My Best Ever Jambalaya

Fall. The rhythm: school, work, gumbo, football, the calendar clicking forward like a metronome made of crawfish shells. LSU is having a good season and Luc watches with me every Saturday, but now the watching is different because next year he'll be THERE — in Tiger Stadium, in the student section, a Tiger himself. The thought fills me with pride and empties me simultaneously, the way a good gumbo fills the bowl and empties the pot.

Made boudin balls for game day — Rémy's recipe now. He's adjusted the blend: more garlic than mine, less liver, a touch of smoked paprika that doesn't exist in any traditional boudin recipe and that would make Joey raise an eyebrow but that WORKS. The boy is innovating. He's not just carrying the tradition — he's evolving it. And the evolution is the tradition. The tradition isn't a museum exhibit. It's a living thing, and living things grow, and Rémy's smoked paprika boudin balls are the growth.

Danielle and I had a date night — Saturday, after the game, at a new restaurant downtown. We talked about Luc leaving, about Colette's art, about Rémy's cooking, about the business, about the cottage. We talked about us. About twenty years of marriage (next year is the anniversary). About Breaux Bridge and Katrina and the kitchen and the porch. She said, "We did okay, Tommy." I said, "We did better than okay." She said, "The gumbo helped." I said, "The gumbo always helps." She said, "I was talking about us. We're the gumbo." She was right. We are the gumbo. Dark, slow, layered. Twenty years of stirring and never burning. We are the gumbo.

The boudin balls were Rémy’s show that Saturday — his smoked paprika, his adjustments, his evolution of the tradition — and I let him have it completely. But when Danielle and I got home from dinner, still warm from the conversation and the wine and twenty years of each other, I found myself wanting something that was purely mine to make: the jambalaya I’ve been building toward my whole life, every tweak earned over a Saturday just like this one. It’s game day food and date night food and weeknight food all at once, the same way we are gumbo — because a good pot holds everything without losing any of it.

Prep Time: 20 min | Cook Time: 45 min | Total Time: 1 hr 5 min | Servings: 8

Ingredients

1 lb andouille sausage, sliced into 1/4-inch rounds
1 lb boneless, skinless chicken thighs, cut into 1-inch pieces
1 lb large shrimp, peeled and deveined
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 medium yellow onion, diced
1 green bell pepper, diced
3 stalks celery, diced
5 cloves garlic, minced
1 can (14.5 oz) diced tomatoes, undrained
2 cups long-grain white rice, uncooked
3 cups chicken broth
2 teaspoons Cajun or Creole seasoning
1 teaspoon smoked paprika
1/2 teaspoon dried thyme
1/2 teaspoon dried oregano
1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper, or to taste
2 bay leaves
Salt and black pepper to taste
3 green onions, sliced, for garnish
Fresh parsley, chopped, for garnish

Instructions

Brown the sausage. Heat 1 tablespoon olive oil in a large heavy-bottomed pot or Dutch oven over medium-high heat. Add the andouille slices and cook 3–4 minutes per side until browned. Remove to a plate and set aside, leaving the drippings in the pot.
Sear the chicken. Add the remaining tablespoon of oil to the pot. Season the chicken pieces with salt and pepper, then add to the pot in a single layer. Cook 4–5 minutes, turning once, until golden. Remove to the plate with the sausage.
Build the base. Reduce heat to medium. Add the onion, bell pepper, and celery to the pot (the holy trinity). Cook, stirring occasionally, for 6–8 minutes until softened. Add the garlic and cook 1 minute more until fragrant.
Season the pot. Stir in the Cajun seasoning, smoked paprika, thyme, oregano, and cayenne. Cook 1 minute, letting the spices bloom in the oil.
Add tomatoes and rice. Pour in the diced tomatoes with their juices and stir to combine. Add the uncooked rice and stir until every grain is coated in the tomato-spice mixture.
Simmer low and slow. Return the sausage and chicken to the pot. Pour in the chicken broth and add the bay leaves. Stir once, bring to a boil, then reduce heat to low. Cover tightly and cook 20–25 minutes, undisturbed, until the rice has absorbed the liquid and is cooked through.
Finish with shrimp. Remove the lid and nestle the shrimp into the top of the rice. Replace the lid and cook an additional 5–7 minutes until the shrimp are pink and cooked through. Remove and discard the bay leaves.
Rest and serve. Remove the pot from heat and let it rest, covered, for 5 minutes. Fluff gently with a fork, then serve topped with sliced green onions and fresh parsley.

Nutrition (per serving)

My Best Ever Jambalaya — The Pot That Holds Everything Together