment left off, he puts his “I beg pardon—no harm intended,” into the briefer form of “Oh, that’s for lagniappe.”
Finding lagniappes in the wild
It wasn’t enough just to learn the word, I now had a mission (okay – obsession) to find a lagniappe in my daily life. Turns out, they’re not hard to find if you know what you’re looking for.
In Greece, inside the small refrigerator in our hotel room, we found a half-size bottle of wine – a lagniappe. In the morning there was a small breakfast tray with bread and coffee – a lagniappe. At dinner one night we were surprised with an amuse-bouche – a lagniappe…and another French word.
While enjoying coffee one morning we watched a young woman order some pastries for carry out. The pastries were placed in a white cardboard box – nothing odd or unusual about that. But then the owner tied a simple green satin ribbon around the box. Was it marketing or a lagniappe? I’m going with lagniappe.
One of my favorite blogs is Lickedspoon by Deborah Robertson. She is a self-described “home cook”, a talented food writer, and the author of several books including “Notes from a Small Kitchen Island – Recipes and stories from the heart of the home” and “Dog’s Dinners”, a book of recipes for feeding your dog. (Sox has suggested we buy a copy.)
Deborah and her husband Séan live in a small village in the southwest of France. She shops at the local market each week. She has written about how the French always give you 13 eggs when you pay for a dozen. But on a recent trip to market, she got 14 eggs. Deborah called it the “perks of being a regular in holiday season”. I believe that qualifies as a lagniappe.
They’re not always things
As you can tell, I’ve been thinking about lagniappes a lot. And I’ve realized that they are not always physical gifts. They can also be gifts of time and attention.
When we first moved to Portugal, we were constantly surprised by the slow movement of the checkout lines in grocery stores. It seemed that every customer had to have a chat with the cashier. Then would bag up their groceries and only then would they fish out their credit card to pay.
We would wait in line, huffing quietly and tapping our feet. Until we realized what was really happening. The cashiers were giving each customer their full attention. There was no rush to push them through the line. There was time for a conversation. And as we became recognized as regulars, we learned to enjoy the brief interactions with our favorite clerks.
Nancy Whiteman is a good friend and the first person we met in Portugal. (Her partner, Denise, was the second…or maybe it was the other way around…) In a recent post on her blog, Expat in Portugal, she told several stories about receiving excellent customer service from persons who gave her their complete attention. She concluded by saying
Since moving to Portugal I have always felt that a service representative’s sole attention is on me when they are assisting me. I am the most important customer they are serving at that moment. Regardless of a growing queue or a delayed next appointment. Their sole attention seems to be focused on me. I view that “presentness” as a gift. A skill that I never learned.
Give your neighbors a gift
So there you have it. If you already knew about lagniappe, good for you. If it’s new to you, start looking for this bit of happiness. Maybe give away a few. It’s an easy way to spread a little joy in this big, old, sometimes angry, world of ours. And it might improve your health or the health of your neighbors.
We’ve read reports about an “epidemic of loneliness” in the United States (including in Nancy’s latest blog post). It seems that increasing numbers of people are reporting a lack of connection with others. The Surgeon General of the US released a report that linked increased feelings of isolation to increased risk of heart disease, stroke, and dementia in older adults.
Maybe what we need are slower grocery lines and a few more friendly words.
Until next time / Até a próxima vez
Mary
The Cook
What have you received lately “for lagniappe”? Share your delight in the comments below or via the Contact Us form.
* This link is direct to Amazon.com. At the time of this writing (August, 2023), we receive no affiliate payment if you buy a copy. If that changes in the future, we’ll let you know.
The featured image at the top of this post is by klimkin on pixabay.com.
My dear roomie, you were never “slow” and are one of my most brilliant friends! No bluebird!!
Well hello to my bestie from a lifetime ago. No one has ever called me brilliant but since this comes from a woman who can do the Sunday NYT’s crossword in less than 30 minutes I’ll just have to believe it. I am going to retire the bluebird stories. I have grown bored with them and am looking for a new schtick. If you come up with any new ideas please pass them along. I miss you.
Pequenos beijos,
Mary once known at BW
Hi Mary and Mike…..The first time I came across Mary’s new word was about 15 years ago when a new upscale restaurant named Langiappe opened on the gulf coast in Orange Beach, Alabama. Nearly everyone I knew had trouble pronouncing it…me too. I was told that the owners’ claim was that their langiappe was the extra special presentation and service of meals.
Two years ago when driving down Hiway 98 south of Spanish Fort, AL, I noticed a new attractive Langiappe sign on a building that had been vacant for several months. I was expecting northern out-of-town guests to arrive the next week, and was anxious to introduce them to the fine cuisine of the new Langiappe. That evening I went on their website to make reservations and to my surprise learned that the new business was, of all things, a furniture store.
Hello Joy,
The furniture store is too funny. You always have a good story to tell. When I was first doing research on the word lagniappe my searches only showed me restaurants in the southern part of the US. I’m sure there are still some out there alive and kicking.
It is good to hear from you.
Mary
My mom always had a lagniappe drawer filled with little items to give to people or put in the guest bedroom when people can to visit. My grandmother gave frozen vegetables from her garden or jelly when someone would visit and she called it a lagniappe (she was from just north of New Orleans). My friend Tammy donated books to our little library (your lagniappe to me!) and she wrapped each bundle in a ribbon. I thought it was just charming!
Wow Bonnie you really lived the lagniappe life. I only met your mom a couple of times and you could tell she was kind. I can just see her getting ready to have company and picking out the perfect lagniappe for each guest. I’m glad your friend Tammy is carrying on the tradition. It is good to hear from you my friend.
Mary
Thank you for your kind words, Mary. Is it correct to say they were a lagniappe for me this morning? I also looked up the term after having read it in the book but soon forgot the meaning. If I don’t use it, I lose it. Your post will imprint this wonderful word in my mind for future use. Obrigada, grazie infinite, thanks so much! <3
I love you my new friend. There are so many things to love about you but number one is you make me laugh – especially about our new found country!
Mary
Oh, Mary, I loved this sentence: “… throw in some sham marriages, yellow fever, adultery, sex, and voodoo and I’m all in” – can I just say me, too! 😆
I definitely speak Booklish – for more years than I care to admit, I thought “macabre” was two different words, one of which I always only saw written down and the other I somehow never saw in print. 🤦🏼♀️🤣
HAHA Heather. One day I’ll have to meet you. Anyone who who loves a bit of trash in a novel and speaks Booklish is a-ok in my book.
Mary
Isn’t that a delightful word!! Some years ago, Sarah and I hosted a salon at our home in Indianapolis where we invited friends to come and share an artistic lagniappe of themselves—something a bit extra and beyond what we usually all shared. We had a trumpet solo, a reading from a novel in progress, a lesson in how to cut and make reeds for an oboe, an explication of one of the plaintive “Songs of the Auvergne” by Canteloube, and everyone truly gave the word its due. Glad you’ve discovered it!
What a great idea David. I would never have though to ask people to do that. As I write this, I have “Songs of the Auvergne” playing in the background. I love to listen to classical music, but I have no real knowledge of it. Hanging out with you and Sarah should help me. Props to the person making reeds for an oboe – WOW!