If you've never had or heard of grillades and grits, then I apologize for not mentioning them earlier. They're one of the two most wonderful things to eat for brunch in New Orleans (shrimp and grits being the other). I've never been to anyplace in town for brunch that didn't offer one or both of these goodies. Grillades (gree'-awds) are made of beef, veal, or pork; I haven't encountered a rabbit version yet, but I won't be surprised when I do. The beef is a thin, flat cut of top round or chuck--something that can withstand a long, slow cooking. It simmers in a pot with the trinity (onion, celery, bell pepper), garlic, and a little jalapeno--not traditional, but I really like it--until the rich broth thickens and intensifies, so what you get is a powerfully flavored beef "stew" that is perfect over creamy cheese grits. This is a great Louisiana recipe to try if you're hankering for some thick, rich goodness but you don't feel up to stirring a roux, because you don't have to. The small amount of flour used in the browning of the beef will produce all the roux you need.
grillades and grits: get your brunch on!
what's creole, what's cajun, and what's jambalaya?
Because New Orleans (and all of Louisiana) is such a melting pot, and because Cajun and Creole dishes often have similar roots, including French, Spanish, Italian, African, Haitian, Cuban, German, and Native American, some of the distinctions between what's Creole food and what's Cajun food can be hard to make. In his book My New Orleans, chef John Besh explains that Creole gumbo pays tribute to a "rich variety of cultures and ingredients, whereas Cajun gumbo evolved as the essence of peasant food, a way to feed a large number of people making the very best of whatever meager ingredients were at hand," and John Folse's Encyclopedia of Cajun & Creole Cuisine extolls Creole cuisine as a "more sophisticated cousin" to Cajun cooking. Explanations like these work perfectly when comparing elegant Creole dishes to rustic cast-iron Cajun stews, but the waters grow murkier near a pot of jambalaya.
on sustainability, part 3: local traditions, simple rewards
I'd like to introduce you to my treasured friend Meredith Martin-Moats. If you've ever known a woman who rescued animals, built community resources, and sang high lonesome harmony with a twin at each hip, then you might know someone a bit like her. She's a superwoman, but she's also one of the most down-to-earth people you'll find. I asked her recently to share some thoughts on reducing waste in the kitchen and cooking mindfully (see Meredith's post on a great muffin recipe that uses overripe fruit). In typical Meredith fashion, her words took me back to a simpler time, yet revived my interest in learning something new:
Because wastefulness is such a part of our culture it can take lots of time and baby steps to rethink the way we function in our kitchens, and I've come to be a big believer in moving at a slow and steady pace. Taking on too much just becomes overwhelming and leads to burn out. Now, this might not work for lots of folks but for me it really does. And that's to find rewards in less. For me, reducing waste and living simply is a spiritual practice. I know that might sound weird to some people, but that holds true for me. My point here is that I think learning to reduce waste should include some deep thinking about why it matters to you in the first place. Yes it's cheaper and yes it makes sense, but it's also not the easiest way to live in our modern society and if those changes are going to really take root in your life it seems to me that a person should consider really looking at why they want to make those changes. When you find the answers to those questions then it becomes much more like a fun challenge and less like hard work.








