Crawfish Boil Frittata
Mother’s Day is just around the corner.
You may be thinking of having a Mother’s Day brunch.
Here’s a simple and delicious brunch idea—how about doing a frittata? Not familiar? Think of it as an omelet’s adventuresome Italian cousin.
This recipe is Straight Outta Breaux Bridge! Inspired by Chez Jaqueline’s killer crawfish omelet.
Hop down the page for essential frittata tips.
Let’s do this!
Ingredients
Serves 4-6
8 large, pastured eggs
1/4 cup half and half
1/4 teaspoon salt
2 shakes Crystal hot sauce
1/4 cup diced red bell pepper
1 cup C’est Bon cleaned crawfish tails
1/4 cup frozen or canned (drained) corn
1 cup cubed red skin potatoes
3 tablespoons light olive oil or avocado oil
Blackened Cajun seasoning
1 cup hand grated pepper jack or sharp cheddar cheese
Microgreens, cherry tomatoes, and red chili flakes to garnish
Method
Pre-heat the oven to 375 degrees.
Start by dicing the red bell pepper into 1/4” x 1” strips and the red potatoes into 1/2” or slightly smaller chunks. Steam or blanch until almost tender. Test with a toothpick.
Spoon steamed peppers and potatoes onto a paper towel lined cookie sheet to dry and cool. Then place them in a bowl with the corn and toss with 1 teaspoon olive oil, a pinch of sea salt, and a pinch of blackened seasoning. Line a cookie sheet with parchment and spoon the peppers, potatoes, and corn onto the sheet. Roast in the oven till lightly browned. Remove and pat with a paper towel. Let them cool on the kitchen counter then spoon into a bowl and place it in the refrigerator until you are ready to start your stovetop egg mixture.
Season the crawfish tails to taste (do not rinse). Heat a large non-stick skillet on medium-high, add a half tablespoon of oil, and quickly sauté the crawfish tails (do not crowd) till the spices are fragrant and the tails are bronzed and just cooked through. Be VERY careful not to overcook your crawfish at this stage. Turn them out onto a paper towel to drain and rest. You can place them in the refrigerator along with your potato, peppers, and corn while resetting your kitchen for the stovetop phase.
Use a large glass mixing bowl, add the eggs, half and half, salt, and hot sauce, and whisk vigorously but just till the egg whites are fully incorporated; any more agitation risks the eggs turning out tough. Let the mixture rest for 10 minutes before starting your pan.
Cooking a proper frittata is a two-stage process. First, use your best oven-safe, non-stick skillet. Warm the skillet on medium-low and add the olive oil. Swirl to coat the bottom and sides When the skillet is warmed, add the egg mixture, then the peppers, potatoes, corn, and crawfish tails and cook low and slow for approximately five minutes until the edges of the egg begin to set. Loosen the edge with your spatula. Scatter the grated cheese over the top, and go straight into your preheated oven. Bake for about five minutes. Test by jiggling the pan to see if the center is starting to set. When the center is no longer jiggly, test for doneness by piercing the center with a knife, and if the eggs don't run back into the cut, you are ready for a quick run under the broiler to finish.
When your frittata comes out of the oven (watch that hot handle, use a mitt), slide it out on a cutting board or serving platter to avoid your skillet's residual heat overcooking the eggs.
Garnish with quartered cherry tomatoes, red chili flakes and snipped microgreens for a pop of color and flavor. Serve in pizza-style slices.
Essential frittata tips:
Use your best oven proof, non-stick skillet. Cast iron is OK if well-seasoned, porcelain lined cast iron is better and super non-stick ceramic lined is best. No plastic or wooden handles.
Guideline: 8" skillet—6 eggs, 10" skillet—8 eggs, and so on. The egg mixture should just cover the fillings. A traditional frittata is about one-half to three-quarters of an inch thick.
Use a light, higher heat neutral oil. Butter will over-brown the bottom of the frittata.
You’ll need a good whisk and silicone spatula.
Remember, “Time, and a cooking egg, waits for no man.” Prep the ingredients ahead. Use your phone or kitchen timer.
Gumbo Weather
It’s mid-March in southeast Texas, and we are in the middle of yet another cold front. Hopefully, this will be winter's last gasp? I'm ready for old Sol.
Every time we get a late-season shot of cold air, it reminds me of a trip home from Baton Rouge a few years ago.
It was a Thursday afternoon around the second week of March. The azaleas on LSU's Sorority Row were splashed with pink and white, joggers and cyclists in skimpy wind shorts and Varsity tees circled University Lake, and ear-budded students lolled in the high clover, soaking up the early spring warmth. But, Old Man Winter wasn't quite ready to give up his ghost.
The big blue norther barreled through just before dark. I was pumping gas at the Larouge Mart on Jefferson Highway when the eerie blue-black cloud line passed over. As the wind switched, fat raindrops popped on the aluminum awning, and a dust devil spun up in the parking lot. The girl at the register said she heard on WAFB it had hailed up in Zachary, trees were down, and the power was out.
We had a dinner meeting at Mansur's, and by the time it broke up, the mercury had dipped to 52. When I checked out of the Cook Hotel the next morning, my truck's thermometer read a frigid 38.
I had one more sales call to make before heading back home. I10 was stacked up past Perkins Road, so I took Dalrymple to Park Blvd., drove through the leaf and limb-strewn Garden District and then hung a left on Government for a straight shot downtown. The 20 mph wind chill cut right through my khakis on the quarter-mile race walk from a 5th Street parking spot to the Albemarle Tower. Once there, I was greeted by a conference room full of engineers decked in LSU windbreakers, flannel, and wool. I stuck out like a sore thumb in my sea-foam green golf shirt. If preparedness was a criterion for their evaluation, I was sunk.
Mercifully, the meeting was over by 10:30. I steeled myself with a cup of coffee in the lobby, had to use my shoulder to break the gusty north wind hermetic on the glass door, and then quick-stepped to the shelter of my truck. When I hit the St. Ferdinand Street entrance ramp to I10, the “New Bridge” traffic was lighter than usual. I made Port Allen by 10:45 and then sprinted through “no man's land” between Grosse Tete and Ramah and on to the Atchafalaya Basin long bridge. I pulled into Breaux Bridge just before noon.
If my trip had been more leisurely, I might have gone downtown to Café Sydnie Mae or Buck & Johnny’s. But, after a long week, I was anxious to get home, and the cafeteria-style service at Poche’s Market would get me fed and back on the road quickly. I took the Anse Broussard Highway north from the Interstate and followed the signs to Poche’s Bridge Road, crossed Bayou Teche to the Main Highway and turned left into the parking lot. It was 45 outside, and the café’s roadside marquee read “Gumbo Weather.”
I found a spot near the back fence and hurried to the door, passing an RV with Ontario plates, oil-field service trucks, mud-caked crawfish farm trucks, Accords and Camrys, a black Escalade, and a State Police cruiser. Out front, twin full-dress Road Kings leaned on their kickstands. Poche’s has an eclectic clientele.
Stepping inside, I shook off the chill and looked around the dining room. It was just as I remembered—warm and downhome, with deer mounts, fleurs-de-lis, Saints, and bayou memorabilia on the walls. The blonde-stained wood-top tables were set up with Poche’s colorful hot Gumbo Pot logo napkin holders and house-brand hot sauce and Cajun seasoning.
I joined the queue and studied the Friday “specials” board. My heart was set on the chicken and andouille sausage gumbo, but the fried catfish and crawfish etouffee looked mighty good! And what about the jambalaya and shrimp stew? The pressure was on! The couple in front of me got gumbo, potato salad, and boudin balls. When it was my turn I side-stepped up and blurted out “I’ll have what they’re having.” We all had a big laugh, and the jovial server with a pink “Keep Calm and Gumbo On” tee-shirt heaped two big ladles on top of my rice. I added a handful of saltine cracker packs, some unsweet tea, and a praline for dessert and panned the dining room for a place to sit.
The tables were set up family style, and there were very few empty seats. When I started toward the back, my new friends from the serving line caught my eye and motioned for me to join them. I sat down, and we introduced ourselves. Chris and Jean were from Sarnia, Ontario. They wore olive cargo pants, lugged-sole hiking shoes, L.L. Bean camp shirts and had a pleasant confidence and easy demeanor of a couple with a well-planned retirement. Jean was a high school teacher and Chris, an engineer at Dow Chemical. They were on a bucket-list trip in their Winnebago and were enjoying Louisiana’s balmy (by Canadian standards) spring weather. The night before, they camped at Lake Martin and were headed for Texas’ Big Bend that afternoon. The hot gumbo and good company hit the spot. We laughed hard when Chris Canadianized Poche’s Whole Hog Smokehouse tagline “Everything from the rooter to the tooter, eh?”
I hated to leave good company, but we needed to get back on the road. We ended our repast, exchanged e-mails, vowed to stay in touch (“if you are ever in Sarnia”), and headed to the parking lot. I got up on the Main Highway, ran down to I10, and then settled in for the two-hour drive to the border.
The Friday traffic was surprisingly light, and l made good time to Lake Charles and on through Sulphur and Vinton to the State Line. As I passed through Orange, I called my wife to check in with a progress report and to see what was on tap for the evening. Our call went like this:
“Hey, babe!”
“How’s your trip?”
“Aww, it’s good. I’m passing through Orange.”
“Wow, you made good time!”
“Yeah, traffic was light. How was your day?”
“It was OK, but I’m sick of this weather. I’ve been cold all day.”
“Tell me about it. I didn’t have enough clothes. What are we going to do for supper? We could run up to Elena’s and be back in time for Five O?”
“I don’t think I can go out. Could you just go through Beaumont and stop at Floyd’s and get us some gumbo? You could call it in.”
“Uhhh…yeah, I guess so. What kind do you want?”
“I’m thinking chicken and sausage, and could you get some potato salad to go with it and some of those little garlic toast thingies?”
“Will do, I’ll text you when I leave Floyd’s.”
“OK, sounds good, be careful!”
When I got off the phone, I thought for a second…hmm, gumbo again? Then said to myself, “What the heck, it’s gumbo weather, eh?” I got the large with extra rice.
Gumbo weather! You won’t find it listed in the Farmers’ Almanac, but in Bayou Country, it’s a…thing. Instinctive, like the “salmon of Capistrano.” A ritual, come the first cold front of the season. Gumbo pots come out, roux are stirred, trinities chopped, crabs cleaned, shrimp peeled, and friends, neighbors, and families gather. In October, McIlhenny reports a spike in Tabasco sales, and Rouses Markets sell out of filé and you won’t find a stick of andouille south of I10. Down in Pecan Island, gumbo simmers on every duck camp stove. In the Quarter, you’ll stop dead in your tracks with the savor from the Gumbo Shop and Mr. B’s, and on a blustery winter night, there’s no better place to be than the long table at Mosquito Supper Club. Liuzza’s By the Track and Mandina’s have a perpetual line down the street and up in Baton Rouge, The Cup and a Half at Dempsey’s will bring tears to your eyes.
On a cold December day, at Prejean’s in Lafayette, I once ordered shrimp gumbo for dessert. My waitress never batted an eye. “No problem cher.” She said. “It’s gumbo weather.”
Gumbo On
The first notion of comfort food came to the fore in a 1966 Palm Beach Post newspaper article. The story read, “Adults, when under severe emotional stress, turn to what could be called comfort food—that is food associated with the security of childhood.”
But, Dorothea Aucoin and the ladies of the Patterson Louisiana St. Joseph’s Catholic Church bereavement committee didn’t need a fancy newspaper article to tell them what they already knew. Food, lovingly prepared and shared is “good for the soul.”
Read on for “Miss Dorothea’s Gumbo”…
Miss Dorothea's Gumbo
Dorothea Bernard was born in New Iberia, Louisiana, in 1931 and grew up along the live oak and cypress shaded banks of the Bayou Teche just north of Calumet. She was the first of six children. Her father, Sylvian, was a cypress lumberman and trapper and mother Patrice, a homemaker, and sometimes moss picker. After the lean years of the depression and as the oilfields of St. Mary's and Terrebonne Parish began to boom, the family moved down the bayou to Patterson, and her dad hired on as a shooter for a Texas Company seismic crew. She began learning to cook, as most good Cajun girls did in those days, alongside her mother, grandmother, aunts, and family friends as soon as she was tall enough to reach the stove.
During World War II, Sylvian volunteered as a Coast Guard Auxiliarist and served on a Coastal Picket Force shrimp trawler with the Morgan City flotilla. In her father’s absence, as the eldest child, Dorothea’s household responsibilities expanded. By 12, she could run a bayou trotline, skin a catfish, pick a pintail duck and clean a bushel basket of crabs tout suite. At 14, she was cooking most of the family's Sunday dinners and her gumbo poulet was a staple at church pot luck suppers. At 16, when she married Cajun shrimper and oysterman Hilaire Aucoin, her kitchen skills were prodigious and widely known. Sylvian and Patrice could not have been prouder. Hilaire could not have been happier.
On October 21, 1958, a Texaco drill barge working in the West Cote Blanche Bay Field in St. Mary's Parish Louisiana, southwest of New Iberia, hit a gas pocket and blew out and caught fire. The motorman, 32-year-old James T. Constant of Patterson and 19-year-old floorhand Curtis Ray "Boo" Ardoin of Amelia perished in the conflagration. The tragic loss of two native sons rocked the close-knit Cajun communities.
As the bayou towns grieved, a benefit for the families was held at the Veteran's Memorial Building in New Iberia's City Park. Hundreds of friends, co-workers, and family members gathered to pay their respects. Dorothea Aucoin and the ladies of the bereavement committee at St. Joseph’s Catholic Church in Patterson cooked gumbo, made potato salad, and banana pudding for dessert. The serving line wound around the building, stretching beneath the live oaks and down to the bank of Bayou Teche.
From that day, Dorothea Aucoin's gumbo rose to legendary status and, for over 60 years, offered solace to countless parish families in times of loss, grief, and uncertainty. Through the Vietnam War years, Hurricanes Betsy and Rita, the Oil Bust, and 911, her gumbo was the epitome of what we now refer to as “comfort food.”
Miss Dorothea passed away in June 2014. She was 83. Just two weeks before, she and her beloved bereavement committee cooked shrimp and okra gumbo and brought a lovely meal to a church family member who had lost a loved one.
After Dorothea’s passing, her granddaughter—Lucie, while going through her keepsakes, found tucked inside her Bible a yellowed envelope postmarked Franklin Louisiana, November 3, 1958. Inside was a smudged pencil written note in Cajun French. “Merci pour le magnifique gumbo. Nous serons éternellement reconnaissants de votre gentilesse.” Translated, it read, “Dear Miss Dorothea, Thank you for the beautiful gumbo. We will be forever grateful for your kindness. With Love, Marguerite Constant”
The Kindness of Strangers
We've been looking forward to a day trip down to Galveston since last spring, but the summer crush of tourists, the heat, and hour-long ferry lines kept the plans on hold. But, finally, school started, the crowds thinned out and a trip looked doable, so we picked a weekday with a fine weather forecast and blew town early so we could catch the 7:00 AM ferry. I have a love-hate relationship with the Galveston ferries (read Curse of the Cone Johnson in the stories tab), but I take it as a good sign if we are first or last in line. On Wednesday, we were last. With the Robert H. Dedman’s departure horn blowing, we made it by the skin of our teeth and settled in for a nice ride with spirits buoyed by our good fortune.
We planned to go down to Pier 19 and watch the shrimpers come in and then have breakfast, ride around a bit to sightsee, and kill some time until the Strand shops opened at 10:00 AM. We usually eat at the Mosquito Café or get a cinnamon roll next door at Patty Cakes. Still, I wanted to try a new spot in Evia out on the West End. So when we finished our harbor side walk, we cruised out on the Seawall to 81st, hung a right to Stewart Rd. where we took a left down to Schaper Rd., took another right, drove into the subdivision, and made it to the restaurant by 8:30. Easy peasy!
The place was cute, airy with a subway tiled, ship-lapped, Chip and Jojo style, Island vibe, a counter service menu, and a great cup of coffee. But, sadly, that's where the wheels came off. I'll skip the YELP foodie style review but suffice to say; we were disappointed. But, hey, it happens even at the best places. Hopefully, it was just a one-off lapse, and they'll right the ship.
We had some time left before heading downtown, so we tooled through the neighborhood, gawked at the fine Key West-style homes, picturesque lakes, and lush landscaping, and then headed back to town on the Seawall.
But, predictably, before we made it past Gaidos, I was already stewing over the breakfast debacle. Our conversation went like this:
"So, how hard is it to cook some hash browns and warm up a flour tortilla for a burrito, for goodness sake?" I fumed!
"I thought you were going let it go." She replied.
“Yeah, I know… but I was really looking forward to it.” I whined.
“Don't let it ruin our trip.”
“I'll try.”
“Hey…let's go to Patty Cakes and get a Pecan Cinnamon Roll to make up for it.”
“Are you STILL hungry?”
“No, not really, but at least it'll make us feel better.”
“Ha…OK! Let's go!”
We ran down to 14th and took a left. Crossed Broadway, down to Winnie, and parked directly in front of the bakery. There was a man and his son in front of me, so I hung back and perused the glass front case. The scones, quiches, croissants, cookies, and tarts looked beautiful, but I didn't spot the pecan cinnamon rolls. I was getting a little panicky. Finally, a young man came around the corner from the kitchen and asked if he could help me.
"I'd like one cinnamon roll, please." I said.
“I'm sorry we are out of cinnamon rolls. Is there anything else I can get you?” He said.
"Oh man, my wife had her heart set on a pecan cinnamon roll. So we drove all the way down from Nederland just to get one."
The cheerful lady who was helping the other customers chimed in.
"It's best to call ahead if you know you are coming, they sell out fast. They just got the last ones." Nodding toward the man and son.
"OK, thank you!" I sighed and headed for the door.
I must have looked pretty dejected. The morning wasn't going very well, that's for sure. But, just as I passed the gentleman and his son, he said:
"Hey, give him one of our’s. I hate for his wife to be disappointed!" He said with a big smile.
"Wow, are you sure? That is so nice of you! Can I pay you for it or buy you a cup of coffee?" I replied.
"Heck no, just remember you met some nice folks from Tyler," He said with a friendly laugh.
"I will, thank you so much. That made my day!"
The good Samaritans headed out the door ahead of me, I followed, and when I got back in the truck, I gave them a big wave and thumbs up as they drove off towards the beach.
I think that was the best cinnamon roll we ever ate and made even sweeter by the kindness of strangers. I had forgotten about the soggy hash browns as we struck out for the Strand.
We had a great trip. I got a new Yaga T-shirt, my wife shopped at Tina's and window shopped on Post Office Street, we located and drove by Fish Company Taco on 23rd (next trip), and scoped out the fresh fish and shrimp at Katie's Seafood Market. Then, finally, we skipped the ferry line, took the long way home on Hwy 146, and stopped at Pier 6 in San Leon, where we enjoyed a terrific late lunch at a chill table overlooking Galveston Bay.
Hash Brown Kerfuffle
After the Galveston hash brown kerfuffle, I decided to cook my own for breakfast on Saturday. I skipped the frozen bagged potatoes and decided instead to do some Brabant style, inspired by Emeril’s Louisiana Real & Rustic cookbook from 1996. We first had them with the Cedar Planked Redfish at NOLA but they are a New Orleans creole classic, equally copacetic with eggs and pan sausage!
His recipe calls for blanching and pan frying but I opted for a lighter approach with drizzled olive oil, a 400 degree oven and parchment lined baking sheet. I’m almost ashamed it’s so easy.
Scrub and rinse russet or red-skin potatoes. Cut them in ½” chunks (we prefer skin on, your choice). Soak them in water for a half hour, rinse and drain ‘em, then blanch on a low boil, drain in a colander, spread on a sheet pan, pat dry (essential, dry potato=crispy potato), and cool. Toss in a SS bowl with a light drizzle of olive oil, ground pepper, pinch of sea salt and a pinch of your favorite creole or Cajun seasoning. Spread them on the parchment and slide them into a pre-heated 400 degree oven. Roast about 20 minutes, turning occasionally until brown and crispy. Test with a toothpick or fork for doneness. And for the coup de grace quickly microwave two tablespoons of butter in a ramekin with a dash of Worcestershire and a shake of Crystal hot sauce and lightly drizzle over the potatoes at service. Bam!!
A garnish with finely chopped flat leaf parsley or green onions adds a nice touch.
Crab Renée
It seems just like yesterday that we’d load the kids up after church and head up to my mom’s house in Beaumont for Sunday lunch. She loved a formal sit down, with the good china, Granny’s silverware, green milk glass and an arrangement from the garden. I was always amazed that she could pull together such a lovely meal in the short time between when her Sunday school class let out and our noonish arrival.
If it was crab season, she'd likely make a crab dish the centerpiece of our special occasions. Mom sure loved crabs—lump crab meat, crab claws, boiled, bar-b-que, deviled, cakes, bisque, stew, and gumbo. One year for my birthday, she drove all the way down to Milt's Seafood in Bolivar to get the freshest, just off the boat, crabmeat for her deviled crab recipe. She was especially fond of chilled crab salad with garden-fresh tomatoes and cucumbers and often served it for her bridge club and Sunday school class luncheons.
She came by her affinity naturally. You could say it was kismet. After all, our Krebs family name literally means seller or catcher of crabs. Grandad, Rene Eugene Krebs, had a seafood business down on Texas Bayou and operated the Jetty House café and provisioning at the foot of the west jetty in old Sabine. Mom spent many a day crabbing off the shrimp boat docks, fishing from Grandad’s skiff, and sailing with cousins Charles and Sherrill over in Lighthouse Cove. Her childhood was steeped in saltwater.
Of course, no family crab story would be complete without mentioning that cousin Ferrall Tennant Mitchell "invented" (so we claim) bar-b-que crabs during her long tenure as a cook at the legendary Granger’s Seafood in Sabine Pass and my Uncle Herbert’s Sabine Pass Inn.
My maternal grandmother, Elizabeth Krebs Pollock, was a fabulous Creole seafood cook as well. She could fry speckled trout and oysters, make a redfish court bullion or a sublime crab bisque with equal aplomb and her gumbo had no peer.
Granny used to tell a great story about Mom. When she was about six years old, she once ate so much crabmeat that she made herself sick. Grandad caught a big mess of crabs on a trip up in Pole Lake and he brought a bushel basket of the best ones to Granny. She boiled and cleaned them and then sat down at the kitchen table to pick them out for a gumbo. She took a break to answer the front door and visit with a neighbor for a few minutes, and when she came back in, discovered Mom had slipped into the kitchen and eaten the whole pile of picked-out crab meat. She had to miss Sunday school the next day!
Through the years, I’ve tried to continue Grandad’s crabbing tradition. Mom was always thrilled when I’d have some luck and surprise her with a Tupperware container full of fresh crabmeat.
Sometimes she’d even turn her kitchen over to me, and I'd try my hand at treasured family recipes. I think her favorite was my Grandmother’s Crab Creole. From Alsace-Lorraine to Pascagoula and New Orleans, Johnson Bayou and Sabine, there were four generations of Krebs, “hands in the pot.” I have great respect for the recipe’s provenance, but I don't think the family would mind if I renamed it in honor of my mom. Hence Crab Renée.
Down the bayou, there’s a fine line between Creole and Cajun, creole, stew, etouffee, sauce piquant, and fricassee. Even the most subtle differences can stir-up lively and animated debate.
In my Grandmother’s kitchen, there was no doubt. Tomatoes were sacrosanct and the foundation of her creoles, court bouillons, stews, bisques, and gumbo. She marked me, that’s for sure. I was in my 50’s before I tried my first bite of brown “river road” jambalaya and I’m still a little skeptical of tomato-less shrimp or crab stews and crawfish etouffee.
So, Crab Renée, hews faithfully to our Krebs family Creole roots, fronted with whole tomatoes, and an aromatic French bouquet garni, and a nutty chocolate brown roux. The perfect foil for the sweet decadence of fresh jumbo lump crabmeat.
Ingredients
2 28 oz. cans of SMT brand whole tomatoes
¼ cup canola oil
¼ cup all-purpose flour
1 yellow onion
1 whole carrot
1 bouquet garni (tied with 1 sprig fresh thyme, 2 sprigs parsley, 2 large bay leaves)
¼ cup finely diced celery
¼ cup finely diced green bell pepper
1 teaspoon finely minced fresh garlic (not jarred)
cayenne pepper to taste
1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce
1 teaspoon Original Louisiana Brand hot sauce
sea salt to taste
ground black pepper to taste
fine chopped green onion to garnish
1 cup vegetable or chicken stock
2 rinsed, cleaned and halved “gumbo” crabs
1 pound fresh jumbo lump crabmeat
Cooked long grain rice
Method
Lightly rinse, inspect and pick over the lump crabmeat removing any residual shell. Set aside in the refrigerator.
Tie a neat bundle of the fresh herbs with kitchen twine and set aside. Dry herbs can be substituted but should be secured in a cheese cloth purse for easy retrieval. Crab Renée is an elegant special occasion dish and bundled herbs impart flavor while allowing easy removal to maintain an attractive serving presentation.
Peel and half the yellow onion and carrot. Place each, cut side down in the bottom of a large non-reactive pot. Spoon the canned tomatoes into the pot, reserving the juice for later, and add the tied herb bundle. Heat the pot to a simmer, cover and stew the tomatoes for 30-45 minutes on low heat, stirring occasionally. When the tomatoes have broken down, remove the herb bundle, onion and carrot halves and crush the softened tomatoes with a potato masher to a smooth consistency. Discard any stubborn stems. Remove from the heat and set aside.
Warm a heavy bottomed pot or enameled cast iron 5-quart Dutch oven on medium heat. Add the canola oil, then the flour and stir continuously with a bevel edged roux spoon for 15 minutes or until the roux is a dark peanut butter color.
Add the chopped celery and green bell peppers, stir to combine and reduce heat to medium low. Cook the vegetables until they soften, add the finely chopped garlic and continue stirring until fragrant, being careful not to burn.
Add the crushed tomatoes to the roux vegetable mixture one ladle at a time, stirring constantly till smooth. Add one half the cayenne pepper, ground black pepper, hot sauce, Worcestershire, and remaining reserved tomato juice and the gumbo crabs. Adjust the sauce’s thickness by adding additional stock if necessary. Bring to a low boil and quickly reduce heat to low and cover to maintain a simmer and cook for 30 minutes. Remove the gumbo crabs. Add the remaining cayenne, salt and ground black pepper to taste. Raise the heat to medium, add the jumbo lump crabmeat and cook uncovered (do not boil again) for 10 minutes.
Serve over long grain rice with chopped green onions to garnish.
Coda
Crab Renée is not for the faint of heart. Last week I checked the price of prime jumbo lump crabmeat at Katie’s Seafood in Galveston. This spring and summer’s drought, lingering hangover from pandemic supply chain issues, fuel costs, and the general decline in the Galveston Bay and Sabine Lake fisheries have pushed local prices to over $40.00 a pound. You could try and catch them yourself but die-hard “chicken neckers” are struggling too. I saw a forum post on Blue Crab.info touting a Sea Wolf Park trip with a half-dozen “keepers” as a good haul.
Deviled Crab Cakes Ma Maison
Last Saturday, on our Farmer’s Market run, I was stoked to find that Painted Angel Farms, thanks to their hydroponic greenhouse, still had a few tomatoes. So we grabbed a basket, picked out six beauties, including a couple of big ones, near baseball size.
I wanted to do something special with them. I was thinking Crab Napoleons—fat tomato slices, double-decker crab salad with avocado on top—a WOW choice for a summer Sunday lunch. So after we finished up at the market, we swung by Seafood Lover on the way home to pick up a pound of fresh lump crabmeat.
But, like my mom used to say, “There’s many a slip ‘twixt the cup and the lip."
First, Stevie Edwards and his crew at the Seafood Lover are the best, but they were out of jumbo lump crabmeat. So instead, I got a pound of fresh lump, which is still excellent but not the ultimate choice for a luxe crab salad. Plus, my curbside pick-up avocadoes were bruised up.
So to plan B. After much discussion, we decided on deviled crab cakes and a tomato salad with Ma Maison sauce that would do double duty on both the crab cakes and tomatoes.
[Note: My Grandad would be ashamed of me for not catching my own crabs and growing my own tomatoes, but that’s a whole nuther story]
One of my avid blog readers reached out and asked: “So what’s this Ma Maison sauce?”
OK, so it wasn't actually a fan—my wife hollered it from the den after reading the first draft of my blog post. So I thought I’d better explain.
It’s a bit of a long story, but here goes:
Well, Ma Maison is "my house" in French. But I didn't think Deviled Crab Cakes with “my house” sauce sounded nearly a cool as the French translation. Of course, it's actually a Ravigote (pronounced Ravi-Got) sauce, but if I had said “Crab Cakes Ravigote," then I’d just be showing off.
Ravigote, in culinary French, literally means "freshen up." Back in the day, pre refrigeration, chefs added piquant herbs and greens like tarragon, capers, chervil, shallots, and chives to mayonnaise or herbed broth to freshen meats or shellfish that was a little past its prime.
These days you’ll likely find Ravigote sauced dishes in grand dames New Orleans restaurants like Antoine's, Galatoire’s, or Arnaud’s. Galatoire’s actually has two versions but calls the one for their cold crab salad “Ma Maison." Hence my Deviled Crab Cakes Ma Maison.
Are you with me?
On the sauces/dressings spectrum, it falls just between a vinaigrette and Remoulade. It's easy to make, and you can tweak it by adding whichever greens are your favorite. Perfect for pasta salads, creole potato salad, Coleslaw, and salad dressing.
Ingredients
Ma Maison Sauce
1 tablespoon white wine vinegar
1 tablespoon lemon juice
sea salt to taste
ground black pepper to taste
½ teaspoon Louisiana brand or Crystal hot sauce
½ teaspoon Worcestershire sauce
4 tablespoons olive oil
1 teaspoon creole mustard
1 tablespoon Dell Dixie Jalapeño Sweet Relish
1 tablespoon finely chopped capers
1 tablespoon finely chopped green bell pepper
1 tablespoon finely chopped red bell pepper
1 teaspoon sieved or grated boiled eggs
½ cup Blue Plate, Duke’s or Hellman’s mayonnaise
¼ teaspoon finely minced or grated fresh garlic (optional).
Deviled Crab Cakes
1 pound fresh lump crabmeat
1 teaspoon lemon juice
1 teaspoon creole mustard
½ teaspoon Worcestershire sauce
1 tablespoon mayonnaise
sea salt to taste
ground black pepper to taste
1 teaspoon Cajun seasoning, your favorite
1 teaspoon Louisiana Brand or Crystal hot sauce
2 tablespoons chopped green onions, white, and tops
½ teaspoon finely minced or grated fresh garlic
2 tablespoons finely chopped celery
2 tablespoons finely chopped red bell pepper
2 tablespoons finely chopped green bell pepper
2 eggs, whisked, reserve 1 for back-up
12 Ritz crackers crumbled fine
2 tablespoons melted butter
Method
Crab cakes can be a little tricky in the home kitchen. Many recipes call for pan-frying, and if the binder/starch/vegetable ratio isn’t just right, the cakes can fall apart or burn on the bottom in a heartbeat. I’ve learned the hard way with more than a few $30 a pound faux pas. So these days, I bake them at 375 degrees on a cookie sheet lined with parchment. And with Alexa's help, a light touch, and some practice with salmon patties, I think I've about got it down.
First, make sure you’ve rinsed (easy does it, you don’t want to break up the lumps with a full blast from the faucet) and carefully picked over your crab meat. Then lightly spread it out on doubled-up paper towels and pat it dry. Today's automated electric crab pickers tend to leave more shell behind than hand processing did back in the day.
Next, in a stainless or glass mixing bowl, combine the lemon juice, creole mustard, Worcestershire, mayonnaise, salt, pepper, and Cajun seasoning and whisk together. In a separate bowl, whisk your eggs and set them aside. In a large microwave-safe bowl, add your chopped celery, red and green bell pepper, onions, and garlic, then microwave the vegetables on high just until they are slightly wilted. Press the mixture dry with a paper towel. You can sauté the vegetables in butter if you’d prefer, but be careful not to overcook and be sure to drain them well. The microwave approach works just as well and is way easier to deal with when you're doing the dishes later.
Add your crab meat and Ritz crumbles to the vegetables and then your wet ingredients and whisked egg. Stir lightly with a rubber spatula to combine the mixture well, again being careful not the break up the crabmeat. Cover the bowl with Saran wrap and chill the mixture for about an hour. It will be a little easier to handle when thoroughly chilled and more likely to stay together when shaping the patties.
So now you’ve reached a critical juncture, forming the cakes. You can use a large round ice cream scoop (most aren’t big enough) or make them with your hands, "meatball style," and then flatten them out. I like to press the mixture flush into a lightly oiled ½ cup plastic measuring cup and then “pop” them out right onto the parchment. I rinse the cup and re-oil between each cake. If they are a too thick, flatten them a little with your spatula and shape up the edges, if necessary, with the back of a spoon. If your first cake falls apart, dump it back in your bowl, re-combine and adjust the mixture with your extra egg.
One pound of crab should make 6 nice size cakes. Try to keep them around 1" thick and 3" or so in diameter. Brush each cake with a little melted butter or olive oil and bake in a preheated 375-degree oven for about 15 minutes. Then, finish with a quick run under the broiler until golden brown.
Whew…OK, once you get the crab cakes in the oven the Ma Maison sauce is a breeze. I like to use a 2 cup Pyrex mixing bowl with a pouring lip and handle.
Measure and add the wine vinegar, lemon juice, hot sauce, Worcestershire, and creole mustard. Add the sea salt and ground pepper and give it a stir. Add the mayonnaise and whisk till smooth. The emulsion might be a little loose, so while drizzling in your olive oil, whisk vigorously till the sauce tightens up. Add a little more mayo and whisk again if the sauce is still too thin. (My wife always goes…”you’re sure being aggressive”). When your sauce is just right, add your relish and greens and mix with a fork to combine. Keep it in the refrigerator till you are ready to serve. Garnish with green and red peppers, a few whole capers, and the grated egg.
A note about using minced garlic. Adding fresh minced or grated garlic to your dressing/sauce will give it a punch but a little goes a long way and the longer it sits the more aromatic it gets. If you’ve made a Coleslaw or pasta salad and you are counting on the leftovers for the next day. I’d skip the garlic and the onions (except for a garnish).