etouffee!

1 Vidalia onion diced
2 stalks celery diced
1 Bell pepper diced
4 tbsps butter
4 tbsps flour
1/2 cup water
white wine
1/2 cup chopped green onions
salt, white pepper
1 8 oz package crawfish tailmeat
Tabasco

Over medium high heat, make a roux (melt butter, add flour, cook until brown).  Add veggies.  Saute until tender.  Add 1/2 cup water.  Original recipe called for 1/2 cup wine, but I added more... hard to say how much, I wanted a soupy consistency.   Season to taste (but don't use Tabasco yet). Reduce heat, cover, simmer for 15 minutes.  Add crawfish, simmer 5 more minutes.  Serve over steamed Basmati rice, season with Tabasco.

FAIL.  This recipe, not my Gran's, was a colossal disappointment.  Perhaps there was too much flour in the roux, maybe there was not enough salt.  I shudder to think what dinner would've tasted like had I not added the extra wine.  In short, this Etouffee was too thick and not tasty enough.

In a hole in the wall on Royal, there is a fantastic little restaurant called The Alpine.  You step down into the dimly lit room.  Candles flicker and the sound of cold glasses clinking can be heard.  The beer is Dixie.  The food is extraordinary and the price is just right.

Tim and I used to visit New Orleans every year.  I have a fascination with the city that stems from my Gran's upbringing.

Raised in a home on St. Charles, a majority of her family spoke french.  She remembered chasing after the donkey drawn taffy carts on the street.  She remembered Doberge cakes.  She attended an all girls catholic school, dreamed of marrying for love and and wanted to travel.  She was unconventionally pretty, dark haired and petite.

I grew up in many different homes across the southeast, in nondescript little towns that could not boast of any cuisine or architecture.  I remember resenting Sunday School and hating the catholic church.  I dreamed of writing the next great American novel and living in Paris.  I was mousy and petite.

Visiting New Orleans was a connection to Gran.  Each bite of Oysters Rockefeller, each Hurricane (I was too immature to drink Sazeracs), each step down St. Charles made me feel like I was a part of something special...  a part of Gran, a part of New Orleans.

I will keep cooking... and remembering Gran.