The Secrets of Boiling Great Crawfish

Good Friday is probably the most popular day of the year in South Louisiana to fire up the burners for a crawfish boil. And for as many sacks of mudbugs tossed in the pot, I imagine that there is an equal number of seasoning methods used - from simple recipes consisting primarily of liquid crab boil to elaborate concoctions that resemble the work of Ferran Adria.

So what's the secret to great tasting crawfish? The long and short of it is: I don't know. It is probably just as truthful to say that there are many secrets as it is to say that there are no secrets.

Last week I had the honor and good fortune to serve as a judge for the annual crawfish boil fundraiser for The Drew Rodrigue Foundation, along with two other individuals who happen to know a hell lot more about food than I do - Aaron Burgau of Patois and Justin LeBlanc of Southern Yacht Club. We ate our way through 26 teams' worth of crawfish, and surprisingly we could taste the differences in flavor in each batch all the way through the end. Though we were not privy to each team's seasoning method, I did take away a few tips which I thought would be helpful to share.

1. Unlike making mashed potatoes and garlic bread, butter should be used in moderation in your crawfish boil. A few batches that we tasted were basically poached in liquid gold, which sounds good but the spice is then relegated to the background.
2. The southwest Louisiana method of seasoning the outside of the crawfish is acceptable but not as an exclusive method. Boiling your crawfish in what amounts to seawater imparts no flavor to the fat and tail meat, no matter how many shakes of Tony Chachere's your pour on after the fact.
3. Lemon is your friend. The acid really brings out the flavors in your boil and can help offset some of the heat from the cayenne.
4. In my most humble of opinions, I implore you to please leave the pineapple out of your crawfish pot.

There was also a lagniappe category judged separately from crawfish, and we saw some interesting additions to the typical potatoes, corn, and sausage. This discussion though is another topic for another blog post, but suffice it to say that there may be no better lagniappe than the turkey neck.

As for the winning team, the judges unanimously agreed that theirs was head and shoulders above all others. Interestingly enough, after the final decision had been made, we learned that the winner employed a homemade spice blend dusted over the crawfish just before serving. That secret reminded me of Brett Anderson's recent article on the Cajun Claws, and I immediately started formulating a plan for a Saturday afternoon trip to Abbeville.

Jazz Fest Food

When it comes to Jazz Fest, there are two kinds of people: those that go for the bands and those that go for the food. Place us in the latter category. Every festival goer has his/her favorite foods (mine meat pies for me, cochon de lait po-boy for Peter), and chefs are no different. This article in the Jazz Fest Bible put out by offBEAT Magazine, gives you a chef's eye view to eating right on da grounds.

The food at Jazz Fest is so extensive and diverse that one would need to attend everyday in order to try it all. But if you had to pick just a few things to eat at the Fair Grounds, what would they be? Is crawfish bread really worth waiting in line for? What's the most underrated food available? Is there anything wrong with just drinking Miller Lite all day and baking in the sun? Let us know your thoughts in the comments.

Whatever you are eating this weekend, remember to bring your pancho because it looks like it's going to be a wet one.

Local Dialect

Something familiar about this place. Mirrors on the walls, elegant yet casual, good food, attentive service; can't quite put my finger on it.

Last Saturday Lindsay (Lady tired of "such a lame nickname") and I dined at Patois. Patois, on the corner of Laurel and Webster, is a French word denoting a local dialect. That certainly is apparent in both the food and the restaurant itself.

The interior evokes memories of a Caribbean house with neutral colors, high ceilings, and large windows. A bar area leads to a raised dining room which gives ample opportunity to people watch.

We began with some cocktails, and why not? Lindsay had The Contessa which combined candied ginger and champagne. I had the White Lily which blended together egg white, gin, muddled cucumber, and sugar. What resulted was both creamy and refreshing. The sea cap white froth with traces of almost cerulean undertones provided visual stimuli to match the palate pleasing perfection of this drink.

The menu focuses mostly on interpretations (but not deviations) of French bistro fare. To begin a Lyon salad. Frisee, a fried egg (fried perfectly), a few chunks of Benton's bacon, and a light vinagrette. Pierce the egg and listen for the songs of angels. Then a take on spaghetti carbonara; nuggets of gnocchi tossed in a black pepper cream sauce, parmesan cheese, and pork belly. Dear God, what have I done to deserve such earthly delights?

I spied via the mirrors our waitress walking from the bar area with a sheepish expression. I had a feeling of what that countenance meant. Sure enough, the wine we ordered was not available. Luckily, she suggested another wine to go with our entrees (and truth be told probably a better wine). 2005 Domaine Ligneres a wonderful, full bodied but not heavy red.

I got the duck. It rocked. Set atop a bacon, apple, and potato hash and some brussel sprouts (what a great idea), was a perfectly seared breast of duck. The dish evoked memories of Thanksgiving and Fall, football and sweaters which helped considering it was August.

Lindsay got the hangar steak with a mushroom and marrow demi glace. The dish was good but over time the salt began to dominate almost rendering the dish inedible. I add here that I am a salt fiend. A slight misstep.

Cheese plate for Lindsay. Three exceptional cheeses from St. James. I had the berry sorbet which was even better than I thought it would be. The sorbet was luxurious and thick, sweet but not cloying, and had a hint of tartness. Perfect palate cleanser so I could steal some cheese.

One can tell a lot about restaurants with how they do the little things. Coffee service sets good restaurants apart from great ones. The coffee used at Patois is from the Coffee Roasters of New Orleans. These almost mythical bean roasters remain elusive to my attempts to get some French roast, but I will find them. I feel very confident in saying that this is the best cup of coffee in New Orleans.

Service is efficient, friendly, and clumsily elegant at times. A spill of wine on the table cloth was met with a c'est la vie attitude. Not bad at all, rather it shows that this restaurant wants to be serious about food but also willing to have fun.

As we were getting ready to leave I saw an interesting sight. A maitre'd from Galatoire's (who I believe is also a Gooch) waiting patiently for a table. And then it hit me. The maitre'd at Patois (and an owner along with his father Leon and Chef Aaron Burgau) is Pierre Touzet. Pierre's grandfather, Leon, is from the same town in France that Jean Galatoire is from. Leon worked at Galatoire's. Pierre and Brian Landry grew up together and graduated from Jesuit the same year. The mirrors, a special with "crab butter," the service, the elegant, bistro food...Patois uses a similar gameplan to produce equally wonderful results.

Patois is a restaurant with its own distinct identity. However it uses, and I should add to its advantages, references to the familiarity and the memories of New Orleans diners to trigger Proustian reactions. All of it, the surroundings, the service, the food, the memories leave one happy and well fed. They could not have picked a better name for their version of a standard.

Birdie, with an eagle lurking.

Note: Patois will be closed for two weeks at the end of August. This is normal. But I suggest you be in line when they reopen.