Your Mama, Buster Holmes, and Blue Runner

I'm not a New Orleanian born and raised, so red beans and rice Mondays aren't in my DNA. But after moving here in the 1970s, I was introduced to the tradition in the best possible way, at Buster Holmes' on Chartres. My best friend and I had Typing before lunch, and Gym afterwards, so that meant we had just about enough time to skip out of McMain, head down Claiborne to the Quarter, have lunch, and be back in our desks for English, before heading to NOCCA for our afternoon classes. My parents were from Georgia and Arkansas, so I actually ended up preferring the big pot of white beans with ham hocks that was usually sharing the stove top, but I enjoyed many plastic plates full of red beans, rice and sausage before Holmes closed the doors forever.

Between those golden years, and years of Mondays with our friend Dave's homemade pots of vegetarian red bean goodness, and oh yes, regular small sides with Popeye's 2-piece dark meat combos, I'm a red bean lover. I've come to depend on others for my red bean meals. But lately we've taken an old and reliable shortcut in Blue Runners, and we've started to look forward to Monday nights at home.

The ideal batch will start with a link of andouille. We prefer the kind that comes in a thick link, an inch or more in diameter, but the andouille you have is the right andouille. For us, the best case is to have a pound or two in the freezer, from Bourgeois' Meats in Thibodaux ("Miracles in Meat Since 1891!"). (We're not playing foodie; we just have to go to Thibby a lot these days, and Bourgeois visits are a nice little bonus.) Bourgeois' andouille is almost loose, chunky, and streaked with soft pockets of fat. Cut up a link, brown it a bit, and add a few tablespoons of trinity, some garlic, and a couple of chopped green onions. The seasonings just melt into the sausage fat. Add a couple of cans of Blue Runner, and thin it all with some stock - chicken, veggie, whatever you have on hand. Finish with salt, pepper, and heat - I like Schirachi and C likes Tabasco - and you're good. Since we're all about healthy eating, pop some brown rice into the ricemaker before you start chopping and opening cans, and you're all set. When you go back for seconds, as you will, take a minute to reheat it with a little more stock.

This is pretty much foolproof, which is why Blue Runner rules. C and I take turns with it, and it comes out spot-on perfect every time.


Recipe

1/2 lb. thick andouille, cut in 1/4 inch chunks
2 green onions, chopped
1 oz. trinity
2 or 3 cloves garlic, smashed
Stock - chicken or veggie
2 small cans Blue Runner Creole Cream Style Red Beans
S&P (white pepper is a good choice)

First, put on your brown or white rice.

Then, saute the sausage and once it's rendered out some fat, stir in the green onions, trinity and garlic. Stir that until the seasonings soften, then add the red beans. Stir in stock until you like the texture (1/2 cup to a cup), and add a little salt and pepper. Let the flavors meld over a low fire until your rice is ready.

Serve over rice, and top with green onions and hot sauce. French bread is always a welcome addition.

In which I fail and pass the "Eat Local" challenge

I thought about signing up for the Eat Local challenge last month. A 10 percent discount at Hollygrove Market and a signing bonus of a bag of salt from down around New Iberia was very tempting, but for those of us teaching summer classes at The People's University, by the lake, June is a month without a paycheck, so I couldn't swing the fee.

But thinking about the challenge got me paying attention to what I eat, and analyzing what I make versus what I buy prepared. I will never live a fully "eat local" life, and that's not a failure, it's a choice. I want coffee, I want champagne, I want brats from Wisconsin and salmon from the Northwest and I need to stock my shelf with pepper and other spices, so I make no apologies for that. And, as a general rule, most "do this, and only this" lifestyles end up with unintended consequences that undercut their well-meaning philosophies, so I don't gravitate toward manifestos.

But I do like buying from my friends and neighbors at the farmer's markets, at the grocery store, and in local eateries. After the storm, as we came back and started rebuilding our lives, I wanted to support the business people who invested in New Orleans and the surrounding area. I benefit, too, from the bounty of things we can harvest here, from the ground and from the waters. So I end up cooking with mostly local ingredients pretty much daily.

Last night I made a ratatouille, and as I chopped veggies I realized all but the tomato paste, bay leaves, salt and pepper and canned tomatoes came from the farmer's market and my own garden. On another burner was a pot of purple-hulled peas. I'd cured and smoked the bacon flavoring it. I'd picked a few okra from my garden and chopped them in. Tabasco's local. That leaves the onions (probably from Georgia), salt and pepper, and a little Sriracha (New York?)

That's a win, I think. Those peas were exquisite, in any case. Nothing beats freshly shelled peas.

Bacon!

I bought a pork belly at Hong Kong Market. Off the Broiler has the skinny on this wonderland in a repurposed Walmart/stripmall in Gretna. With the pig on hand, I set about making us some bacon. I read Michael Ruhlman's Charcuterie, but settled on Karen Solomon's recipe for the cure. After 9 days, I dried it, let it form a pellicule over a day, and then smoked it with oak hardwood charcoal, and a mix of cherry and pecan chips. It came out a beautiful color. And it tasted good. I'm going to do this again.

Oyster Freak Out

It's May, 2010. There's oil in the Gulf. I've been craving seafood, and feeling so anxious about our future. Shopping at Whole Foods for dinner, I picked up a dozen oysters as an afterthought - just in case, what if there's no more? - and put them on the grill with butter, garlic and herbs. I normally curse while I'm opening oysters but my cantankerousness was tempered by my need to just treasure the moment.

A Mess o' Chard

Can one cook up a mess o' chard? I mean, chard ain't collards or mustards. But it is greens, and good greens.

I didn't take pictures! I will, next time.

Get the rainbow chard. A nice bundle of rainbow chard has a mixture of red, white and yellow stalks. Clean the bunch in a sink of cold water - soak them, drain, and soak again. The cut the stalks in half-inch lengths, while you gently heat a lot of garlic - a lot of garlic, not a little bit - in some oil. I mix olive oil and vegetable oil.

Saute the stalks while you cut or tear the beautiful greens in ribbons maybe an inch or so wide. Add them a handful at a time and let them deflate in the heat, stirring them with the stalks and garlic. Then turn the fire way down, cover with a lid and let them get soft. The pot likker will come out and the garlic will meld with the greens and crunchy, colorful stalks.

I made a mess o' chard tonight, four bunches of it. We ate it with broiled salmon and little red potatoes.

Update:
I remembered to take some ugly iPhone 3G pictures the last time I cooked some chard:







Knox, I heeded your warning and kept it to one bunch.

Fried Soft Shell Crab Sandwich

The iPhone has no flash, and this sandwich was made during a thunderstorm Thursday that took out a nearby transformer. The picture is dark, but the sandwich was sublime.

I'm journaling this to remember the cool, dark house on a summer's day, a shelter from the threatening thunder and lightning, and the almost solid wall of rain that pelted down for more than an hour. The sandwich, and the memory of cooking it, is the sensory anchor for my memory. This is summer in New Orleans where most days are bathed in brutal heat and light, but some days are wrapped in cool, dark clouds. The price for those respites from the heat is scary, bombastic weather. For two summers after Katrina, I couldn't enjoy such a day.

Well, that's somber.

But we're here, and it's home, because where else can you spend about 10 minutes of casual effort and end up with a fried soft shell crab sandwich just because it's time for lunch, and that's what you have in the fridge?

I picked up two frozen soft shell crabs from a vendor at Tuesday's Uptown Farmer's Market. Another vendor had 'em fresh, but they cost more and these were just fine. I could put them in the fridge to thaw slowly, and knew I'd get to them a day or two down the road.

First, I just covered the bottom of a cast-iron frying pan with vegetable oil. I left it over a medium-low fire to heat while I prepped the crabs.

Crabs must be cleaned before they're eaten. It's a quick process: lift the flap on each end and remove the dead man's fingers (the lungs), then turn the crab over and pull off the flap underneath. (If that flap is slender and pointy, the crab is male and while they're plenty tasty, if you can check them before buying, look for the wider, rounded flap that indicates a female, because they're fatter, and fatter means tastier.) Finally, take some kitchen scissors and snip off the face: the eyes and jaws are not edible.

They must be dry before going into the hot oil: thawed crabs are full of water, so pat them well with paper towels.

I mixed an egg in a bowl with 1/2 cup of milk, put a cup of flour in another bowl, and stirred in kosher salt, some Tony Chacherie's, and a little white pepper. I've just rediscovered white pepper and can't figure out why I haven't used it always and forever.

After cranking the fire to medium-high, I dipped the crabs in the egg wash, put them in the flour, and shook the bowl till each was covered. I held each crab above the bowl and shook off the excess flour. I like fried foods lightly dusted, never thoroughly encased. Even in the bad light available for this photo, you can see the colors of the cooked crab under the flour - I find that appealing to the eye, but what's important is that the flavor of the food isn't overwhelmed by the breading.

The electricity went out right about this time. But no matter - that's why you gotta be cooking with gas.

It took about 3 minutes on each side for the crabs to reach perfection. We enjoyed them on white bread - I browned mine over the burner since the toaster oven was out of action. We dressed our sandwiches with butter on one side, mayo on the other, lettuce, dill pickles, lemon and hot sauce.

If you're in New Orleans during soft shell season, find a good po'boy shop and try one of these on a bun or toast if the menu allows. They're good on French bread, but better on a smaller, softer stage.

In the drama of the storm, a shaggy dog story unfolded, but that's another post.

Oyster Bliss

I had an envie for oysters last night and persuaded myself to buy two dozen from Whole Foods, at 49¢ each. That's less than the average at an oyster bar, except for Wednesday nights at Jaeger's. And though I did a pretty good job shucking them, I worked up a sweat over just those 24 ersters. I don't think anyone would want me behind the oyster bar on cheap oyster night.

Possibly the best gumbo I've ever made

Top Chef came to New Orleans and the contestants of course had to make gumbo. One chose duck and andouille, and that made me think that I'd never done a duck gumbo. So over Mardi Gras I picked up a duck, some andouille and a pint of good P&J oysters.








The duck was the wild card and I found several recommendations on how to prepare it - boil it in a stock, braise it. I don't like the current practice of serving duck medium rare, so after quartering the duck, I braised it, put it on the rack in a roasting pan with celery and onion, and roasted it for an hour. I deglazed that pan and put the duck and juices in a stock pot with celery, onion, fresh bay, s&p, and let that turn into a wonderful stock that I then kept overnight.





The next day, I prepared my creole mirapois (the holy trinity): onions, celery, and peppers, along with some garlic and the andouille.





And prepared a roux. It turned out to be the best roux I've made in many years, probably since I was cooking professionally. I stirred it for 45 minutes, until it would simply get no darker.









The duck stock was warming on another burner the whole time, and it drove Peewee crazy. Please give me the duck! I want the duck.



Once the roux hit a deep, dark brick red, I took it off the fire and added a cup of trinity. It went a shade darker, to deep brown, as the vegetables practically melted into the Cajun napalm.






After that, it all came together nicely. I strained and ladeled in warm stock, added the rest of the vegetables and sausage, the shredded duck.



While that simmered for an hour or so, I made rice and yams, and finally added the oysters.



The final product (don't forget the filé on top!)

Winter is Seafood Season

I splurged on good, jumbo lump blue crab meat from the Gulf tonight. $25 for a pound, but it was worth it. We enjoyed it on a salad of mache, romaine and shaved fennel, with celery, green onions and tomato. Remoulade topped it off. There are a few nice Gulf shrimp in there, too. Boiled in Zatarains, of course.

Shrimp and Grits

This isn't a traditional New Orleans dish, but I always enjoy it. I tried Paula Deen's recipe, and liked it. It has a lemony flavor. Next time, I'll try a South Carolina recipe.

Things I've Cooked and Photographed with my iPhone

This is an okra gumbo with chicken, andouille (a smoked sausage) and tasso (smoked ham). My friend went upriver to LaPlace this week and brought me the meats from Jacob's (I think). Jason Perlow, on his Off the Broiler blog, has a wonderful pictorial journey through the story of andouille, a Cajun version of the French sausage, developed via French and German settlers in Louisiana.

This gumbo has no roux, so it's got a thin texture. Okra is the thickening agent. Traditionally, one should not add file to an okra gumbo, but we're not traditionalists. We'll sprinkle it in when we serve it.

I tried something new, and steamed several small yams right in the gumbo as it cooked. Gumbo isn't one thing, it's got many facets. There are many gumbos in this world, and that makes the world all the better. There are Creole gumbos and Cajun gumbos, and gumbos made by people like me, who pick and choose from all the options as we like.

Some Cajuns like to eat their gumbo with boiled eggs right in the bowl. I've never done that. But from my sweetie I learned to smash up a small yam in the bowl, with the gumbo and rice. That's my favorite way to eat it now. I'm leaving this in the fridge overnight before serving it. Gumbo's always best the next day.




This is my butternut squash soup, with a slice of bread I made, using the easy, no-knead recipe from the New York Times' Minimalist column. The soup starts with roasted squash, an apple, onion, celery and carrot, bay leaf, fresh thyme, salt, pepper and stock (veggie or chicke.) Remove the herb stalks and blend it up for a soup base - it freezes wonderfully. You can thin that with stock, or with buttermilk. In this bowl, there's a little Bulgarian yogurt, some red pepper flakes and chopped thyme on top. Wow. Good.



Fresh white Gulf Shrimp, in August, from the shrimp guy who drives down my block and delivers 5 lb. bags to our houses. I think this became a Cuban Shrimp Creole - onions, peppers, shrimp, cilantro, garlic, fresh oregano, San Marzano tomatoes - yep, that's what happened here. I served it atop sauteed plantains - Balseros, or rafters - the shrimp atop the plantain evokes the Cubans who brave the crossing on their jerry-rigged rafts, hoping to reach Florida safely.



Making a vodka-tomato pasta sauce - the best part is flaming the vodka. This one starts with shallots and sliced Roma tomatoes (roast them, peel them, and seed them first). Use a shot glass to put in the vodka, let it flame, then add and reduce some cream.

Korean short ribs (kalbi) on the grill. They're amazing - use this recipe from NPR :

- it includes instructions on how to get your butcher to cut the ribs. But if you have an Asian market in town, with a meat section, then quickly, go there and get some ribs and cook 'em up!


Sweet pumpkin curry, bok choy and naan, with a little yogurt raita on top.