The heart of American cooking is and has always been barbecue. The soul of American cooking, however, is Cajun cooking. It’s hard to pin Louisiana cuisine down into one lineage. There are elements of French and African and Island cooking all coalescing around shellfish, andouille sausage, and “the holy trinity.” Anything can be made “Cajun” or “blackened” by putting a healthy dose of seasoning that consists of, but may not necessarily be limited to, paprika, garlic, oregano, and cayenne. It can be as complex as you want it to be; making an etouffee, for example, seems to need a deft hand. However, the beauty in Cajun cuisine can be distilled into how simple it can be.
The simplest form of Louisiana cooking is the seafood boil. There’s nothing complicated about taking a gigantic stock pot and filling it with various starchy vegetables, aromatics, shellfish, and seasoning. Getting the right proportions can be tricky, but nothing in life is 100 percent idiot proof, to be quite honest. Still, boiling water is Cooking 101. Several regions situated down by the ocean have adopted this methodology, but few have really made it their own like the Cajuns. They made this low-effort, communal dining experience central to their culinary identity, and the end result is beautiful.
My family was invited to its first seafood boil recently, during a lull in the COVID-19 spread, with people who had been quarantining and engaging in safe practices. The getup contains five parts: a propane tank, a hose, an outdoors gas range, a giant stock pot, and a wooden oar used as a spoon for stirring. The same apparatus is used for deep frying a turkey, except trade out the oar for a metal hook used to lower and remove the bird in and out of the oil. Boiling water isn’t like smoking meat in that how you get the heat is not a big deal. You don’t have to ask Hank Hill to see the appeal of gas heat.
The hot water gets you to the doorstep. The bath gets you temperature, texture. The vegetables get velvety smooth, and the proteins get that just-right chew. You can’t just throw a couple of potatoes and some shrimp into boiling water and expect it to taste good. Nope. The good man manning the pot that day had a two-fold attack of seasoning, both produced by Zatarain’s, a dry mix of herbs, traditional to Cajun seasoning, and a spicy oil. He also for good measure tossed in heads of garlic with only the top stalk chopped off and andouille sausage. Cajun cooking, like any good cuisine, is based upon the bedrock that there can be no such thing as “too much” flavor.
In addition to the potatoes and corn, staples of the boil, and the sausage, the main event of snow crab and shrimp took the plunge. Shellfish lends itself to quick boils because of how short it takes to get those proteins from raw to wow, and for whatever reason, it doesn’t need brining, marinating, simmering, or braising. They take the dive and within minutes, you’re stuffing your face. Crabmeat and shrimp by themselves are light and sweet and they play well with the tangy spice of Cajun seasoning. The potatoes and corn take on that flavor too, so much so that my kids weren’t able to eat them. TJ, my older son, liked the shellfish at least. To be completely fair, capsicum is an acquired taste. Did you know peppers developed the compound to prevent humans from consuming them? Our dumb asses went and not only ate the hottest ones but selectively bred even HOTTER ones. The Carolina Reaper is not found in nature, folks. But I digress.
Maybe the best part of the whole thing was grabbing one of the heads of garlic and squeezing out the cloves, which had become velvety little flavor pods. I didn’t even need to put them on anything to enjoy them. I guess here is the point where I make a confession, that I love garlic. I try to eat it with everything I can. When I cook, I try to incorporate it, raw, powder, roasted, whatever. I have grill-roasted garlic cloves to put on cheeseburgers during cookouts. I bought the 40-clove garlic sauce from Trader Joe’s just to put on pasta for lunches at work. Vampires do not fuck with me. You get the point. Of all the ways I’ve had garlic, seafood boil squeezy garlic might be my favorite. It’s not just the flavor, but the texture. The unctuous texture provided a boost towards pure bliss, the closest I have gotten to such a state in this hellish year to date. It’s the small things, y’know?
As the food was delicious and satisfying, it’s not the reason why when chefs deify Cajun cooking that I nod and agree. This boil was a great meal, don’t get me wrong. I’ve had great meals of all walks. I think what makes the boil a “religious experience” isn’t the dogmatic adherence to procedure or ingredient. It isn’t what makes a Sunday dinner at an Italian household special either. The things that makes the boil so special is that it invites a communal experience, one without any pretense. You come as you are and you peel and crack seafood over newspapers or the naked sand with your bare hands. Like that Italian dinner or any other communal feast, the company you keep is what matters. Even when a pandemic threatens you and you can only gather with those closest to you, the people you share a meal with matter more than the food. But what separates the boil is how uncomplicated it is, how little the preparation matters, how much of it is concentrated on togetherness and camaraderie rather than slavish devotion to routine or preparation. More than anything or anyone else, the Cajuns got the family and friends part of eating right. It’s an experience that I think everyone should try more than once.
Photo Credit: It’s a selfie, duh.