Cajun & Creole

This one-skillet dinner is loaded with flavor and easy to prepare. Serve over some steamin’ Perfect Rice or your favorite macaroni. You can also substitute boneless, skinless chicken thighs for some real concentrated chicken flavor—love that dark meat!

I’m a big fan of horseradish. When it’s stirred into BBQ sauce it takes beef to the next dimension. If you take a few minutes to start this dish in the morning before work, you’ll be eating about an hour after getting home at night.

Folks might laugh, but I could eat deviled eggs all day. My mother made them for me when I was a kid, and I’ve loved them ever since. When we serve our spiced-up version on a catering job or make them for a Custom-Que appetizer, everyone just goes nuts. To buy Zatarain’s mustard, see the Resources section (page 175).

Follow these rules, as set forth by Chef Samantha Izzo, when you order a bowl of her shrimp, and you’ll understand how they achieved “killer” status. You want to make sure to sop up all of the spicy broth without missing a drop. Make sure to wash your hands well before eating, as they will be your only utensils. Have extra napkins on hand, although licking your fingers is proper etiquette. For the dark ale, Samantha uses Ithaca Nut Brown ale. The bread is used for sopping up the delicious, spicy sauce.

Editor's note: Chef Donald Link of New Orleans restaurants Cochon and Herbsaint, shared this recipe as part of a special Mardi Gras celebration he created for Epicurious. Use the spice mix to make his Link Family Crawfish Boil. When I'm at home and want to cook something quick and easy, I love having this blend in my cabinet so I don't have to fish out a bunch of spices. There is no salt in this mix, so be sure to add salt to whatever you are cooking. (I do the salt separately because some food needs more of it than others.) I use this mix for everything from fish fillets to jambalaya.
For the record, I let a few people call me Donnie—my cousin Billy Boy, Richard Reddington, Grandma Hammack, and my coauthor, Paula. It was the latter who named this recipe.

Editor's note: Chef Donald Link of New Orleans restaurants Cochon and Herbsaint, shared this recipe as part of a special Mardi Gras celebration he created for Epicurious. Boudin, the king of Cajun food, is my favorite thing in the world to eat. It is a unique food in that it can be breakfast, lunch, dinner, a snack, or car food. Whereas most of the country might show up at a morning get-together with donuts, we show up with boudin. And no two boudins are exactly alike—that's amazing, considering they all have basically the same ingredients of rice and pork.
One of the best boudins I've had is made by my cousin Bubba Frey, who owns the Mowata General Store in the heart of the German settlement between the Link and Zaunbrecher rice fields, but all my cousins down there make their own boudin. One cousin told me that meat from the temple of the pig's head makes the best boudin, while another claims that a combination of hog jowl and shoulder meat is the secret. The truth is, they are all good.
This recipe combines elements from all of the different boudins I've eaten in my day. There's liver in it but just enough, it's nicely spiced but won’t burn your mouth, and it has the perfect amount of rice.

Editor's note: Chef Donald Link of New Orleans restaurants Cochon and Herbsaint, shared this recipe as part of a special Mardi Gras celebration he created for Epicurious. Crawfish boils are the greatest outdoor cooking events in southern Louisiana, and they epitomize our way of life. These giant parties for adults and kids are all about having a good time, being with friends and family, and eating local food.
To boil crawfish you need to have the proper setup—namely a propane tank, a stand to put the pot on, and a very large pot (crawfish are sold in 40-pound sacks). The pot needs to be fitted with a basket so you can pull the crawfish out and add more.
My cousin Billy's crawfish are, hands down, the best I've ever tasted. When it comes to cooking crawfish, though, we aren't in total agreement. I like to soak the crawfish in their spicy cooking water; Billy doesn't. Some people prefer to drain the crawfish after they've been soaking in the spicy water for just 5 minutes, then dump them into an ice chest, and season the outside of the crawfish shells heavily. This method keeps the meat from getting overcooked, but the spices end up on your hands, not in the meat. To my mind, "marinating" the cooked crawfish in their cooking liquid allows more of the spice and salt to be absorbed by the meat and creates more juice in the heads. (Sucking the juice from the head before you eat the tail is the proper way to eat boiled crawfish.)
Though no self-respecting party in Cajun Country would cook fewer than two or three sacks, I've given a smaller recipe here.

Editor's note: Chef Donald Link of New Orleans restaurants Cochon and Herbsaint, shared this recipe as part of a special Mardi Gras celebration he created for Epicurious. Chocolate Yummy might not be part of your dessert vernacular, but in Cajun Country, everybody knows what this dish is. The "yummy" architecture begins with a base of crumbled cookies (usually store-bought), followed by layers of sweetened cream cheese, chocolate pudding, and Cool Whip. I have a few aunts who specialize in this dessert, so it never fails to conjure up memories of family get-togethers. This is the type of dessert that someone pulls out of the fridge after a big meal or cookout, and even when guests think they're too full, they find themselves polishing off a portion of yummy.
Here is a grown-up version that's a bit more sophisticated, because I have lost my taste for the super-sweet original. Here, a rich pecan shortbread base is topped with cream cheese, a silky pudding made with dark chocolate, and fresh whipped cream. I'm pretty sure it would even win my aunts' approval.

FLAVOR BOOSTER Cooking rice in chicken broth instead of water makes a richer tasting dish, without adding much to the calorie count. Andouille sausage, a Cajun specialty, has a pronounced smokiness; a little goes a long way.

Dirty rice is a spicy Cajun dish typically made with sausage, chicken giblets, and vegetables—the meats color the rice and make it look “dirty.” There are as many versions of the dish as there are cooks. This one, contributed by Tanya Holland of Brown Sugar Kitchen, in Oakland, California, is spicy, light, and meatless.

This is an old New Orleans recipe that has nothing to do with grilling or barbecuing. Its name comes from the spicy, slightly smoky flavor the shrimp gain while being cooked with Worcestershire sauce and lots of black pepper. It’s a fine and almost absurdly fast dish—once the shrimp are peeled, you can have it on the table in ten minutes, and that’s no exaggeration with a creamy, rich, savory sauce that completely belies the amount of effort required on your part.

Here we go back to New Orleans again, with Bourbon Street flair. Southern bourbon-soaked brioche bread makes a hearty Creole-style dessert.

On New Year’s Eve 1996, we decided we wanted a warmer place to celebrate, so we jumped on a train to New Orleans, took a paddleboat down the Mississippi, and ate dinner while watching the fireworks. The next day, there was the Sugar Bowl game and the Court of Two Sisters on Royal Street, in the French Quarter, where we went for mimosas and brunch. This routine became a tradition for a few years— but now it doesn’t beat toasting in the year with our girls, so we brought the flavors home. This recipe holds a particularly funny memory for us. One year we had a bowl of some of these saucy, spicy shrimp at a restaurant on the pier, just before jumping on the paddleboat. Pat couldn’t keep the spoon away from his mouth, and he ended up spilling a tremendous amount of that dark roux down the front of his white sweater. So there he was, sipping champagne and watching the fireworks with a huge stain! He didn’t mind a bit.

Yet another in the seemingly endless parade of hearty one-pot dishes from the Creole and Cajun traditions, jambalaya is a close cousin of Spanish paella (which comes as no surprise, given Louisiana’s earlier ownership by Spain). I love jambalaya, whether it’s made in the “red” Creole style, with tomatoes, or in the “brown” Cajun style, without, because even though it requires a little slicing and dicing, it’s actually a fairly fast and weeknight-friendly one-dish dinner—and it really sticks to your ribs. I often make mine with shrimp (as in this recipe), but jambalaya is sort of like gumbo in that it is made with everything from chicken, sausage, pork, and oysters to alligator, boar, venison, and turtle—basically, anything that swims, crawls, grazes, or flies in the vicinity of Southerners.

Long-simmering red beans practically cook themselves, a fact that didn’t escape the many generations of hardworking Louisiana Creole women who supposedly made this dish every Monday, on laundry day. Even now, many Creole restaurants serve red beans and rice as a lunch special on Mondays.

A Charleston classic, pirlou (aka purloo or pilau) is an everything-but-the-kitchen-sink rice pilaf that is the lowcountry contribution to the family of rice dishes, including jambalaya and gumbo, hailing from the rice-growing regions of the Southeast. Pirlous usually feature seafood of some kind—as you might expect, given their watery origins—but I like the way this simplified version showcases the grassy flavor of fresh field peas.

Étouffée is a traditional New Orleans one-pot dish whose name literally—and appropriately—comes from the French word for “smothered.” Like gumbo, étouffée is a highly seasoned stew of fish or meat and vegetables that is served over steamed rice. Also like gumbo, it has a big-hearted, homey quality that makes it one of my favorite dishes to serve to crowds (especially when they include friends who aren’t from the South). Although serious purists might disapprove, I never make étouffée the same way twice, and I don’t take sides when it comes to never-ending debates about the proper shade of roux or whether there’s room for tomatoes in a bona fide étouffée. For me, one of the joys of Cajun and Creole stews is their variability, so feel free to experiment.

When Paul Prudhomme’s first cookbook, Chef Paul Prudhomme’s Louisiana Kitchen, came out, I think I made every last one of his gumbos in the span of a few weeks. To this day, his are the recipes I always refer to when I make gumbo. More often than not, however, I don’t have time to make ultra traditional, slow-cooking gumbo, so I’ve adapted my own quicker—and often lighter—versions that take a fraction of the time but still pack loads of soulful flavor. Served over rice with ice-cold beer, it’s all the excuse you need to throw a block party.

Now the official cocktail of New Orleans, this spicy, heady concoction was the creation of a Creole apothecary named Peychaud whose medicinal tinctures became after-hours cocktails with the addition of whiskey and sugar.