For a couple of years I've been diddling around with a plan to travel
from Houston to Mississippi stopping at every joint, eatery and
restaurant along the Gulf coast to sample their version of remoulade.
The idea is to research remoulade in all its iterations, permutations
and variations in as much of Acadiana and its environs as can be
reasonably toured in the time available to me to see what can be
learned about this noble gustatory pleasure for the benefit of all
humankind.
Well for the benefit of part of humankind, anyway.
For me, okay?
I've had homemade remoulade in a sleepy little town north of Baton
Rouge -- a gift from my grandmother's neighbor, who also (34 years
ago) gave D and me a Creole cookbook with a remoulade recipe in it as
our wedding present. I've had remoulade in a place in Pointe Coupee
Parish, at my uncle Leon's place in Gretna, at Fitzgerald's on a pier
on Lake Ponchartrain (now destroyed), in a dive in New Orleans, in an
upscale restaurant in New Orleans, in Lake Charles, in Houston, even.
Each time it was different. Each time it was GOOD.
I yearn to understand remoulade. I crave remoulade wisdom. To be one
with remoulade is surely a path to happiness, an escape from
dreariness, a promise of delight. There is a purpose in remoulade.
I mentioned the idea in passing to my sister last Christmas, and it
appears to have taken root in her imagination. Last night, she called
to plan our trip to Baton Rouge to see our parents, and the Remoulade
Tour began again to materialize in our conversation. My sister is
getting serious about this. It looks like this as of tonight: later
this summer D, sister, and I will haul our remoulade-craving bellies
down along the coast on a test run of the Remoulade Tour as we make
our way from Texas to Baton Rouge. We'll probably only be able to
stop at three or four places this time out, but we'll be able to test
The Great Remoulade Hypothesis (TGRH) if only in a very limited way.
TGRH: Even though every iteration of remoulade is different in
deliciously noticeable ways from all other iterations, all remoulade
is good.
I plan to shoot pictures and take notes.
Evidence arrived today in support of the scheme in the form of a late
birthday present from D. _The Hog Island Oyster Cookbook_ was in our
mailbox this afternoon, and in it was a recipe for -- you know. I
guess we'll have to visit California next. And French remoulade is
entirely different from it siblings on this side of the Atlantic.
It could become quite a tour indeed.
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