Jambalaya

New Orleans is a bowl, surrounded on all sides by water. Within that larger bowl, there are many little bowls, meaning that the existential state under normal conditions is one of constant siege. New Orleanians, even the bon-vivants, are the most prickly people I’ve ever met, especially when it comes to outsiders doing New Orleanian things. I’ve paid my dues in a brigade style kitchen that adheres strictly to the organizational and philosophical ideals of Escoffier himself, and when it comes down to it, more than a few dishes that are germane to NOLA seem like they were developed by people who were schooled in French techniques but had just a bit more time on their hands than most French people, and a fair bit more self-destruction in mind. Certain of those dishes, therefore, seem to come quite naturally to me, and I would put my shrimp etouffe, given the proper ingredients, up against anyone’s, regardless of what a carpetbagger I may be. I’ve eaten it all over the state and know for a fact that mine rates, and what’s more, I understand why. I understand how to tweak it, how to fix it, how to pimp it. I understand why it works and what makes it great because I understand the theory behind it – I know the principles that will allow me to create a great stock which will serve as its base, I know how and why to create a roux of the right consistency and color, I can see the entire thing as a veloute made with a fish fume – kind of like a sauce bercy, but with the fish itself served in the sauce – and so I know much about how to create the dish with the perfect flavor and body, even though I wasn’t raised in New Orleans and it’s not my birthright. I would back down only out of respect for an elderly competitor, mostly because it’s no fun to beat the elderly at anything, but I still think highly of my etouffe.

Jambalaya, on the other hand comes from a completely different tradition. It is straight African, and even though I have spent time in several places on the continent and eaten a lot of food there, it’s not something that comes as naturally to me and I don’t understand what’s commonly referred to as Creole food on as many levels as I do some Cajun food.

I stole this recipe for Jambalaya from a New Orleanian whose recipe list is beyond reproach, adapted it only slightly, and make it frequently. That’s totally different from understanding the theory behind something – I would hesitate to experiment too wildly and have only just started weaning myself away from consulting his recipe at every stage in the process to make sure I’ve got my ratios right. It’s like the difference between learning to play a rather complex tune on the piano by copying a master and forcing the muscle memory by repeating it over and over and over again and going to conservatory, practicing scales, etudes, studying history, theory, etc.

All this is to say – don’t come at me with, oh that’s not what Jambalaya is supposed to be like, here’s what you did wrong, etc. I don’t want to hear it. This shit is damn delicious and if you really feel like it’s not Jambalaya cause there’s no tasso in it or you’ve got to have bones in the meat or whatever, fine, fuck it, I’ll make up my own word and call this something else. The recipe doesn’t change. That’s the whole point of the Other Peoples’ Rice Dishes section – this ain’t my shit, but whether it is what I’m calling it or not is besides the point – it’s something special either way.

A quick word about one ingredient that you’ll find in here but nowhere else in this collection or ever in my kitchen. I generally think highly of peppers, especially spicy ones, but tend to despise bell peppers. And the worst hatred I have for any of the bell peppers is for green peppers. I loathe green peppers. They’re like a garbage vegetable used for filler and in the cheapest, least appetizing food ever. For instance, green peppers on a pizza is hands down the most disgusting kind of pizza you can order. They just plain suck – even more so when cooked. I made this recipe with red peppers for a long time, and they never really broke down – they maintained their redness and colored the final dish. It wasn’t until a Louisianian relative came and showed me how he cooked it with green pepper instead of red that I changed. I noticed that it tends to melt into the dish more fluidly, the final color is more typical of the best I’d ever had, and the overall pepper character reduced. So enough about green peppers, just know that before I buy one I do a quick scan and walk around the market to make sure there isn’t anybody there I know.

The ratio of liquid (which includes the tomato) to rice listed here is important to adhere to; the ratio of all the good stuff is not. I wouldn’t use less than the quantities listed, but increasing andouille, chicken, or shrimp by even double the amount below would be completely fine.

So enough talk. Here’s my version of Jambalaya.

Ingredients:

• ½ pound andouille sausage, cut into coins and then quartered
• 1 TBSP butter
• ½ medium onion, diced
• 1 large or two smaller stalks of celery, minced
• ½ green bell pepper, minced
• 2 cloves garlic, minced
• ¾ cup tomato puree
• ¾ cup long grain rice, like texmati or basmati, washed if necessary
• 1¾ cup chicken stock
• Several squirts of vinegar-based hot sauce, like Tabasco or Crystal (I much prefer the latter or something like the latter…not a big Tabasco guy)
• 1 tsp Worcester sauce
• 1 TBS creole seasoning (no salt!!)
• 1 chicken breast, cubed
• ½ lb shrimp, cleaned
• 1 TBSP chopped fresh parsley

Directions:

You’re going to want to make this in a nice, thick-bottomed pot or ideally a dutch oven. Once it’s assembled, you can pop the whole thing in the oven at 350 and cook it that way, and I often have. This results in a slightly less uniform texture to the rice – the top layer tends to dry out a little more, which, when incorporated, some people really like and others do not. I’ve taken to cooking the thing on the stove – partially because I’ve just started to eschew the measuring cup and I want to be able to keep an eye on the moisture level.

Start by melting the butter, then sauté the andouille. The wonderful thing about a lot of Southern food is that meat, especially a pork product, is simply a seasoning. It’s not the star of the show, it’s simply there to impart a porky, smoky, salty flavor to everything. I think that’s a pretty common concept across the artery-clogging South, but in Louisiana they certainly excel at it.

Once the andouille is browned slightly, add the holy trinity – onion, celery, and bell pepper. The holy trinity seems like a regional adaptation of a mirepoix – it’s a basic seasoning arrangement for lots of stews, stocks, sauces, and soups, as well as and other dishes, just like a mirepoix. The carrot is out and the pepper is in – and the ratio between onion and others doesn’t seem to be so strictly adhered to. In fact, in this case, you want them to be about equal, roughly ½ cup each.

Once the vegetables have softened, add tomato puree, stir to combine, and cook on high heat for about a minute. Add the rice, stir thoroughly, and cook for about another minute. Add the stock, garlic, creole seasoning, hot sauce, Worcester sauce, and the chicken breast. Stir thoroughly, taking extra care to make sure there are no clumps of rice sticking together or to the walls of the pot, then reduce the heat to a bare simmer.

Cook, uncovered, for about 20 minutes without stirring, until the rice is plump and there is no more liquid left. If at any point it is looking dry, and/or you hear crackling noises coming from the bottom of the pan, it’s either done or you’ve prematurely run out of liquid. You may sprinkle more stock on the top one half cup at a time – more if it seems an emergency – and monitor closely.

If all goes according to plan, though, at about 20 minutes it should be free of liquid but still juicy. Add the shrimp and the parsley, tossing for the first time – but just enough to evenly distribute. Cook the shrimp for another 5 minutes, stirring only once or twice to make sure that any liquid the shrimp has sprung is incorporated and all the shrimp is being cooked evenly. Then off the heat and give it a final fluff. Allow to cool ever so slightly, then serve at once and enjoy!