I’m a complete Francophile. The language, the food, the wine, the food, the fashion…oh, did I mention the food? France occupies a particular place in my soul. Classically trained in ballet, I have executed thousands of pirouettes, jetés, and countless other movements whose names underscored the French roots of my chosen art. I was able to travel briefly to Lyon as an undergraduate, spending enough time in that beautiful city to merely whet my appetite. My love of France has recently collided with my personal and academic interests. Looking to my backyard (or neighboring southern states) to satisfy my French needs, I discovered the immensely intriguing concept of “creole”. Keep in mind (trying so hard not to go on a rant), the term creole is a loaded word, one whose history is filled with racism, xenophobia, and conflict. Its definition has changed so often over the past two centuries, it seems nearly impossible to pinpoint. But that is exactly what makes the concept so engrossing. It applies to people, architecture, fashion, and (for our purposes today) food. It is, at its most basic level, a combination of Old World and New World, often involving the adaptation, modification, and evolution of colonial peoples and cultures into something new, something creole.
Creole easily conjures up images of one particular city, one of my favorite cities: New Orleans. The sound of brass-laden jazz music lingers in your ears; the visions of black wrought iron balconies, so delicately constructed to look like lace, flood your sight; the feeling of the sweltering heat and humidity clings to your clothes and drenches your body; the smell of something creole fills the air, making your stomach rumble and your mouth water. The palpable creole flavor could be many things, but that creole smell which reigns in my kitchen tonight is the New Orleans classic jambalaya.
Wait a minute, hold on, stop right there! Jambalaya, a New Orleans classic???
Though most of America would never question such a statement, anyone from Mobile will stop you in your tracks. The dish, just like Mardi Gras, is claimed by both Mobile and New Orleans. It is debated because the two cities share a similar history: both were founded in the early 1700s by brothers of the same French Canadian family (Le Moyne), both were once capitals of French Louisiana, both were later ruled by the Spanish, and both were (of course) eventually subsumed under the flag of the United States. The complex colonial history of each city allows both to claim for themselves the creole dish of jambalaya.
The debate over ownership of this creole recipe is heated and has been for over a century. Both sides claim the dish- so how do we decide where this delicious hodgepodge was first created?
Like any good historian would do, I research. The first mention of jambalaya appeared in a 1837 Provençal publication Leis amours de Vanus. The use of the term jambayala then and now is the same: mish-mash. The recipe is thought to be a modification of the traditional Spanish dish paella. Unable to access saffron on the Gulf Coast in the eighteenth century, Spaniards used paprika and cayenne (reflecting the additional influence of the Caribbean on both cities) as a substitute. Jambalaya represents the Atlantic nature of the both cities: French in name, Spanish in lineage, Caribbean in spice. Thus, the Old and New World combined to form something unique to a specific time and place, something particularly creole.
More mentions of the recipe were made throughout the mid-nineteenth century in France and the United States, yet no recipe was published until 1878. The Gulf City Cook Book, written by the Ladies of the St. Francis Street Methodist Episcopal Church, contained the very first full recipe for jambalaya. Here it is:
“JAM BOLAYA”
Have the lard hot, put in flour, cook to a light brown,
with a medium-sized onion. Take the giblets, neck, small
part of the wings and feet of your chicken, and put in the
lard; add half a tea-cup of prepared tomatoes, two dozen
oysters, with their liquor, pepper and salt to taste; put in
nearly a pint of rice, one table-spoonful of butter; stir fre-
quently when nearly done ; set back on the stove and let
steam.
(original from here)
And where was St. Francis Church located, you might ask? Mobile!
Now, it should be mentioned that I’m a bit partial to Mobile. I was born there, much of my family lives across the bay from the city, and I am presenting a paper on cosmopolitanism and consumerism in nineteenth-century Mobile at the Southern Historical Association (which is, oddly enough, in Mobile) this year. But I’m no less partial to New Orleans; to prove it, I’m currently writing a paper about the construction of French identity in New Orleans!
So where do I stand? I don’t. I take a seat, grab a fork, and just eat. ‘Cause what’s important is how delicious jambalaya is.
What I’ve done is pump up the flavor from the original recipe, adding in Spanish chorizo, large Gulf shrimp, and jumbo lump Gulf crab. The flavor from the additional fat rendered from the chorizo, combined with the briny salt-water Gulf seafood and multitude of creole spices, makes this dish complex, satisfying, and difficult to stop eating.
Chorizo, Shrimp, and Crab Jambalaya
* 1 tablespoon butter
* 2 6” links of Spanish chorizo, cut into 1/4-inch slices
* 2 medium bell peppers, any color, cut into large dice
*1 jalapeno, minced
* 1 small onion, diced
* 2 ribs celery, diced
* 4 cloves garlic, minced
* 2 tsp. creole seasoning, recipe follows
* Kosher salt and freshly ground pepper, to taste
* 1 cup chopped tomatoes
* ½ pound large Gulf shrimp, peeled
* 1 bay leaf
* 1 1/2 cups long-grain rice, rinsed 3 times
* 3 1/2 cups chicken stock
* 8-10 oz. crab
* 4 green onions, thinly sliced
* 2 tbsp. parsley, finely chopped
* hot sauce, to taste
Heat the butter over medium high heat in a large skillet (preferably with high sides). Add the bell pepper, onion, celery, jalapeno, and season with creole seasoning, salt and black pepper. Saute for about 8 minutes. Add chorizo, cook for 2 minutes.
Add the garlic, tomatoes, and bay leaf, and stir. Add the rice, sauté for 2 minutes. Add stock. Gently move the spoon across the bottom of the skillet, making sure that the rice is not sticking. Bring to a boil, then reduce the heat, cover, and simmer for about 15 minutes or until the rice has absorbed most of the liquid. Reduce heat to medium-low, fold in the shrimp, cover and cook for about 4 minutes, until the shrimp are puffed and perfectly cooked.
To serve, transfer to a bowl, top with crab, parsley, and green onions. Season with hot sauce and serve with a lemon. Bon appétit!
Creole Seasoning
(obviously makes much more than needed here; use it whenever your food needs an extra kick!)
* 1/4 cup granulated or powdered garlic
* 1/4 cup freshly ground black pepper
* 2 tablespoons cayenne pepper, or to taste
* 2 tablespoons dried thyme
* 2 tablespoons dried basil
* 2 tablespoons dried oregano
* 1/3 cup paprika
* 3 tablespoons granulated or powdered onion
A warm thank you to my sous chef (Felix), to his eternally apt selection of music (jazz, followed by a hefty dose of Ace of Base), and to the Tedster
who apparently so wishes she could eat this jambalaya that she’s shedding tears while dreaming of creole cat food.
*P.S.: If you’re interested in learning more about the history of jambalaya, check out http://www.sigal.org/CulinaryHistory/Jambalaya/Jambalaya.htm.