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.

(A sidestep is a non-Epicurean Historian post that highlights a delicious meal I made and/or ate. In other words, it’s a post of some 21st-century dish that I made/ate in the 21st century. It’s quite present-tense for my historical likings, but yummy in my tummy. By the way, could I make a 21st-century recipe in the 18th century? Felix, get working on that time-traveling-Delorean!)

I love Thanksgiving. Here are my reasons:

1. Family
2. Food
3. Wine
4. Food
5. Catching up on reading (supposedly, though it never happens)
6. Food

And this year did not disappoint in any of these areas. Nothing compares to cooking all day and eating the rest of it. First off, brunch.

Triple Ginger and Pecan Scones

Bacon, Spinach, and Gruyère Frittata

Fresh Fruit

Prosecco

It was just enough to fill us up for the ensuing cooking-xtravaganza. 6 hours later…

Curried Carrot Soup with Toasted Almonds

Prosecco (we really love sparkling!)

 Turkey Roulade with Cranberry and Shitake Stuffing

Cider Gravy

Roasted Yukon Golds and Sweet Potatoes with Sage

Creamed Leek and Kale Gratin

Cranberry and Apple Chutney

Poppy’s Rolls (my wonderful grandfather’s rolls- Alabama certified!)

Georges DuBoeuf 2011 Beaujolais

Ahh,  gastronomic bliss. A little political/historical conversation, interlaced with a little more wine, allowed for some time to elapse before…

Bourbon Pumpkin Cheesecake

Cappuccino with Cinnamon

I’m so thankful for my wonderful mother, father, sister, partner, Ted-cat, friends, professors, stipend-giving university, and the internet for providing me with a very inexpensive culinary education.

Happiness. Epicurean Happiness.

My first Epicurean Historian foray naturally represents one of my historical interests: the antebellum US South. It was also inspired by our dinner guests, Kelly and Tim: born and bred Virginians, super foodies, and wonderful friends (who always bring dessert).  So… drumroll please…

CHICKEN PUDDING!

Um, pudding and chicken? My partner, Felix, asked the same question with the same discomfort and incredulity. This pudding is of the English style, and creates a fluffy, custard-like pillow for the chicken. Here’s the original recipe:

“Chicken Pudding, A Favourite Virginia Dish”

“Beat ten eggs very light, add to them a quart of rich milk, with a quarter of a pound of butter melted, and some pepper and salt; stir in as much flour as will make a thin good batter; take four young chickens, and after cleaning them nicely, cut off the legs, wings, &c. put them all in a sauce pan, with some salt and water, and a bundle of thyme and parsley, boil them till nearly done, then take the chicken from the water and put it in the batter, pour it in a deep dish, and bake it.” (Mary Randolph, The Virginia Housewife (Baltimore: Plaskitt, Fite, 1838), 83-4. Accessed at The Historic American Cookbook Project, http://digital.lib.msu.edu/projects/cookbooks/html/books/book_10.cfm.)

Considered by many to be the first regional (and also southern) cookbook in America, The Virginia House-Wife came to other housewives in 1824 by Mrs. Mary Randolph. A part of the Virginia aristocracy, relative of Thomas Jefferson, and regionally renowned cook, Randolph operated an efficient and orderly home, not to mention a stellar antebellum kitchen. Her emphatic motto, “The prosperity and happiness of a family depend greatly on the order and regularity established in it,” reflects the social and gender norms of the southern gentry (p.xii). And yet The Virginia House-Wife incorporates much more than just elite Virginia recipes; African, American Indian, Spanish, French, English, and many other diverse foods fill her recipe book. I want to begin, however, with this classic southern recipe.

As this was (apparently) one of President James Monroe’s favorite dishes, it must have been delicious for the antebellum era. Yet, we are not living nor eating in the nineteenth century anymore. Pondering on how I could innovate and improve upon this recipe, my (southern) psyche drifted from pudding to bread pudding. I love a good sweet bread pudding; why not a savory one? So here’s what I came up with:

Roasted Chicken, Caramelized Onion, and Gruyère Bread Pudding with Crispy Pancetta

* ½ loaf Country French Bread

* olive oil (I always use extra virgin)

* 2 tsp. thyme, minced, separated

* 2 bone-in, skin-on chicken breasts

* ¼ lb. pancetta (sliced ¼” thick), diced

* 2 onions, thinly sliced

* ½ tbsp. garlic, minced

* 5 eggs

* 1 cup heavy cream

* 1 ¼ cup whole milk

* 1 cup Gruyère, grated

* 1 celery stalk, chopped

* Red pepper flakes

* ¼ cup Parmigiano-Reggiano, grated

* Salad greens (I’m using spinach)

* Lemon, sliced into wedges

Cut bottom crust and short ends off bread and discard. Cut remaining bread with crust into 1-inch cubes (about 6 cups loosely packed). Place cubes in a large bowl. Drizzle with 1 tbsp. olive oil, 1 tsp. thyme, salt and pepper; toss to coat. Spread cubes out on large rimmed baking sheet. Toast until golden in a 375º oven (about 20 minutes) to dry them out. Set aside.

Rub chicken breasts with olive oil; sprinkle with salt and pepper. Place on baking sheet, and roast in a 350º oven for 45 minutes. Remove from oven and cool. Take skin off and shred the chicken. Set aside.

While chicken roasts, add diced pancetta to a large, cold sauté pan. (Beginning with a cold pan with ensure that you render the fat from the pancetta, which adds a wonderful flavor to the onions!) Turn up heat to medium-high, and sauté until crisp. Transfer pancetta to a plate lined with paper towels. Reserve pancetta drippings.

For a visual, here’s pancetta sliced, diced, and crisped!

Heat drippings to medium-high heat. (Depending on the amount of fat rendered from the bacon, you may want to remove some of the drippings or add some olive oil. You want about 1 tsp. of fat for each onion used, so about ½ tbsp. of fat would be perfect here.) Add sliced onions, and stir to coat. Spread onions evenly over pan, reduce heat to medium/medium low (you don’t want these babies to burn!), and cook 10 minutes, stirring occasionally. Sprinkle some salt and a little sugar (no more than ¼ tsp.), and continue to cook for 30 minutes to an hour, or until the onions are a rich, brown color. (If onions begin to stick and seem quite dried out, add a little water or stock.) Throw in the garlic and 1 tsp. thyme in the pan, and cook about 1 minute. (Careful! Garlic burns quickly, more quickly than you think. Be careful, it might have already burned as you read this!) Add a splash of balsamic vinegar to deglaze the pan, scraping up those yummy brown bits on the bottom of the pan with a wooden spoon. (The pan should be hot enough here that the vinegar sizzles when it hits the pan, and evaporates quickly, leaving you with lovely vinegar-glazed onions.) Turn off heat, and allow onions to cool a bit. (You don’t want to curdle your eggs.)

Onions before and after:

In a large bowl, beat the eggs. Whisk in the cream and milk. Fold in the bread cubes so they can absorb the liquid. Fold in caramelized onions, half of pancetta, shredded chicken, gruyère, celery, pinch of red pepper flakes, and mix well. Season with salt and pepper. Let the mixture sit in the bowl for an hour, stirring it every 10-15 minutes.

Preheat the oven to 400º. Spray a 9×13 (or smaller, whatever you have) baking pan with cooking spray and turn the bread mixture into the pan. Sprinkle with parm and remaining pancetta. Bake at 400º for about 50 minutes, until the top is golden brown and puffy…like this:

When the pudding has approximately 5 minutes to go, start assembling your salad. Toss the greens of your choice with a drizzle of olive oil, splash of lemon juice, and sprinkle of salt and pepper. Don’t like my non-existent measurements? That’s because with a simple salad it’s all about tasting and adjusting according to your taste. Just remember: it’s always better to add a little at a time rather than saturate the greens. You’re the chef; season it to your taste and everyone will love it.

Serve the warm bread pudding alongside the salad, a wedge of lemon, and a nice, hefty glass of Côtes du Rhône. Hey, you deserve it. Á votre santé!

Deliciousness. Wonderful for brunch, lunch, or dinner.

A hearty thank you to Mrs. Mary Randolph, the lovely Commonwealth of Virginia, my sous chefs (Felix, Kelly, and Tim), and Teddy,

whose laziness always inspires me to take a chill pill.

There are two things in life that are simultaneously of the present and the past: food and history. Let’s think about this… a meal is prepared in the moment of its cooking and eaten very soon after, yet each dish is a process much longer in the making. It requires hours of finding, editing, and compiling recipes, recipes that have their own histories spanning much further back than you might assume. Similarly history is both of the now and then — it is researched and written in a particular moment that greatly affects the perspective of that “past” we often view as static and unchanging. It requires a knowledge of not only what came before — the historical facts and the historiography (the history of the history) — but also of what is happening in the present and how it skews (both positively and negatively) our understanding. This blending of the past and present in both food and history is what intrigues me as a cook and a graduate student. Thus the characterization of myself as hungry and historical. Thus the Epicurean Historian.

To maintain my sanity, I take time out of my grad school schedule (a.k.a. reading, reading, reading, and writing) to relax, cook, and drink with friends and family. It’s time I combine these two pursuits. Each week I’ll mine the archives (both physical and electronic) to find an old recipe, one that intrigues my dual senses as historian and cook. Then I’ll prepare a modern dish from that recipe; inspired by what I find, I’ll apply contemporary techniques, technology, and products to culinary classics. Maybe you can tell me which recipe (traditional or modern) piques your interest, speaks to your history, or makes you glad you live in the twenty-first century.

For food and history to provide us with something meaningful, they require immediate consumption through eating and reading. And yet they also necessitate contemplation and consideration. Through this, our labors (both culinary and historical) can facilitate us on our quest for the good life. So let’s celebrate what brings us joy, for “we must exercise ourselves in the things which bring happiness, since, if that be present, we have everything, and, if that be absent, all our actions are directed towards attaining it” (Epicurus, Letter to Menoeceus, found at www.epicurus.net).