Best Thing Since...

It's been a while, but with some harassment from CJ, I figure it's time to dust off the Foodgeek space, and talk a little about the great food that I've been eating here in NOLA. Today, I'm going to talk about simple food. Stuff between sliced bread. Here in NOLA, when you talk sandwiches, you're probably talking one of two things. Po'boys or muffulettas. Don't get me wrong, there are some really good sandwiches that aren't po'boys or muffulettas, but they're not special to NOLA they way these sandwiches are. Both of these sandwiches are meant to be blue collar food. Huge portions for reasonable prices. And that's right in my wheelhouse.

Po'boys are basically the subs, hoagies, grinders, heroes, that you get in other parts of the country. They allegedly get their name from an vendor back in the day, who used to sell these big sandwiches on the cheap to the blue collar workers who would come by at lunch. Apparently one day, he sees a couple of the workers walking toward the counter, and he says to one of the customers, "here come those poor boys again." And apparently the name stuck.

Po'boys come on this french bread, most popularly from Leidenheimer's Bakery, which make a very light bread (not the dense baguette that may come to mind), that's a little flaky on the outside, a little chewy, and can soak up a lot of liquid, which we'll talk about later. The loaves come large, maybe about 3' long. And at some shops, you can order a whole loaf, half loaf, or small sandwich, and you'll get a 3' sandwich, an 18" sandwich, or a 9" sandwich. The sandwiches come plain (no veggies) or dressed (typically lettuce, tomato, pickles, mayo) for a few cents more. And even now, you can go into one of the corner stores, and get a whole loaf po'boy for about $12. Po'boys come with a variety of fillings, and in the last few years, there's been a bit of an arms race at the different restaurants to come up with more and more interesting combinations. The old school po'boys are fried shrimp or fried oyster, ham and cold cuts, or roast beef (more to come on this). And more recent innovations have been things like fried green tomato and shrimp remoulade, cochon de lait (roast suckling pig), and oyster/bacon/swiss cheese.

Muffulettas are the NOLA version of an Italian sandwich, which come on a round loaf, about 12" in diameter, with sesame on top. The bread has a feel of solid, white bread. When you order a whole muffuletta, you get this gigantic sandwich that you probably can't polish off by yourself in one sitting (unless you're really motivated). The filling is pretty much the same, no matter where you go. You get some combination of capicola (cured pork), salami, mortadella (basically Italian bologna, with fat and pistachios), and ham. You get a layer of cheese, probably provolone and/or Swiss. So it's a lot like you would expect to see in an Italian hoagie that you'd get in Philly. But you don't put the normal vinegar and oil on a muffuletta. Instead, the signature of a muffuletta is probably the salty, tangy olive salad that covers the sandwich, which is basically giardiniera (pickled carrots, cauliflower, peppers, onions, and olives), with more olives, all chopped up. This gives you the oil and vinegar thing, plus more salty veggies on top. You can get muffulettas cold or hot.

Everyone in NOLA has their favorite places for po'boys or muffulettas. For muffulettas, the discussion tends to start at Central Grocery, which is apparently the place where they first started. I'm generally not fond of heading into the French Quarter, as the hassle is just too much for me. But there isn't a great muffuletta in the Uptown area in NOLA, where I live. When I'm in need of a muffuletta, I go with Nor Joe's, which is really an Italian deli out in the Metairie suburb. And I'll be honest, muffulettas are definitely my style - old school, really good, and totally blue collar. For $12-$14, you get a whole muffuletta, which can legitimately feed 2 people.

But in recent times, po'boys have gotten more attention, as they've been featured in New York Times articles, and on shows like Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives. And you do see a lot of innovation. But I think that the prime example of a po'boy is the roast beef version. This isn't the sliced cold cuts that you'd see everywhere else. Instead, this is basically shredded pot roast, with a lot of gravy. And I really think that this where the Leidenheimer french bread shines. You can soak up a lot of those juices with this bread, and it manages to stay together for almost long enough to eat like a sandwich. And when people talk about their favorite places, the roast beef po'boy tends to be where they differentiate. Old school joints like Domilise's and Parasol's (which is now Tracy's) get some press, and make decent sandwiches. Mahoney's is another place that's a little bit more modern in it's menu. But my favorite place for po'boys is Parkway Bakery. They do a really good roast beef po'boy (they won the Food Feud - that show hosted by Michael Symon on Food Network). And they also do a really good fried shrimp po'boy. But the po'boy I tend to get is a little of both... well, actually a lot of both. It's the Surf 'n Turf po'boy. They put the fried shrimp, and then they put the roast beef on. I ask for swiss cheese, tomatoes, and pickles. The sandwich is just tasty, and becomes wonderfully messy as you eat it.

What's cool is that some nice restaurants also serve po'boys on their menus. College Inn does a slick oyster, havarti, and bacon po'boy, which sounds strange, but is really tasty. Crabby Jack's does an incredible duck po'boy, with shredded slow cooked duck and gravy. But I think that the one ridiculous po'boy that gets overlooked is the deep fried roast beef po'boy at Jacque Imo's (who also own's Crabby Jack's). Literally, it's a 9" roast beef and swiss cheese po'boy, that they lock in place with toothpicks, and then batter and fry. Tasty, meaty, and deep fried. The amazing part is that this is an appetizer that really should be a meal. I made the mistake of ordering it as an app, and then realized that half-way through that I was pretty much full, even before the entree was on it's way.

The thing is that all of these sandwiches that I've mentioned are huge meals, incredibly tasty, and are a pretty affordable meal. Muffulettas and po'boys originated as food for blue collar folks, which is how most of the great food of the world originated. Poor people find ways to stretch their money, and to make things taste great. Southern cooking, soul food, low-country cuisine, and Cajun food are all examples of this great pattern. And if you go beyond American borders, if you look at Mexican food, Chinese food, Italian food, Turkish food, Spanish food, and all of the great cuisines of the world, you see this pattern. And as much as I dig high end food every once in a while, I really dig this sort of stuff done well.

-foodgeek

Kitchen Happenings: Cajun Napalm

Boy, time flies when you're sleeping until noon. I think that's how the old adage goes. I haven't posted anything over here on NOLA Foodgeek since last September. This definitely isn't to say that I haven't been eating well. In fact, I've been eating too well. This is probably to be expected in a city like New Orleans.

I think that I definitely need to get you guys caught up on that stuff. But one thing that I want to share with you guys is one thing that I've been doing in my kitchen. Specifically, it's been cooking flour and fat on the stove until it turns nearly black. A while back, I posted this little nugget on my Facebook wall:

If you've ever cooked gumbo, it's just about the most counter-intuitive thing to anyone who cooks regularly... you cook flour and oil until it looks like brownie batter, and then you cook it just a little longer.

And really, that's what you're doing. They call this process of cooking flour and fat "making a roux." And it's been dubbed "Cajun Napalm" by Paul Prudhomme, because if it gets on your skin, you are going to catch a burn. The stuff will run hot (maybe 350 degrees), so you need to be careful. But it's not something to be afraid of, merely something to pay attention to. Folks take this stuff seriously. Not just for safety, but in how you do it.

Apparently the fat you use matters. Classic French roux calls for butter. Vegetable or oilve oil works, as does a blend of oil and butter. What I've been digging is bacon drippings. Especially since I feel wasteful just throwing out bacon drippings. So I go with bacon drippings, plus some of my homemade chili infused olive oil. Then I add flour. Then you cook it for about 5 minutes longer than you would ever think to cook a roux. The goal is to straddle that line between adding as much flavor (you'll hear the terms earthy, nutty, smoky) to that roux before actually burning the roux. I sort of promised pictures. Here's my picture of my roux.

If I told you that this was dark chocolate ganache, you'd believe me.

Now, as you think about the other elements, of gumbo, you think trinity. Basically, this is the cajun version of mirepoix (carrots, onion, and celery), which differs by adding bell peppers and subtracting carrots. In either case, the point is to use these aromatics to add flavor to your broth. I've never really felt the need to be constrained by a style of cooking, so I use both carrots and bell peppers. When I make soup, I like the idea of cooking some elements separately, so that your seasoning is appropriate. So, as I'm doing my roux, I've also got my veggies going in the pan.

I don't really have a smart-ass comment here. It's friggin' veggies.

I go with a very rough cut on everything. This is country food. No need for perfect dices here. You'll also notice some tomatoes here. The point is to just get everything together. In fact, after the veggies get their sautee on, I actually add the water to the pan to get the cooking started up (since the roux takes so ridiculously long). Also add salt, pepper, some some spices (onion powder, garlic powder, paprika, thyme, cayenne, bay leaves), and a little cheater bullion since I don't have stock on hand.

In any case, start adding the liquid from the cast iron skillet into the pot with the roux. Add a little liquid at a time, and keep stirring. Eventually, the roux loosens up, and starts accepting the liquid. Then the veggies go in. Then you add in some gumbo crabs (basically these small blue crabs that don't have much meat that you add in just for flavor, and then fish out, and maybe gnaw on). Add a little chicken in there. Then, you can start tasting and seasoning. Then add some sliced sausage. Then you taste and season some more. Finally, you add in the fast cooking ingredients. I went with some shrimp and some corn. Then you taste and season some more. And then you're in business. Gumbo is supposed to be this thick, stew. Now, I know that okra is normally a staple (and I like okra, actually), but I don't generally have it on hand. The other option is ground sassafrass (or file, "fee-lay") which is sprinkled on top. I haven't used either. I've been happy with just using the roux to thicken things. Regardless, this stuff is addicting. I'm okay with it over rice, but prefer it straight.

Love this dish. It comes together surprisingly quickly. And it looks like a similar technique will make etouffee, another classic Louisiana dish.

Like I said. I'm definitely eating well. There are some fine restaurants in this town, though not everything's been light's out. But to move from a place like Champaign to a place like NOLA? Wow. Until next time.

-foodgeek

Restaurant Review: This Little Piggy... (Part II): Cochon

I promised you guys a follow-up post to the adventure at The Publican, my trip to The Publican's fraternal twin, Cochon.

For those of you who don't speak French (like me), Cochon means "pig." Despite the name, Cochon isn't quite as "pig-centric" as Publican seemed to be. They're focused on Cajun cooking, which is this hybrid of southern, country cooking with French tradition (note, this is somewhat distinct from Creole, which is apparently Cajun food's city-bred cousin). But they can still throw down with the pig. But the places have some similarities. First, they've got big-time chefs at the inspiration. Publican is one of Paul Kahan's ventures, and is definitely good. Cochon is run by Donald Link, who is the chef at a highly regarded Herbsaint here in NOLA (which I haven't had a chance to check out, yet). Both are James Beard award winners, and both restaurants have gotten national recognition. But more importantly, they both serve darned good food.

And since I had focused on the pork aspects of Publican, I was going to do the same at Cochon.

One thing that I loved was that the first thing that showed up wasn't even on my order. I was sitting at the kitchen bar, which overlooked the wood oven, which was worth the price of admission. And when my starter showed up, it arrived with an order of the terrine (quail and fois gras, if I recall correctly), which was served with some berries and a little salad. Very nice, and good enough to pay for. My actual starter was the boucherie plate, basically a plate filled with cured meats pickles, and some mustard. This wasn't quite the massive plate that we got over at Publican, but it was nice. Some house cured tasso, mortadella, and chorizo, plus some rillettes. The cured meats were all tasty, and the rillettes were awesome. Completely different style than Publican - much creamier, whereas the rillettes at Publican had chunks of meat. This was more like a spread than a meat dish. Both versions were great, though.

I also couldn't resist getting an order of fried pig ears. I have to say, this was a bit of a miss. In Chinese cooking, you'll see braised pig ears served cold (sliced into long strips). You get some of the soft, fatty richness, as well as some crunch from the cartilage. When I saw that they were going to be fried, I figured that you'd get some crispiness on the outside, the richness from the skin/fat, and still some crunch from the cartilage. Somehow, it was only one texture - just the soft. The taste was still nice, but I was hoping for some crunch in there, as well. Oh well. On to the entree.

My entree was the ham hock, which was served with some mashed sweet potatoes, some pickled greens, and a black-eyed pea and ham broth. This is a great, simple dish. Balanced flavors - a little sweet, a little sour, some smoke, some salt, and some earthiness. The ham hock was tender, and the skin and fat added some richness. This was definitely good eating. It's the sort of thing that you can make at home, and probably should from time to time.

I actually decided that I wanted some dessert, and I ordered the pineapple-upside down cake. It was solid, but not game-changing. Cornmeal cake. Nice caramel and pineapple action. It was served with some coconut-lime sorbet, which was also nice. All in all, it was something that I was happy to eat, but I'm not sure if I'd order it again.

In any case, Cochon is a great place to get some legit down-home food. It's not exactly cheap, but it's one of these pay-for-quality deals. And when I'm looking for a high-end choice, this place will definitely be on my radar.

-foodgeek