Story, recipes, and photography by George Graham
In the pages of Fresh from Louisiana: The Soul of Cajun and Creole Home Cooking, I’ve delivered a roadmap of the culinary delights that await you and the fresh ingredients that will astound you. Eating in the South is tied to the seasons, and Louisiana is no exception. Farm-fresh is the cultural mandate of Louisiana cooking and the essence of what sets it apart. I’ll also show you the places I know and introduce you to the people I’ve met that make Louisiana’s culinary culture so colorful. If you read my first book, Acadiana Table, then rest assured that this next one will take a deeper dive as I crisscross the state in pursuit of the stories behind the recipes.
Speaking of recipes, the ones I’ve chosen for this book are divided in a way that ensures the freshest ingredients are available during the respective growing season. As a child, I learned to anticipate the market seasons: Ponchatoula strawberries in the spring, Creole tomatoes in the summer, Evangeline sweet potatoes in the fall, and a pot full of farm-fresh collards in the winter. And the Louisiana soil I grew up on delivered.
I’ve had a lifelong love affair with the food culture of Louisiana. I love the Louisiana recipes living inside this cookbook for the history that calls me back to the table and for the ties that bind me to the memories of food and family. I love the way a spicy crawfish pie weaves its lyrical melody and sings to me with a Doug Kershaw accent, how a pork- and apple-stuffed duck is only a vessel for the sweet duck fat-roasted onions that accompany it, and how the perfumed scent of fresh basil wafts from a crispy-crusted Creole tomato tart as it comes out of a hot oven.
I grew up in Bogalusa, where Louisiana straddles Mississippi and only the Pearl River separates the two. It was just one hour north of New Orleans but a world away from the fun and funk of its spicy gumbo pot of culinary wonders. Bogalusa was pimiento cheese between two slices of Holsum bread; New Orleans was a sloppy, 10-napkin braised roast beef nested in a crusty Liedenheimer loaf.
The only thing that saved this country boy from a bland upbringing was the fact that my father was a restaurant man. He was a 24-hour-a-day, 364-day-a-year restaurant man who dished up the tastiest meat-and-three blue plates between Jackson, Mississippi, and the Big Easy. And it was hard work feeding travelers, shoppers, and the 4,000 paper mill workers at the plant that backed up to the Acme Café on Columbia Road. My father had grease running through his veins and a tireless work ethic that shaped my culinary world and filled me with a curious appetite to know more.
Watching the cooks in my father’s restaurant, I learned what any aspiring chef should know. To some, a 12-year old working in a restaurant kitchen would seem a forthright reason to call Child Protective Services. To me, it was a privilege, a blessing. It was my culinary school before I knew there was such a thing.
It was in that kitchen where I got my education on the art of buttermilk-brined and battered fried chicken with a crackly crust that snapped at the first bite. I learned to make a crispy crust chicken pie so rich, it sends your taste buds into overdrive. I discovered the art of a spicy shrimp and okra gumbo made by the hands of a talented Creole cook who could have just as well cooked in the hallowed kitchens of Galatoire’s or Antoine’s as my father’s roadside diner.
Cutting biscuits was my job, and I learned never to twist the biscuit cutter or the edges wouldn’t rise. I discovered that even heat distribution of a well-seasoned cast-iron skillet was the secret to frying chicken. And I learned that salt, properly applied, brings out the vibrancy of flavor, even in the sweetest of dishes. It was an early education in down-home roots cooking that I packed up with me as I began my journey of discovery of the food of Louisiana.
As a young man, I left my hometown, and at every stop, I sopped up every bit of knowledge about the food culture of the people who lived there. And that journey led me to Lafayette, where I explored the mystique of Cajun and Creole cooking in my first book, Acadiana Table. Now, I intend to broaden my search for culinary truth as I return to my Louisiana roots in this book—Fresh from Louisiana.
But it is more than a cookbook. It is an exploration of my heritage and the recipes and methods I have discovered over a lifetime of eating my way across the Bayou State. This book is a guide to the Louisiana I know and love, a place where front porches are for conversations and backyards for celebrations. The Louisiana that’s plain, simple, and, most of all, welcoming.
This book is rooted in down-home food culture like a stovetop anchored by simmering black pots of gumbo, grits, greens, and speckled butterbeans. There will be unexpected turns on familiar dishes. It is that exploration that stokes the fire in my belly, and I am hoping it will inspire my readers to rethink the recipes they know.
It’s a love affair that borders obsession and has turned me into a culinary stalker. For me, traveling the back roads is an adventure. There’s always a fork in the road where food swerves from the ordinary to the extraordinary, turns from run-of-the-mill to remarkable, OK to oh my goodness. I like to eat in the small-town diners to sample the weekday’s specialty. You know it’s been on the menu for decades and in the pot for only hours and then it’s gone until the same time next week. And I like the stories behind the food; every table has a tale.
I’ve said for years now that the stories tell themselves, but that’s only partly true. Stories of Cajun and Creole families and the food that fuels generations are personal stories that take cajoling conversation, prodding questions, and gentle probing for family secrets. It’s hard work. But when a kitchen table fills with notebooks, handwritten recipes, and empty plates and you know you’ve uncovered just one more tasty tidbit, it’s worth it.
In the pages of Fresh from Louisiana, you’ll see traditional ingredients with new, head-turning twists on recipes using them. I plan to stretch your worldview of Louisiana cooking in a way that expands your palate and perceptions. I’ll cut corners and take a shortcut, but only if it gets me to my culinary destination in style. We’ll take a side trip down memory lane and explore the history of Louisiana’s colorful food culture, but we will always stay focused on inspiring new dishes.
Your grandmother’s meatloaf is redefined when draped with a weave of smoked bacon and brushed with a spicy Tabasco pepper jelly glaze. Mac and cheese is a tried-and-true, down-home Southern staple, but in these pages, it’s infused with briny Gulf shrimp and smoky Cajun tasso for a spicy version that will test your adventurous spirit. You won’t find foie gras on my menu, but you’ll discover that a slice of white bread, ripe Creole tomato, and a smear of mayo can be as enlightening.
I love it all: the buttermilk biscuits slathered with mayhaw jelly, a white bean soup simmering in hambone-infused potlikker, or a black iron skillet of hot cornbread coming out of the oven.
Fresh from Louisiana is a love letter to my obsession, to my passion. Thank you for joining me on the journey; I hope you enjoy the ride.
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