Here is one of my favorite New Orleans-inspired recipes, developed by yours truly. It makes enough for a party.
JAMBALAYA
1 large onion, chopped 3 ribs celery, chopped 1 green pepper, diced 1 red pepper, diced 5 cloves garlic, minced 4 Tablespoons butter 3 cups raw Uncle Ben’s rice 2 cans beef broth 1 can chicken broth 1 can diced tomatoes 2 cups cooked chicken 2 cups cubed ham 4 hot sausages, chopped 1 pound smoked sausage, sliced 1 Tablespoon Tony Chachere’s seasoning 1 teaspoon thyme ¼ cup chopped fresh parsley Hot sauce to taste ¼ cup chopped green onions
In a large, heavy pot, saute vegetables in butter.
Pour in the rest of the ingredients and bring to a boil.
Cover pot with a tight-fitting lid, lower heat and simmer at the lowest heat possible for 1 hour. Do not lift the lid during cooking time. Shake the pot occasionally to prevent burning.
I recently spent two days at the Anaheim Convention Center. While it was not exactly a holiday, I took pictures anyways, because that is what I do. I can't stop myself.
My choice was between the Anabella Hotel, which looked kind of Marriot-ish and the kitschy Swiss Chalet motel that relatives have been staying in for 40 years. The final decision came down to wifi and white bedspreads. I LOVE white coverlets on the bed. I hate those horrible scratchy orange and brown flowered motel bedspreads. They always make me think of exposes on 20/20 where they use a flourescent blue light to show all the icky spots on the bedspread.
So I spent the day at the convention center, and for lack of time I had to eat lunch at the convention center. The secret spot to eat is at the taco cart. It has real taco truck soft tacos.
Before dinner, I checked in at The Annabella. I was shocked to be given the tiniest room I have seen outside of Europe.
There was also a group of partiers hollering and drinking in the parking lot wearing glow-in-the-dark bobble antennae. My instincts tell me to avoid drunk people wearing anything that glows in the dark. I called the front desk and a young chatty bellhop showed up to move me to a bigger room. The room was gorgeous.
But guess where it was located? Yep, directly under the bobblehead party. The bellhop walked in, the ceiling went "CRASH, THUMP, BANG" and he just turned around and walked out without even asking if I wanted to move. As we walked, the bellhop told me about his other job raising falcons and other exotic birds. I asked him if he had been to the beach in Malibu where all the pelicans are. He said, "Pelicans aren't birds. They are food for my birds." Woah.
He also pointed out his bitchin motorcycle. I almost wanted to set up a bro date for him and my nephew but that was too weird. I asked if he could ride the same speed as the falcons and like ride around with a falcon flying overhead. I said, "You must get a lot of chicks with a bike and giant birds."
He said, "Oh man, I have a four foot-tall white owl. I take that thing to Starbucks, tie it to my chair and i come home with a pocket full of numbers."
So room number three was inbetween size in a quiet area, but it had that damn orange and brown flowered bedspread. I tried to get housekeeping to bring me a white coverlet but no go. I felt like three was my magic number and I just couldn't move rooms again.
I called a taxi and tried to find somewhere interesting to eat. The driver was Nigerian, so I asked if there was good Nigerian food nearby. He started driving, then he tries to make a deal that it would be 20 dollars each way. 40 dollars was my whole budget for dinner. No way. I had to argue with him to turn around and just take me to Disneywalk.
He was giving me hell, saying, "You made me drive all this way, and this is right where we were."
To calm him, I teased, "Maybe I just wanted to spend more time with you."
He stared at me in the rear-view mirror, considering something, and said, "Maybe." Luckily we hit Disney City just then and I hopped out of the cab.
Downtown Disney is all chains, like Citiwalk and every other place like it. I was in time to see the trippy Christmas decorations.
The one good place in Downtown Disney is Brennan's Jazz Kitchen.
Ralph Brennan entered the family business in the early 1980’s...One of eight third generation cousins actively involved in the restaurant industry today, Ralph Brennan and his cousins run twelve New Orleans-style restaurants, nine of which are located in New Orleans.
Ralph Brennan is the owner and operator of Red Fish Grill and BACCO in the New Orleans French Quarter, Ralph’s on the Park in Mid-City New Orleans, and the Jazz Kitchen located in the Downtown Disney® District at the DISNEYLAND® Resort. Ralph is a co-owner of Mr. B’s Bistro, Commander’s Palace and Brennan’s of Houston.
In 2001, Ralph Brennan opened the Jazz Kitchen, a New Orleans-themed food and entertainment venue which debuted in January 2001 as part of the 1.4 billion dollar DISNEYLAND® Resort development which added a new theme park, a new hotel and a new retail, dining and entertainment district to the Southern California Resort. Conceptualized as a savvy representation of New Orleans’ dual legacies - food and music – the 15,000 square foot, French Quarter-inspired venue includes a jazz club, casual fining dining restaurant and Jazz Kitchen Express to-go facility.
OK, so I have never heard of anyone playing jazz there, and I have never heard jazz emanating from the place, but OK. I have looked at the menu at the main restaurant, and it is just too weird. Weird enough that the first time I went there I cancelled my reservation. For example:
To avoid the weirdness, I stick to the Jazz Kitchen Express. A few of the selections could use improvement. On at least one occasion the gumbo had a very burnt roux. But they do have a few selections that are fantastic if you order correctly.
Jazz Kitchen Express has one of the best red beans and rice in Los Angeles. And they have genuine shrimp po boys. It is worth the supermall vibe. They also make their beignets by scratch to order.
Besides the Jazz Kitchen Express, the best thing about Downtown Disney is that you can watch the amazing Disneyland fireworks.
Coop's is our go-to place in The Big Easy. The hip little dive bar on Decateur is anchored by a giant church pew, and made homey by a little cat in the window. The service is fast, the music is good, and the bartenders are a little wild. Opened by Jeffrey "Coop" Cooperman, an avid fisherman, in 1983, Coop's is truly a local hangout.
The must-order dishes are deep-fried crab claws served with a fiery horseradish cocktail sauce and jambalaya made with chicken, sausage and rabbit, and the killer Pasta Opelousas.
The combo plate is a good choice for trying the jambalaya, along with crispy fried chicken. It looks overcooked in the photo, but it's just right.
The Pasta Opelousas is the best thing on the menu, linguine in a spicy cream sauce with shrimp, tasso, and green beans
We love Coop's so much, we return for a second and even third visit on every trip to New Orleans. On our second visit, we split the crab claws (Yes, again - I cannot get enough of them) and tried the Chicken Tchoupitoulas, chicken with tasso and shrimp in a heavy cream sauce
COOP’S PASTA OPELOUSAS
¼ cup olive oil 1 Tbsp. garlic, minced 4 oz. boneless chicken, cut into 1” pieces 2 oz. tasso, chopped 4 shitake mushrooms, sliced 2 Tbsp. white wine 3 oz. shrimp 2 oz. heavy cream ½ tsp Bayou Blend (see below) 3 oz. green beans 6 oz. cooked fettuccine 2 Tbsp. green onions, minced
Heat oil. Add garlic, chicken, tasso, and mushrooms. Saute 2 minutes. Deglaze pan with white wine. Stir until wine reduces to 1 Tablespoon. Add shrimp and saute for 2 minutes. Add heavy cream and Bayou Blend. Cook until liquid thickens. Add green beans. Simmer 1 minute. Add fettuccine to the pan. Mix well. Serve garnished with green onions.
COOP’S BAYOU SPICE BLEND
4 parts Salt 3 parts Cayenne pepper 3 parts Ground Black Pepper 3 parts Granulated garlic 2 parts MSG 1 part Ground cumin 1 part Paprika
Do not substitute.
(both recipes from “Cookin With Coop” Chuck Rogers Publishing)
In Louisiana, red beans and rice are traditionally served on Mondays. Monday was wash day, and once all of the ingredients were thrown in, you could ignore the beans all day while you tended to the laundry. I am obsessed with red beans and rice. The only version I've eaten that beat my own recipe was made by Mike Anderson's in New Orleans.
But I have to admit that The Gumbo Pot in the Farmers Market serves up some damn good red beans. They are chock full of ham hocks, without the slight funk or gaminess. Of course, The Gumbo Pot is situated down the lane from a meat market with the biggest, meatiest ham hocks I've ever seen. The beans have that special kind of creaminess that can only come from loads of pork fat. They are not overly spiced, but depending on the day, they sometimes they pack a wallop. They are served properly over Uncle Ben's converted rice - the true rice of New Orleans.
Cajun and Creole food are controversial, and I'm sure everyone is ready to stand up for their favorite spot, extolling the wonders of The Creole Chef or Uncle Darrow's. I will admit that there might be better gumbos out there, and there might be better jambalayas out there. But as a frequent traveler to New Orleans, I can attest that The Gumbo Pot serves a damn authentic red beans and rice. Well, maybe not so authentic - because I don't know of any restaurant in New Orleans that is this generous with the ham hocks. Order the side salad with candied pecans and homemade pickles in a buttermilk dressing, split a po'boy with your friend and prepare to be transported down to the Crescent City.
The Gumbo Pot (323) 933-0358 6333 West Third Street # 312 Los Angeles 90036
Just a block down from Ragin Cajun, New Orleans occupies a space that used to be a 50s cafe, and you can still see traces of that design. The interior is a long diner counter, with tables lining the wall. The restaurant is extremely dark inside, so it is a little unwelcoming at first. I have been there a few times, but never managed to actually sit down and eat before. My dining companions usually take one look at the menu, and they are out of there. It is sticker shock, pure and simple. A bowl of gumbo costs 25 dollars. As my nephew observed, "What kind of po' boy can afford to pay 17 dollars for a sandwich?" The last time I tried to eat there, I was dragged out so quickly that my mother left behind an ornament she had purchased at the local fair.
This time, my mom and I went back with a mission, ready to pay any price. In a fancy French restaurant, no one would even blink at 25 dollars for an entree. That's the going rate for cioppino, and it was a seafood gumbo after all. We sat by the front window, and a young man took our drink order. My mom asked about the abandoned ornament, and he rushed right back with it. They had kept it safe for her all that time. While we waited for our food, an older gentleman with a formal, vaguely British accent engaged us in conversation. He is from Jamaica, and he owns the restaurant with his wife, Casandra, who is a native New Orleanian. I told him, "I can't wait to try your gumbo. We've heard such great things about it." He looked me in the eye and said, "It is your opinion that matters to me." Swoon.
Besides the usual fare, their menu includes baby-back ribs, steaks and tri-tip. There are a variety of sausages, including the elusive boudin. They offer a low-calorie gumbo and a few vegetarian meals. They also serve fried turkey and display a characteristically New Orleanian tendency to stuff things with other things (e.g. chicken stuffed with crawfish). In addition to desserts, they also have Pralines (pronounced prah-leens, not prey-leens).
At 25 bucks, we decided to split the gumbo. It was the right decision, as the gumbo arrived in a bowl bigger than my head. Our individual serving bowls were also huge. There was enough for us both to have our fill and take home a third bowl for later. So really, a bowl of gumbo actually costs less than 10 dollars when split between three people. Like a fine chateaubriand, it is meant to be shared. The gumbo was generous with andouille, shrimp, crab, chicken and tasso (A Cajun smoked pork). The shrimp was gently cooked to perfection - none of the rubberiness you would expect from something that has been boiling in the pot all day. They keep it tender by waiting and adding the seafood to each order as it comes in. They used to use authentic blue crab, but noticed that the locals left it uneaten, so they replaced it with the more familiar king crab legs. The broth was dark, smoky, and multilayered, with different flavors developing as you savored each bite. One flavor was a slightly fishy element, but I appreciate that other people highly value that flavor. My husband describes it as "rich with the taste of the sea."
Some people at a nearby table were from New Orleans and wanted to speak to the chef, so Casandra came over to chat with them and they all exchanged hugs. I called her over and got my hug too. I was curious about the grilled alligator, because that is one tough hunk of meat. You usually have to deep-fry it or stew the hell out of it. She said she only serves the tail meat, which is more tender. She told me it arrives from Louisiana as a whole tail. I immediately started wondering what I could do to make her let me come and watch her butcher the next one.
As long as we were there, I also ordered a fried catfish po'boy, alligator sausage po'boy (not made in-house, but also flown in), red beans, greens, and an order of peach cobbler to go. I ate the catfish po'boy cold later that night after staying out late. I noticed that even though they had sourdough bread on the table, they had used the traditional French bread for the sandwiches. The coating was thick, like fried chicken, and the fish was so meaty and lacking in any fishiness that I had to double-check to make sure it wasn't actually chicken. The alligator sausage seemed to have the crackle of a natural casing, and was interesting and spicy, but not really better than any other sausage. The red beans and rice tasted exactly like mine, so of course I loved them. I am especially finicky with greens. Just as I am overly-sensitive to fishiness, I am overly-sensitive to bitterness. These greens were a bit spicier than I am used to, but the balance of heat, tanginess and sweetness perfectly mellowed out the bitterness. I think they might possibly win the title of the best greens in Los Angeles. The cobbler was stuffed with caramelized apples and topped with a flaky lattice crust. It was a bit sweet, as soul food desserts tend to be. It was just right.
While we were waiting for the to-go order in the restaurant, I clumsily broke something. I felt like such an idiot. I wandered over to Casandra, put a hand on her shoulder and leaned in to whisper in her ear. Before I could start talking, she turned her head and kissed me on the forehead! She thought I was coming for some love and she was willing to oblige me with a motherly cuddle. I was touched beyond words. I whispered my transgression to her, and she told me not to worry about it. I felt so bad. As I was leaving, I made that helpless teeth-baring grimace that you make when you feel like a buffoon. She waved me away with a dishtowel and reassured me, "I got you." The subtle difference between "I got you" and "I got it" was not lost on me. And she does have me. For life.
New Orleans 140 Pier Ave Hermosa Beach, CA 90254 (310) 372-8970 (Closed Tuesdays and Wednesdays. You are welcome to bring in the "beverage" of your choice)
Not only do they have the beautiful beach and the ocean breezes, but they have lucked out in the restaurant department. They are home to not one, but three New Orleans-inspired eateries: Ragin Cajun, New Orleans, and Café Boogaloo are all within two blocks of each other. This week, to gear up for the big Bayou Festival in Long Beach, I am going to cover all three restaurants.
First, let’s start off with Ragin Cajun. It has long been one of our go-to lunch spots. If this place were in New Orleans, I would guess it would be located on Bourbon Street. The riotous décor makes it look like a Mardi Gras float threw up on the walls. But the wooden tables, Mason jar glasses and huge selection of hot sauce on every table make it comfy and homey in spite of the profusion of green, purple and gold everywhere. The cartoonish tourist trap environment actually makes this a perfect place to take kids, large groups and old people. It is a brightly-lit, happy kind of place.
Founder, owner, and chef, Stephen Domingue, is a true Cajun from Lafayette, right in the heart of Cajun country*. He has a number of fans in the on-line foodie forums, and Ragin Cajun is held in high regard.
The menu, printed on the side of a brown paper grocery store bag, is pretty simple: fried seafood, red beans, jambalaya, gumbo, all the usual suspects. Their one twist is “Gumbolaya” which is basically gumbo served over jambalaya. The straightforward menu is another reason that kids and older people are always happy when I take them there. There are plenty of unchallenging options, like the ham po’boy, for the faint of heart. The main reason I return again and again to the Ragin Cajun is their deftness at real, southern deep-frying. The catfish "fingers" have a traditional cornmeal coating with a nice, tight seal, and not a hit of greasiness. They are the best catfish "fingers" I have had outside of New Orleans. The fried alligator is similar, but naturally tougher. I’ve noticed for some reason kids are afraid of the catfish – even my friend’s son who happily devours the alligator. But once they try it, they are converts. When I finally convinced my 80-year-old uncle who was visiting from Canada to try the strange and exotic catfish, he ended up eating most of my dinner. The remoulade dipping sauce is first-rate as well. Nothing else on the menu matters to me. Really, give me properly-fried catfish and an Abita Amber and I am good to go.
Other than the fried seafood, I don’t get very excited about their menu. I’ve never been a big fan of jambalaya or etouffee. I compare everything else on the menu to my own cooking, and the gumbo and red beans just don’t compare. My husband calls their gumbo “sausage soup”, and I find that other than a nice, complex roux, the dominant flavor is hot sauce. Or as Ralph on the Simpsons says, “It tastes like burning.” The red beans are creamy and rich enough, but I find them kind of bland. One of my friends swears by them though, so I guess it is a matter of taste.
The servers are mostly cute, perky college girls. They are very friendly and helpful. The owner, Stephen Domingue is a big, personable guy who can be kind of intense. Once he stopped by my table to coo over my niece, but when I tried talking to him he acted like I was bothering him. On another occasion, he hollered across the restaurant at a waitress, nagging her not to forget some chore. She was taking an order at the time, so she looked over and nodded. He hollered, “Did you HEAR me?” She replied, “Yes, the whole restaurant heard you.” Oh, so HE’S the ragin Cajun.
Ragin Cajun 422 Pier Ave., Hermosa Beach, CA 90254 (310) 376-7878 (Closed Mondays. Beer and Wine.)
* New Orleans is not really considered part of Cajun country, and most of the citified food developed there is considered “creole”. But there has been much overlap between these two cuisines, especially since Paul Prudhomme and Emeril Lagassi started “haute-ifying” Cajun food. I understand Cajuns defending their culture and tradition, but any foodie who wants to get into Cajun vs. Creole with you on a particular dish is just spoiling for a fight. The other thing people like to fight over is “blackening”, which was basically invented by Paul Prudhomme. Many people insist it is not “real Cajun”. But most Cajun restaurants are happy to serve it. Food is like language, constantly changing and growing. (How big of a dork am I that I footnoted a blog?)
I was worried when they opened the monstrosity known as "The Grove" that my beloved Farmer's Market would be contaminated by it and die a slow, whimpering death. The closure of Dupar's for "renovation" did nothing to allay my fears. But now, well into the "Grove years" the Farmer's Market still shines as a beacon of good food in the face of the franchised blanding of America.
There are certain cravings I get that just cannot be satified by anything else. The Gumbo Pot's blackened catfish po'boy is one of the foods that often calls out to me with its siren song. So what if "blackening" is not a classic New Orleans dish, but is a technique invented by Paul Prudholme in the 80s! So what if it was EVERYWHERE in the 80s, like pesto in the 90s, and lemongrass recently. Blackened catfish ROCKS. And the Gumbo Pot is one of the few places in Los Angeles that actually has food that tastes anything at all like New Orleans. There is something about the bread - they say it's in the water, like New York pizza dough. I hear rumors of a place where you can buy that bread in South Central, but I haven't hunted it down yet.
The GumboPot puts their own special twist on the catfish po'boy (I refuse to say they "kick it up a notch" no matter how appropos it is here), by sneaking in paper-thin slices of fresh lemon. Just writing this makes me want to eat one now. In fact, if you had one in your hand right now I would knock you down to get it without a second thought.
Their house salad is an ingenius balancing act of flavor...sweet candied pecans, vinegary homemade pickles, tart green apples, and a creamy buttermilk dressing over romaine. It is fucking amazing! You have to ask for the salad with apples. If you accidentally order the plain house salad, you cannot beg borrow or steal a green apple from them to save your life. I just about lost my mind once when the manager refused to let me buy green apple slices. But you know, that is how they do it in New Orleans. What you see is what you get. No substitutions. We are so spoiled in Los Angeles, with our orders like, "Ummm, geee, I can't decide between the chicken and the fish...is that line caught or farmed? Is the chicken grilled? Is it free-range? Organic? Yeah, can you do the chicken without the skin, on a bun instead of bread, oh, and can you put some pesto mayo on it? Oh, that would be great, thanks! Oh, and and can I get fresh fruit on the side instead of fries? You're a doll!" They don't put up with that crap in New Orleans. Your exchange would go something like this:
"Ummm, geee, I can't decide between the..."
"Y'all let me know when ya'll decide what ya want" (walks off)
So, that's kind of the gruff, take-no-shit attitude you can sometimes get at the Gumbo Pot (Actually, one of the guys is a sweetheart, and only one is super-gruff). But their food is so good it is worth it. They can treat me any way they want to, as long as they don't cut me off.
Really, most of their food kicks ass. The gumbos are smoky and intense, and their fried catfish is also a thing of beauty, as is the shrimp po'boy. As much as it pains me to admit it, their red beans and rice are even better than mine. And I pride myself on my red beans and rice. In fact, I am the queen of red beans and rice. But I just handed my pinball crown to him...to him (How do you think he does it? I don't know!).
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