vol. 9: shrimp étouffée
some things last a long time
I regret to inform my parents, who are subscribers to this newsletter, that I got another tattoo this week. Worse: this is my second one this year. I got a wheat and roses tattoo in February, and then it bothered me that it was all alone on my arm, and then one thing led to another and I walked out of the lovely Ashley Wollaston’s studio with a cardinal on my tricep on Thursday. (A female cardinal, mind you -- I’m not flashy.)
I don’t really know why I’m on this kick, to be honest. I have other tattoos, but they’ve been few and far between since my first one at 18 — my rule of thumb has usually been “wait a year and see if you still want the tattoo.” I barely waited a week before deciding on this one. This is not in character. I don’t consider myself much of an impulsive risk taker, and I don’t generally vibe with irrevocable decisions. I can barely pick dinner most nights. But I’ve been feeling a little weird in my body lately. Maybe you have too? I feel unglued from myself, like my physical form has changed under the vaccine’s protective spell. Presumably this is not the 5G chip implanted in my arm (speaking of needles), but some sort of reaction to our constantly changing circumstances, reopenings and reclosings, and real hugs from our long-lost loved ones. I feel unsteady on the ground.
The obvious thrill of tattoos is that they’re permanent, of course. Iffy laser treatments aside, I can’t take this back. It’s a statement. And given all the permanent damage this year has wrought anyway, who cares about a little bird? I love writing this Substack for the same reason — it’s a permanent record of our dinners and our talks, until the servers go down anyway. I want to know myself, and I want that self to be permanent, and my little birds and roses and circles on my skin are monuments to that narcissism.
Though, I am not the same person I was yesterday, nor should I be. The black lines of my little bird will fade and sag as I age. I’ll encounter sorrow and hardship and joy, and life will sweep me off my feet unexpectedly no matter how much I prepare or worry about it. This is all very corny, but I think this is the essential contradiction of “living in the moment” -- we do our best to be honestly present in our lives, but etch the moments on our hearts and bodies anyway. I think this tension will continue as we all forge ahead into Hot Vax Summer.
I’ve been listening to a lot of Sharon Van Etten lately, as one does when they feel a little off, and also because she released a fabulous album of covers commemorating the tenth anniversary of her album “epic,” written in the wake of a horrible breakup and lots of change in her life. I’ve been revisiting the song “Peace Signs” in particular, where she sings, “When I wake up, I am already me. / And I am not afraid, I am something.” Isn’t that a permanent way to live? —r
Everyone likes shrimp, right? Even as a picky kid who didn’t eat much fish, I would go absolutely crazy for shrimp. This recipe is a mixture of a few different étouffée recipes, along with my own stubborn insistence on never throwing anything away.
This dish is really easy, but it employs some fun techniques. The sauce is essentially a velouté, or stock thickened with roux. Instead of making a classic French roux with butter, we’ll be making ours with neutral oil and cooking it quite a bit darker to achieve the signature flavors of Louisiana cooking. If you’ve never made a darker roux before, this is a great dish to start out, as you don’t have to take it quite as far as you would for gumbo. For the stock, we’ll be making a simple broth with the heads and shells of our shrimp instead of just throwing them away. No need for aromatics or complications, there’s tons of flavor just waiting there for us. It really is worth following this step, as any store-bought stock will be very salty by the time it’s as reduced as our sauce will be. —j
SHRIMP ÉTOUFFÉE
serves two
1 pound of shrimp (heads and shells on)
1 green bell pepper (about ½ cup chopped)
2 stalks of celery (about ½ cup chopped)
1 white onion (about 1 cup chopped)
3 cloves of garlic
400 grams/14.5 ounces of canned whole tomatoes (I used cherry tomatoes)
¼ cup of neutral vegetable oil
¼ cup of all purpose flour
1 pinch of ground allspice
1 pinch of ground cayenne (or more)
3 tablespoons of butter
2 green onions
1 small handful of parsley
2 cups of cooked white rice
Salt, pepper, and Tabasco sauce to taste
To prep:
Seed and finely chop the green bell pepper. Using a vegetable peeler, remove the stringy outer layer of the celery stalks. Chop them, and set them aside in a small bowl. Finely chop the onion and set it aside. Mince the garlic cloves and set them aside. Wash and dry the parsley and green onions, finely chop both, and set them aside.
Open the can of tomatoes into a strainer over a small bowl, and press the tomatoes through the mesh, discarding any seeds, skins, or ribs that won’t pass through.
Set two bowls on your work surface. Remove the heads from the shrimp by twisting them off, and place them in one of the bowls. Remove the shells from the shrimp, and place in the bowl with the shrimp heads. Devein the remaining shrimp meat, place in the other bowl, and return the shrimp to the refrigerator.
Heat up a little vegetable oil in a medium pot over a high flame. Add the reserved shrimp heads and shells with a hefty pinch of salt. Sauté until everything browns and starts to smell delicious, about five minutes. At this point, pour four cups of cold water into the pot. Once it reaches a boil, turn the heat down to medium and let it simmer while you begin the rest of the dish.
Start some white rice in your rice cooker, if you haven’t yet.
To cook:
In a heavy-bottomed pot, ideally a Dutch oven, place the ¼ cup of vegetable oil over high heat. Once very hot, add the ¼ cup of flour and lower the heat to medium. Stir frequently with a whisk or wooden spoon until the mixture darkens considerably and begins to smell a bit like popcorn. This will take about 15-20 minutes. Be careful here, because there’s no coming back from a burnt roux. If you do burn it, toss it out and start again.
Once the roux is darker than peanut butter, but not quite chocolate-colored, add the chopped onions and a big pinch of salt. You’ll want to cook down the onions before adding the other vegetables, whose water content will keep the onions from caramelizing.
Once the onions have darkened, softened, and begun to melt into the roux, add the bell pepper and celery, along with another big pinch of salt. Cook everything for a few more minutes.
Once all of the vegetables have softened considerably, add the allspice, the cayenne, and the chopped garlic, stirring constantly. Once the raw smell of the garlic has dissipated, add the crushed tomatoes.
Stirring frequently, cook until nearly all the moisture has left the tomatoes and the mixture darkens. We’re looking to caramelize the sugars in the tomatoes and end up with a consistency approaching canned tomato paste.
When this is achieved, strain the shrimp stock, and add it to the roux and tomato mixture. Give everything a good whisk and turn the heat up to high until boiling, then lower to medium, keeping the sauce at a vigorous simmer. Stirring intermittently, cook down this mixture until it becomes velvety and can just about coat the back of a spoon. This should take another 15-20 minutes.
Taste for seasoning. You will probably need plenty of salt and pepper, and maybe some more Tabasco for heat and acidity.
When the gravy is to your liking, whisk in the butter. Once completely melted, lower the heat to medium, and add the shrimp from the fridge. Give everything a stir, and cover the pot. In about five or six minutes, the shrimp should be pink, plump, and fully cooked. Remove the pot from the heat.
Put a scoop of rice in the center of two bowls, and divide the étouffée between them. Garnish generously with parsley, green onions, some flaky sea salt, and more Tabasco if you like. Enjoy with a cold beer or a Sazerac made by the love of your life.
