
When you walk into the grocery store and buy a banana, you might not think about Tulane University, Lil Wayne, Honduran immigrants, or New Orleans’ cruise terminal. But you should.
Christina Bryant is the head of the New Orleans Public Library's City Archives & Special Collections
New Orleans does a lot of things its own way: celebrations spill into the streets, food tells stories, and heritage is something you can taste as much as you can see. One of the best examples of that is the city’s observance of St. Joseph’s Day.
Celebrated each year on March 19, the day honors St. Joseph, the patron saint of workers and families. But in New Orleans, the tradition takes on a life all its own through the creation of St. Joseph Day Altars. These elaborate, symbolic displays of food, devotion, and gratitude feel as much like a neighborhood gathering as a religious observance.
The roots of these altars trace back to Sicily, where St. Joseph is said to have answered prayers during a devastating famine. In thanks, families prepared tables of food to share with those in need. Italian immigrants brought this custom to New Orleans around the turn of the 20th century, where it flourished and became part of the city’s cultural fabric.
Traditionally, these altars were deeply personal. Families set them up in their homes when seeking intercession during a difficult time or in gratitude when prayers were answered. Examples are for the hoped birth of a healthy child, gratitude for a safe return from war, or help for a sick loved one.
Notices would be placed in the classified section of the newspaper, inviting neighbors and strangers to stop by, offer their own prayers, and share in the food that filled the altar.
In some years, you could find more than 20 altars scattered across the city, each one with its own story.
My family was part of that tradition; posting notices in the paper and opening their doors to anyone who wanted to stop by, say a prayer, and share a meal. Younger family members and friends would take on roles like Mary and Joseph, helping bring the story to life before the altar was officially opened with a blessing from a local priest.
The altar itself was always the centerpiece. Tables were covered edge to edge with carefully prepared foods; intricate breads that were braided and shaped into crosses, sandals, and other symbols tied to St. Joseph. Sweets were everywhere, from sesame seed cookies to cuccidati (fig-filled cookies) and lamb-shaped cakes, all nestled alongside baked fish and often fried delicacies. Because St. Joseph’s Day falls during Lent, nothing on the table contains meat.
The day usually wrapped up the way all good New Orleans gatherings by sharing a meal, in this case, Pasta Milanese, made with tomatoes, anchovies, raisins, and pine nuts, then topped with sweetened breadcrumbs meant to resemble sawdust, a nod to St. Joseph’s work as a carpenter. My grandmother made it every year, and everyone got a taste, whether they were excited about the anchovies or not.
No one leaves an altar empty-handed. Visitors receive blessed bread, cookies, and a dried fava bean, known as a “lucky bean,” said to bring protection and good fortune. There’s even a bit of folklore: if a woman “steals” a lemon from an altar, she’ll be married within the year.
Like so many New Orleans traditions, these altars have evolved over time. These days, I am just as likely to visit one set up in a school gym, parish hall, or even a neighborhood grocery store as in someone’s living room. But at their heart, they haven’t changed much. The food is still prepared by many hands, like members of Altar Societies, with cookies baked for weeks in advance, a marathon I’ve taken part in myself. Families still contribute dishes, each item carrying a story and wish of its own.
I still visit altars with my family, continuing a tradition I loved as a kid and still look forward to every year. I always end my day with a plate of Pasta Milanese, though it is usually in a school cafeteria, surrounded by a mix of strangers and neighbors rather than in my grandmother’s kitchen. I always make sure to take that familiar lucky fava bean; carrying a bit of the tradition with me. The setting might be different now, but the feeling is familiar.
For me, St. Joseph’s Day is a connection to my Italian roots, to New Orleans, and to the generations who kept this tradition alive. Even as the tradition has shifted bringing new locations, larger crowds, and a broader community, it hasn’t lost what made it special in the first place. If anything, it’s grown into something even more reflective of New Orleans itself. What began in the living rooms of Italian immigrants has expanded to welcome the whole city, weaving together generations, cultures, and families who continue to carry the tradition forward. It remains a reflection of New Orleans at its best: welcoming, rooted in heritage, and built around sharing.
You can find a list of St. Joseph Altars to visit on the Archdioceses of New Orleans website: nolacatholic.org/stjosephaltars.
Learn more about St. Joseph’s Day and Italian immigrants’ influence on New Orleans and Louisiana with the books above. Or, contact our City Archives & Special Collections team through their Ask An Archivist tool on their website, nolacityarchives.org.
St. Joseph’s Night is also an important celebration for New Orleans’ iconic Mardi Gras Indians. Learn more about the tradition of Black Masking Indians here.

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