Julia and Roger’s Jambalaya

There is no one cookbook you can buy to learn how to cook heartfelt New Orleans food. To learn to cook food from the south, I think you first have to learn how to EAT food from the south. More specifically, learning to discern what to eat from whom. Everyone has their specialties – the dish that comes from their bones though their heart and hands and subsequently into my grateful belly. I want the good stuff, please and thank you. Today let’s play with one very fine jambalaya recipe.

I’m forever learning how to eat in New Orleans which means I’ll be forever learning how to cook the truly glorious food in this place I get to call home.  Here are my notes after seven good years here.  This isn’t science, but it’s what I know to be true.

•  I love chicken and andouille gumbo from anyone’s mother over the age of 60 or so – someone patient enough to get to a dark dark roux.

•  I want seafood gumbo from my handyman Brodery because his gumbo is filled the literal brim with local seafood.

•  I crave crawfish pie from my dear friend Jessica in the Garden District. (Jessica was generous enough to let me share her recipe with you in Joy the Baker Magazine.)

•  I want jambalaya from anyone’s dad (or really, any Southern man over the ago of 55). I don’t know how to explain it but dads – especially rotary club dads – make the best jambalaya. Probably because their wives let them.

•  I need fried catfish and sides during Lent especially from the catholic church in Gentilly. I don’t know who is in charge there but let’s just say that a lot of things are going right.

•  I want Melissa’s crab claws and oyster gumbo and ok actually anything she cooks at all.

But wait – back to the jambalaya recipe! Today’s recipe is an invitation from Julia Turshen’s latest book Simply, Julia.

Julia is the friend who comes over with treats and toys for your pet. If that’s not a sure sign of a good person, I don’t know what is.

Julia writes unfussy, deeply comforting recipes for home cooks like us and her latest book feels so specific to Julia yet universal to all of our kitchens. I’ve already made two recipes from the book with heart warming success.

She shares this recipe from her friend Roger, a musician who studies Creole music and volunteers with Julia in the Hudson Valley.  Just proof that home is anywhere there’s a pot of jambalaya.

I’ve gushed on about Julia’s recipes before.  She did, after all, give us permission to fry our pistachios:  Julia’s Fried Pistachios.

In related news, I also have a cheeky recipe for Breakfast Jambalaya here and listen… it’s the kind of breakfast that can get you through the entire weekend, amen.

There is always intention behind a pot of jambalaya. Jambalaya is meant to stretch protein either to feed an army or to feed a few for several days.  It uses rice, spice, tomato, and broth to stretch stretch streeeetch the delicious of chicken, andouille, and shrimp so every bowl get at least a few good bites.

It’s the kind of dish always on the stove during Mardi Gras, because you never know who the spirits will bring to your door.

My last bowl of unexpected jambalaya came on voting day last year. A bunch of Jambalaya Dads (as I’ll lovingly refer to them) stood behind a folding table stacked high with individual containers of jambalaya. After voting they waved me over to the table for free lunch and insisted I take not just one, but two containers.  I greedily ate one container on the walk back home and it was just the most unexpected blessing.

Here’s what you’ll need to make this Julia and Roger’s Jambalaya recipe:

• the trinity (yes, it’s holy): chopped onions, chopped green bell pepper, chopped celery.

• garlic, too. Also sacred.

•  chicken, andouille sausage, and peeled shrimp.  You can make this jambalaya as spendy or as frugal as you need. Leave the shrimp out if you prefer.

•  chili powder, salt and pepper to season the chicken and the entire pot.

•  tomato paste and canned crushed tomatoes. Tomato can be pretty controversial in jambalaya. Creole’s love a tomato while the Cajuns think it has no place in a jambalaya.  Me? I love the tomato thankyouverymuch.  I’ve chosen my side.

•  long grain white rice and chicken stock for the meal stretch.  (Ok… don’t tell a soul but I’ve also made jambalaya with quinoa successfully and it wasn’t half bad so if, dietarily, you need to do that you have my blessing.)

Let’s make jambalaya.

Cut chicken pieces (boneless skinless breasts or thighs are really good here) into bite-size pieces.

Toss is chili powder, salt, and pepper and brown in a heavy bottom Dutch oven along with andouille sausage pieces.  Remove the cooked meat and allow to rest in a bowl, leaving the fat and flavor in the pan to layer in more ingredients.

In goes the trinity to soften and absorb all the flavors from our chicken and andouille saute.

Cook the vegetables down until tender and just beginning to brown – 7 to 10 minutes.

Add the garlic and tomato pasta and stir round the pan for a minute or so.

Stir in the crushed tomatoes, the cooked chicken and sausage and bring the mixture to a gentle simmer.

Stir in the rice. Reduce the stovetop to low. Cover and allow to rice to absorb all those delicious flavors as it cooks through.

Once the rice is cooked through and most of the liquid has been absorbed, stir in the shrimp, cover and allow to residual heat to cook the shrimp though.

Sneak a few bites of from the pot with a spoon – you do, after all, have to make sure the rice is tender and the seasoning is on point.

Serve with chopped parsley and scallions. Hot sauce and, very untraditionally, a lemon wedge to compliment the shrimp.

It’ll fill your belly with the warmth of the south. Gah! It’s simply the best.  Please please, let this happen (and please welcome Simply, Julia) into your kitchens too. xo

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Photos with my friend Jon Melendez!