Today’s newsletter is a day late for several reasons. One, I spent Monday recovering from a minor procedure that didn’t really justify me spending any time recovering from it. Two, I was sort of feeling distracted and meh about almost everything and … I honestly couldn’t get started writing. Cooking on the other hand was going fabulously – and I’ve even got a decent head start on next week. Cooking is fun and distracting and engaging and … writing is hard sometimes. Anyway, enough with the excuses and on to the meat of the thing. Or in this case some meat, and a lot of shellfish.
I’ve mentioned it before, but like a lot of passionate cooks and even professionals of my generation, I learned a lot of the craft from PBS. And a lot of what I learned from PBS was Louisiana style cooking. Between old “Great Chefs” episode following a charismatic young guy from Massachusetts around the kitchen of Commander’s Palace to a retired energy exec with a checkered shirt and wine bottle antics, I learned about the basics of one of America’s unique cuisines from the good ol’ idiot box.
That little bit of information was dangerous of course. I thought I knew what I was doing – and there were some truly horrible missteps. Also, as a midwestern kid raised by an Arizonan who liked spicy food – I just made everything extremely spicy. I put my version of blackening spice on everything, made the dorm kitchen smell like a riot post pepper spray, and mistook huge amounts of cayenne pepper for flavor.
I still like things spicy, but I’ve stepped it back a bit. Or a lot.
This week’s menu is an ode to Louisiana cuisine, as seen through the filter of a midwestern kid who just messed around in the dorm kitchen. These aren’t authentic Cajun or Creole recipes, they’re not the product of the unbelievably rich multicultural community that’s put that part of the country at the forefront of American cooking for dozens of generations. They are, however, proof of its influence on our cooking and our culture, and of course, most of all on mine.
So, because Mardi Gras is next week, this week’s is a Mardi Gras-ish menu. Oh, and feel free to add a LOT more cayenne.
Fried Bay Scallop Po’Boy
Fried seafood po’boys are truly one of the world’s great sandwiches. Now, I’m sure that there are plenty out there that will take issue with what I think is real the reason they’re so great, but I’m willing to make the argument anyway.
Mayonnaise.
Generous, even staggeringly generous proportions of mayo. So much mayo, sometimes, that you’re almost eating a fried seafood salad. And that’s perfect. There’s something about the interplay of the crispy breading, the saline pop of fresh fried seafood, the tang and spice of hot sauce … and that rich sauce - Mayonnaise is, after all, one of the mother sauces – that when layered into a soft crisp bread is just … perfect.
Of course, mayonnaise is one of those foods that’s become - or maybe always was - contentious. The health conscious among us avoid it, we love taking this-is-the-mountain-to-die-on style online stands for or against it. In the Midwest, it’s too spicy. No, it’s not, but it’s still a good joke.
If you don’t like mayonnaise, you can just leave it off. But it’s not the same sandwich. It’ll be a good sandwich. Just not a great one.
I’d originally intended to include a recipe for New Orleans Style French bread with this week’s menu. Appliance trouble means I didn’t get to finish developing that recipe and that I couldn’t even use it myself. If you’re lucky enough to live in a place where you can get the real thing – use that here. If you’re not, old school American grocery store baker “French Bread” (not a baguette) or “Italian Loaf” is a good substitute – though neither has quite the crisp crust. You can fake it a bit by toasting the entire loaf before cutting it.
1 loaf New Orleans (or American) style French Bread
1 lb bay scallops or 1 lb scallop “pieces”
½ cup white corn meal
½ cup AP flour
1 tsp kosher salt
½ tsp cayenne pepper
½ tsp baking powder
2 cups shredded iceberg lettuce
1 large tomato
½ cup sliced dill pickles
4 tbsp mayonnaise
salt and pepper to taste
neutral oil for frying
hot sauce to taste
Mix the flour, corn meal, cayenne, salt, and baking soda in a large bowl.
Add the bay scallops and toss well to coat.
Cover, and place the entire bowl in the refrigerator for at least 30 minutes and up to 4 hours.
Remove, uncover, and toss again to evenly coat.
Heat your oil to 375°F.
Shake off any excess breading and fry the scallops until the coating is brown and crisp – usually about 2-3 minutes.
Drain the fried scallops in a sieve or on paper.
Slice the bread in half lengthwise.
Dress both pieces very generously with mayonnaise (and hot sauce if so desired)
Pile with fried scallops, top (more hot sauce) with shredded lettuce, tomatoes, and pickles.
‘Muffuletta’ salad
Muffuletta is another great sandwich from the traditions of New Orleans. It’s dense. Like exceptionally dense. An epic nearly air free pile of meats and cheeses and olive salad so substantial that you don’t need a sandwich, you just need a slice. A food stuff of such caloric – and actual – density it could, properly wrapped, be wielded as a weapon.
It’s wonderful.
Especially if you’re planning a big Mardi Gras party – because sliced out, you can serve an entire, or you know, most of the accounting department.
Except for Bob. Bob hates olives.
This recipe is most definitely not a Muffuletta. I’m not even sure I can call it an ode to that architecturally significant sandwich construction. It’s maybe a wink and a nod in the general direction of that king of sandwiches. But like it’s progenitor, it can feed a crowd if you want it to. It’s easy to scale, and other than the fact you’ll need a fork and some sort of plate vessel – constraints that it’s more substantial elder does not have – it’s a quick big feed.
¼ cup thinly sliced julienne salami
¼ cup thinly sliced julienne ham
¼ cup thinly sliced julienne pepperoni
½ cup shredded white cheese – I used white cheddar
½ cup mixed sliced olives
¼ cup chopped pickled banana or red peppers
¼ cup thinly sliced red onions
2 tbsp diced dill pickles
½ cup toasted bread cubes or croutons
1 large tomato
2 cups hand shredded iceberg lettuce
1 tbsp red wine vinegar
3 tbsp olive oil
1 tsp Dijon mustard
1 clove garlic
½ tsp ground black pepper
½ tsp kosher salt
Peel, trim, and crush or microplane the garlic.
Add the garlic, wine vinegar, salt, and mustard to a non-reactive bowl large enough to hold all ingredients with room to spare.
Slowly whisk the oil into the vinegar mixture.
Add all remaining ingredients and toss well to combine.
Serve immediately.
Chicken and Sausage Gumbo
Chicken and Sausage gumbo was one of the first Louisiana style recipes I ever made. Mostly that was because I lived in either Ohio or Indiana at the time, it was the early 90’s, and seafood – mostly – came in a can. And I didn’t really like seafood – probably because it was in a can. So … Chicken and Sausage. Easy to acquire, unthreatening, forgiving. I made those first attempts with a lot of tomato, a far too light roux, polish sausage, and as I mentioned above – just way too much cayenne.
And I didn’t add Okra.
So basically, they weren’t Gumbo at all. They were to gumbo what the Ohio dish consisting of macaroni and ground beef is to Authentic Hungarian Goulash.
They shared only a name.
Since then, I’ve learned a lot. I learned recipes and techniques from friends, from watching even more TV, and from reading, and from working in kitchens. And I learned to love seafood – even, ironically, seafood from a can.
I still love chicken and sausage gumbo, but this recipe - which uses a very dark roux for flavor and color and is chock full of okra - is about as similar to those flawed first attempts as that rather strained Ohio Goulash comparison a couple paragraphs ago. By the way, that’s a real thing. It’s a little weird. Not as weird as people in Cincinnati calling green peppers “mangos” but close.
Many grocery stores now carry andouille – though your mileage may vary when it comes to quality. I can no longer get the wonderful stuff I relied on in DC, but there’s a national brand that’s …ok? If you can’t find andouille, most spicy garlic heavy smoked sausage will work.
I use Crystal or Franks Red hot in this recipe. While you can use Tabasco if you so want, the amount will be a lot smaller – and it won’t add as much acid. If you choose to use another hot sauce, you may want to add a small portion of vinegar or even lemon juice to add a little acidity to the soup.
½ cup neutral oil
1/3 cup AP flour
1 cup diced green pepper
1 cup diced white onion
1 cup sliced celery
1 tsp muddled fresh thyme leaves
1 tbsp tomato paste
1 tsp cayenne pepper
1 tsp ground black pepper
1 tbsp crystal hot sauce or Franks Red Hot
1 bay leaf
4 cups chicken stock
1 cup white wine
1 cup shredded roast chicken
2 cups sliced andouille or smoked sausage
2 cups sliced okra
Make a dark roux.
Add ½ cup neutral oil and 1/3 cup AP flour to a thick bottomed pan over low heat.
Cook, stirring frequently, until the mixture is the color – and shiny texture – of melted chocolate. This can take 45 minutes to an hour.
Add the onions, peppers, and celery to the roux.
Cook just until the onions begin to soften.
Add the tomato paste, the thyme, cayenne, and black pepper and cook for two minutes.
Add the white wine and cook until the alcohol smell dissipates.
Add the chicken stock and bay leaf and bring to a simmer.
Add the sliced sausage.
Cook for 30 minutes.
Add the chicken, and okra, and simmer for another 30 minutes – or at least until the okra is soft.
Stir in the hot sauce.
Serve with steamed white rice.
Fussy But Worth it Shrimp Creole
One of the things I learned from those PBS shows so long ago was the idea – important to modern cookery - that flavor is something you build. It’s not something that’s there, it’s not something you just add in. You build layers of flavor, treating successive ingredients in such a way as to bring the maximum, or minimum of some characteristic to what you’re making.
It seems like a funny way to approach a cuisine with flavors as assertive as those in Louisiana cooking. Flavors that bold, that strong, they reach out and punch you in the face straight off the market shelf, right?
But of course, they benefit from a little tender loving care – otherwise this whole menu would just be a list of ingredients you dumped into a slow cooker on the way to some nephew’s basketball final.
This shrimp creole recipe is fussy, even for me – and if you’re a regular reader you know I’m sort of a fussy cook. The sauce is cooked twice – the first batch of aromatics getting cooked to within a hairsbreadth of breaking down into mush, then discarded, and replaced with fresh. That means you get all that flavor, but still have …well, texture. Mushy vegetables are sort of gross.
Some notes: You’ll want raw shrimp for this recipe, and ideally, unpeeled because you can use the shells to make a stock that’ll even further boost the flavor. You could substitute tomato paste or puree for the fussy tomato element, though it will taste less bright and more … dark tomatoey. Finally, the Herbsaint or another anise liqueur adds a sort of je ne sai quoi that I really like. Omit it if you want, but ... it’s worth it.
24 medium raw shrimp
2 cups shrimp stock (below)
½ cup white wine
2 large tomatoes
1 cup diced onions (divided)
1 cup diced green bell pepper (divided)
1 cup sliced celery (divided)
2 strips smokey bacon
4 tsp minced garlic, divided
2 tbsp unsalted butter (divided)
1 tbsp plus 1 tsp AP flour
2 tsp Crystal Hot sauce or 1 tbsp Franks Red Hot
½ tsp fresh ground black pepper
¼ tsp cayenne pepper (or ½ if you like spicy)
1 tsp fresh thyme leaves
1 tsp plus 1 tbsp kosher salt (divided)
1 tsp Herbsaint, Absinth, or Pastis liqueur (opt)
Peel and devein the shrimp, reserving the shells for shrimp stock. I like to leave the last joint and tail because it looks cool – I’m vain.
Add the shrimp, about 4 cups of cold water, and 1 tbsp of kosher salt to a non-reactive container. Refrigerate while preparing the rest of the dish.
Prepare a pot of boiling water and an ice bath.
Score the bud end (opposite the stem) of the tomatoes with a small “X”
Drop the tomatoes into the boiling water for 15 seconds, then drop into the ice bath.
Remove the tomatoes from the bath and peel the skin away, starting at the “X” the skin should come away freely. If it doesn’t, re-immerse in the boiling water for another 15-30 seconds, shock in the ice bath, and try again.
Quarter the tomatoes and discard the seeds.
Chop the tomatoes very finely – mincing into nearly a paste.
Cut the bacon into very thin slices.
Add the bacon to a large saucepan over medium heat and cook until the fat is rendered out and the bacon is crisp but not burnt.
Remove the bacon from the pan, leaving the rendered fat.
Add ½ the onion, bell pepper, and celery to the pan, along with the cayenne, the thyme, 1 tsp of salt, and the black pepper.
Cook just until the onion begins to soften and turn translucent.
Add the chopped tomatoes.
Raise the temperature and cook until most of the moisture from the tomatoes is driven off.
Add the white wine, hot sauce, and shrimp stock.
Reduce to a simmer and cook until the mixture has reduced by ½ - about 30-45 minutes.
Strain through a fine sieve, pressing to extract all the liquids.
Discard the solids.
Wipe out the pan and return the liquid to the pan.
Bring to a simmer.
Knead together 1 tbsp unsalted butter and 1 tbsp plus 1 tsp all-purpose flour until the mixture is smooth and uniform. Using the flat side of a knife against a clean cutting board makes this easy.
Whisk the butter-flour mixture into the simmering liquid, stirring until smooth.
Remove the sauce from the heat and set aside until just before service.
To finish, add 1 tbsp unsalted butter to a large frying pan over medium heat.
Add the shrimp, the remaining onions, celery, bell pepper, and garlic, and fry – stirring constantly, until the shrimp are just barely beginning to turn pink.
Add the liquor if using, and flame if desired.
Add the reserved sauce and cook for 1 minute.
Add the chopped parsley.
Season to taste with additional salt, pepper, and hot sauce.
Serve with steamed white rice.
Shrimp Stock
2 quarts cold water
1 cup shrimp shells
1 medium carrot
1 medium onion
2 stalks celery
1 tsp tomato paste
1 sprig fresh thyme
1 bay leaf
Add all ingredients to a large pan over medium heat.
Bring to a simmer.
Simmer, uncovered, for 1 hour.
Strain though a fine strainer.
Allow to cool to room temperature
Freeze, or store covered and refrigerated (up to two days) until use.
Bourbon Pecan Praline Ice Cream
I shunted around a bunch of ideas for different desserts to go with this menu:
Yellow, green, and purple frosted praline filled King Cake Paczkis?
Yellow, green, and purple ice cream? Should I make it lemon and anise – like Tiger Tail?
In the end, Kate just said “make bourbon praline ice cream.”
So I did.
This ice cream is super rich – and because of the sugar content and the booze -texturally it’s almost more like gelato. Call it gelato if you like.
It’s easy, and delicious – provided you have an ice cream machine. If you don’t, and still want to give it a go, you can make it the extremely very way back at the beginning of time old fashioned way by nesting two stainless steel bowls (ice and salt in the bottom) and stirring/whisking until it thickens. I’ve tried that method once.
That was enough.
1 cup heavy cream
1 ½ cups whole milk
4 egg yolks
2/3 cup plus ½ cup granulated sugar (divided)
2 oz bourbon
1 tbsp butter
1 cup pecan pieces
pinch of salt
Add ½ cup of granulated sugar and 1 tbsp cold to a thick bottomed pan over medium heat.
Cook undisturbed until the sugar dissolves, melts, and turns a light amber color.
Add the butter, swirling to combine.
Add the pecans, and stir using a metal spoon to evenly coat with the sugar and butter mixture.
Turn the pecan mixture out onto a sheet pan lined with a silicone mat or lined with greased parchment paper.
Allow to cool completely, then break into very small pieces and set aside.
Add the milk, the heavy cream, and 2/3 cup of granulated sugar to a thick bottomed saucepan over medium heat.
In a marge heat proof bowl, whisk the egg yolks until slightly lightened.
Heat the milk stirring frequently to prevent burning, until it just simmers.
Remove the milk from the heat and, while whisking vigorously, slowly pour 1/3 of the mixture into the egg yolks.
Wipe the sides of the pot, and return the pot to the heat, then slowly – again while whisking, pour the egg yolk mixture back into the bulk of the milk and cream.
Add the bourbon.
Cook, stirring constantly, until the mixture begins to thicken and coats the back of a spoon.
Pour the resulting batter through a strainer into a large plastic zip-top bag.
Chill the batter in an ice bath.
Freeze according to your ice cream maker’s instructions.
Add the praline pecan pieces at the end of the ice cream cycle.
Freeze for at least four hours before serving.