Longer days, warmer nights and blossom-spiked breezes are sure signs of spring’s approach, but for me a more distinctive harbinger of the season is something closer to litter.
My first sighting of 2005 came in late February, about as likely a time as any for spring to begin in southern Louisiana. It was a single, peeled crawfish shell lying in the street, red from boiling. There was another about ten feet down the street, then a third and a fourth. The trail continued along my route at regular intervals and eventually I deduced that someone was peeling and eating boiled crawfish while driving down the street, tossing the shells out the window.
I’m not about to celebrate littering, but the moment was an evocative one for me. When little piles of discarded crawfish shells begin appearing in parking lots, around park benches and under picnic tables, you know the season for south Louisiana’s most distinctive and celebrated foodstuff is upon us in all its torrential abundance.
Louisiana is rightfully proud of its oysters and shrimp, of its smoked meats and culinary traditions both fine and homespun, but other regions can also boast of natural resources and heritage in these areas. When it comes to crawfish, however, there is simply no argument that Louisiana is supreme. Among crawfish lovers, Louisiana is mecca, spring their holy season and each crawfish boil a pagan mass in honor of the edible bounty of the Bayou State.
Of all the many preparations of crawfish, the format of the traditional boil brings out its best qualities, which are not limited to flavor. Served in massive quantities, dumped upon a table where friends and strangers stand elbow to elbow and by necessity consumed no faster than they can be peeled, crawfish are the ultimate social food. From a sawhorse and plywood table in a Tremé backyard to a Chamber of Commerce function in a Metairie parking lot, the crawfish boil is a communal experience.
Without doubt, the easiest way for most people to eat boiled crawfish is at a restaurant, and there are many in the area that do a fine job with them. Some of my favorites include the family-friendly barroom ambiance of Franky & Johnny’s Restaurant by the river Uptown, the holdovers from the lakefront’s glory days in West End and Bucktown, places like Sid-Mar’s Restaurant and the 140-year-old Bruning’s Seafood Restaurant, and the more modern West End Café.
But a boil served on a tray or in a basket just doesn’t compare to a crawfish feast cooked up at a friend’s house or even a freshly boiled batch picked up from a market. One problem with restaurant crawfish is that they are too often served cold. This is a food safety issue, since crawfish must be eaten or chilled right after removal from the boiling water. Most businesses find it impossible to boil crawfish to order, so unless you get lucky and place an order just as a fresh batch is coming out of the pot, your crawfish will likely be cold. In some parts of Louisiana, chilled boiled crawfish is the norm, but whenever I encounter it in restaurants I find it disappointing.
Boiling live crawfish yourself or buying from a market with very high turnover (and constant boiling) avoids this problem and yields the best-tasting crawfish. The home boil also allows the greatest level of customization, both with seasoning levels and the cornucopia of vegetables and meats accompanying the mudbugs. Almost every one who likes boiled crawfish has a favorite market to get them, and there are too many spread across the city’s neighborhoods to declare any definitively the best. So far this season, however, I’ve had consistently good crawfish from my own go-to places: Kjean in Mid-City, Captain Sal’s in Broadmoor, Big Fisherman Seafood Uptown on Magazine Street and King Rogers Seafood on the edge of the Marigny on Rampart Street.
The dynamics of supply and demand make crawfish prices fluctuate as much as oil commodities, as documented in the ever-changing per pound rate advertised by hand-drawn signs on neutral grounds near popular markets. Fortunately, nature appears to be taking the case of the crawfish lover this season. The fall was mild and there has been ample rain all winter—two important factors for delivering a healthy crawfish harvest in terms of size and availability.
Bigger is better with crawfish, not for any change in flavor but because of the satisfaction of getting a more sizeable portion of tail meat for all the peeling. For the city dweller, eating crawfish in any of the Cajun country towns west of New Orleans reveals the shocking fact that the best of the harvest never makes it very far from the source. With few exceptions, the biggest crawfish sold in New Orleans markets are considerably smaller than the rural standard. Compare a woman’s pinkie finger with a man’s thumb and you get the idea.
If you can’t get yourself invited to a crawfish boil in the countryside, mark your calendar for the Breaux Bridge Crawfish Festival, held May 6 – 8 this year, where boiled crawfish is one of among dozens of mudbug preparations available. This is the event at which the late Nick Stipelcovich, a Metairie barkeep, showed the world just how much he liked crawfish by dispatching 55 3/4 pounds of the creatures in 45 minutes in 1994, setting a record in competitive eating.
I’ve always found the most important factor for enjoying a crawfish—more than size, more than seasoning and spiciness, more than vegetable companions in the pot—is the setting and company. Apart from the shopping list, your recipe for a great crawfish boil should include cold beer, friends, sunshine and a tremendous mess.
