My iPhone read 8 a.m. when I woke up this morning. For anyone who knows me, that’s quite the feat. My days typically start well before the sun even thinks about rising, my internal clock drags me out of bed between 5 a.m. and 6 a.m. on most mornings, whether I’m ready to wake up, or not. But today was different. Today, I allowed myself the rare luxury of a late start, savoring a few extra moments under the covers, listening to the outboard motors slowly cruise by as early fishermen headed to their favorite fishing hole on the lake. I can’t remember the last time I slept this late, and to be honest, it felt a bit indulgent. But isn’t that what holidays are for? Especially one like Labor Day.
This Labor Day is special. It’s not just a break from the routine but a celebration of family, of time spent together without the usual rush and bustle. This year, I’m at the lake, surrounded by the people I love most: my children and their significant others, and my spouse. Just the six of us. My daughter and her fiancé, my son and his girlfriend, and my wife. We’re tucked away in our little wooded lakeside haven, sharing stories, laughter, and—of course—food.
Last night, I made shrimp étouffée for everyone, and the warm, spicy aroma filled the room, a first for my son’s girlfriend who hails from Mexico City. Tonight, it’s red beans and rice, another favorite that always seems to bring us together, and again her introduction to the foods of our region and restaurants. There’s something almost magical about cooking for family, about the way food can draw people in, create moments of connection, and build memories. It’s an act of love of and care, and there’s nothing I enjoy more than seeing the smiles on their faces as they take that first bite.
As I write I am sitting near the porch with my laptop, my son and his girlfriend are in the kitchen, preparing lunch. They’re both in their final days of culinary school at the Culinary Institute of America in Hyde Park, New York. Watching them work is like watching a well-rehearsed dance—each movement precise, every step coordinated. They’re making Croque Madames, the classic French sandwiches that are so simple yet so delightfully satisfying.
It was the best version of that classic sandwich I have ever eaten. They used sourdough bread from our bakery. My son infused the milk for the bechamel with onion, garlic, bay leaf, and pepper— OK, not so simple. Inside of the grilled sandwich was gruyere, Dijon, mayo, Swiss, and ham. They topped it with the bechamel, a lot more Gruyere, and finished it with a sunny side up fried egg. Perfection.
I reminded him of the first time he ate a Croque Madame while we were on a long trip overseas and he remembered. Who knew that 13 years later that first time would become an inspiration all these years later as he begins his professional culinary journey.
There’s something poetic about having two future chefs taking over my kitchen, each with their unique style and flair, bringing a touch of France to this Mississippi retreat.
Faith. Family. Friends. Food. Fun. My “Five Fs.” They’ve been my guiding principles, my compass through life’s many twists and turns. And today, each one is present in abundance. Faith, in its quiet, steady way, underpinning everything with a sense of gratitude and purpose. Family gathered around, sharing in the joy of just being together. Friends, in the form of my children’s significant others, who have seamlessly become part of our extended family. Food, of course, the centerpiece of our day, every meal a celebration. And fun—pure, simple fun. Board games, movies, and good-natured teasing that fills the room with laughter.
We spent the after-dinner hours last night playing Quiplash, one of the two games— along with Chameleon— that we play most when we’re together. It’s moments like those, filled with laughter and lightheartedness, that I cherish most. They remind me of what’s truly important—these simple, unguarded moments of connection.
And yet, amidst all this joy and relaxation, I did sneak in a little bit of work. I couldn’t help myself. I’ve always believed that if you love what you do, it doesn’t feel like work at all. So, between rounds of mid-afternoon movie marathons, I found myself checking a few emails, jotting down some ideas, and planning for the week ahead. But today, even that felt different. Less like a chore and more like a natural extension of the day—a thread woven into the fabric of our time together.
It’s easy to get caught up in the hustle and bustle of life, to feel like every moment needs to be productive, every day needs to be filled with accomplishments. But days like today remind me of the importance of slowing down, of taking a breath, and simply enjoying the present. There’s a quiet beauty in these moments of stillness, a richness in the simplicity of a day spent with loved ones, doing nothing and everything all at once.
As the day stretches on, the sun begins to dip lower in the sky, casting a warm, red, orange, and purple glow over the lake. I watch as my children—my grown children—laugh and talk with their partners, and I’m filled with a deep sense of gratitude. They’ve grown into such incredible people, each following their unique path, yet still finding time to come together, to be a family. It’s a beautiful thing, watching them navigate the world, finding their way, and knowing that, no matter where life takes them, they’ll always have this—these moments, this family, this love.
I think about the future, about all the meals yet to be shared, the stories yet to be told, the adventures yet to be had. I think about how blessed I am to have this life, this family, this time. And I’m reminded of something I’ve always believed: the greatest work we do is not the work of our hands but the work of our hearts. It’s the love we pour into each day, the care we give to those around us, the joy we find in the simplest of moments.
Labor Day is often seen as the unofficial end of summer, a final nod to the lazy, sun-drenched days before the world shifts into the brisk pace of fall. But today, for me, it feels more like a beginning—a fresh start, a reminder to cherish these moments, to hold onto what truly matters. To keep moving forward, yes, but to also pause and appreciate the journey, the people we meet along the way, and the memories we create.
As I sit here, surrounded by the quiet of the lake and the engaged voices of family in the background, I’m filled with a sense of peace, of contentment. This is what life is about. Not the grand gestures or the big accomplishments, but the quiet mornings, the shared meals, the laughter of loved ones echoing through a cozy lake house. It’s about finding joy in the everyday, finding beauty in the ordinary, and finding love in the simplest of things.
And so, as this Labor Day comes to a close, I am reminded once again of the things that matter most. Faith, family, friends, food, and fun—my Five Fs. They are my anchors, my constants in a world that is always changing. They are what makes days like today so precious, so unforgettable.
Here’s to many more days like this one, filled with laughter, love, and the people who make life truly worth living.
Onward.
Crawfish Etouffee
This recipe has been in my files for over 20 years. I can’t remember if it’s mine or someone else’s, but, either way, it’s legit. Also, shrimp can be substituted for crawfish. Just add them immediately after the vegetables and cook them until translucent before adding the remaining ingredients. RSJ
Serves 6 to 8
8 tablespoons unsalted butter or canola oil
1/2 cup all purpose flour
2 cups yellow onion, medium dice
1 cup green bell pepper, medium dice
1 cup celery, medium dice
1 tablespoon fresh garlic, minced
2 tablespoons tomato paste
3 cups, chicken or seafood stock, heated
1 bay leaf
1 tablespoon Creole seasoning
2 teaspoons kosher salt
11/2 teaspoons fresh ground black pepper
2 pounds peeled crawfish tails
2 teaspoons hot sauce
1/4 cup Italian parsley, chopped
3 cups chicken stock
2 teaspoons kosher salt.
11/2 cups whole grain rice
Place the butter or oil in a 14-inch skillet and heat over medium heat. Stir in the flour to make a roux, stirring frequently to prevent burning. Cook the roux until it becomes the color of peanut butter. Add in the onions, bell pepper, and celery and continue to cook for 4 to 5 minutes. Stir in the garlic and tomato paste, cook for 2 more minutes. Use a wire whisk to stir the hot stock into the vegetable mixture and bring to a simmer. Cook for 10 minutes then stir in the crawfish. Bring the mixture back to a simmer. Once the crawfish is heated thoroughly, stir in the parsley and remove from heat.
For the rice, in a 1-quart saucepot, bring the stock and salt to a boil, stir in the rice and reduce the heat so that the stock is barely simmering. Cover with a lid and cook for 20 minutes. Fluff the rice with a fork and serve.
(Robert St. John is a chef, restauranteur and published cookbook author who lives in Hattiesburg, Miss.)
