Lily's Oyster Stew - a weekend recipe

Oyster stew is a Louisiana staple, but is prepared and eaten everywhere the succulent sea creature is found. Like gumbo, there are many variations, some heartier than others. Here is one of Lily’s versions. The recipe is included in Lily's Little Cajun Cookbook, now available in ebook format on Smashwords.com.


Lily’s Oyster Stew

Ingredients

1 stick butter

1 tablespoon minced garlic

1 medium onion, finely chopped

1 medium carrot, finely diced

2 tablespoons Cajun seasoning, plus more to taste

2 pints oysters (with liquor), drained and liquor reserved

1 quart seafood stock

1 10-ounce can of tomatoes, pureed

1 quart half-and-half

¼ cup white wine or brandy

Garlic croutons

Directions

In a large 2-gallon stockpot, melt butter over medium-high heat. Add garlic, onion and carrot and cook, stirring constantly, until onions are translucent. Add 2 tablespoons Cajun seasoning and stir to combine. Add oyster liquor, seafood stock and tomatoes and bring to a simmer. Cook 10 minutes. Add half-and-half and bring back to a simmer. Add oysters and cook until their edges begin to curl. Add wine or brandy and adjust seasoning to taste. Serve immediately in hot soup bowls garnished with croutons, green onions, parsley and paprika.

Eric'sWeb

Eric Takes a Ride

My first wife Gail loved horses and had two, Lady, a very gentle mare and Rodan, a large stallion. Not very friendly, Rodan did not tolerate carrying fools around on his back, a fact I quickly learned during my first visit to Gail’s home in Chalmette.

During those years, sprawling Chalmette felt like a family town. Gail’s father Harvey had a small working ranch right in the middle of town and ran a few horses and some cows. He also bought fur from the many trappers that worked the swamps and marshes south of New Orleans.

Ripley’s Believe it or Not featured one of Harvey’s cows in their feature that many newspapers once carried. The cow had a tail growing out of its head. Harvey was very proud of the cow and never failed to show visitors his yellowed newspaper clipping.

I had not ridden a horse since my brother Jack and I fell off the back of my grandmother’s plow horse named Buck. Buck was so large no saddle would fit him. Although not as big, nor as friendly as Buck, Rodan was no small horse. His size did not really matter because I had maintained an aversion to riding horses ever since falling off Buck.

Gail and I met at college in Monroe. On my first trip to meet her parents, I strived to do everything I could to please her and to make a good impression on her family. Because of my desire to present myself in the best possible light, I rashly agreed to go for a ride on Rodan. It was a decision that almost ended our fledgling romance prematurely.

Horses are perceptive animals and Rodan knew the moment that I threw my leg over his back that I was a complete and utter novice. Still, I was okay until Gail handed me the reins. When she did, Rodan took off like a thoroughbred coming out of the gate at Pimlico.

The big red horse headed straight for the St. Bernard Highway, congested with traffic even in those day. I could do little except pull on the reins and yell “Whoa, Rodan,” at the top of my lungs. My life passed before my eyes as we approached the crowded highway at what felt to me like breakneck speed.

I contemplated jumping but never got the chance. Rodan skidded to an abrupt halt just before plowing into the two lanes heavy traffic. Gail reached us shortly, grabbing Rodan’s reins and allowing me to exit the saddle as quickly as I could. Neither of us spoke on the short walk back to Harvey’s ranch.

Years have passed since that visit and I wish that I could proclaim that it was my last frightening ride on a horse. Well it was not. Gail’s brother Larry goaded me into another horse ride some years later, much to the same result, even though Larry’s horse was supposedly a friendly and docile mare.

Between Marilyn and her three kids, they own at least six horses. None of them is as big or mean as Rodan was, but it makes no difference to me. Horses and I do not get along and it will be a cold day in Chalmette before I mount another.

Louisiana Mystery Writer

Lily's Cajun Coffee

My first wife’s family lived in Chalmette, a city south of New Orleans devastated by Hurricanes Katrina and Rita. Gail and I would often leave work at night from our respective menial jobs and drive to Chalmette for the weekend. We would enter the old wood-framed structure quietly and go to sleep in the empty bedroom in back. At five, our nightly rest always ended with the booming bass voice of a distant cousin named Admiral.

"Hey Harvey, you and Lily gonna sleep all morning?"

Gail’s parents, Lily and Harvey were already awake, although barely, and Lily would let Admiral into the kitchen (he always came in the back door) and start a pot of strong coffee. Lily did not use a modern coffee pot. She made hers in a simple drip pot that she heated on the open natural gas flame of her little stove. Like many Cajuns, she used a blend of coffee and chicory that produced a strong, aromatic brew. I still remember the aroma of Lily’s Cajun coffee.

Admiral’s voice was so deep and booming, it actually shook the walls. At least it felt that way after only four hours of sleep. Soon, Gail and I would succumb to the cacophony, and stories about Fats Domino we had all heard before. She would roll out of bed, put on her robe and tread down the hall to the kitchen. Finally, I would rub my eyes, take a big whiff of the coffee aroma wafting from the kitchen, and follow her.

Two wives later, I still love coffee, but in all my travels I have never had a cup as good as Lily brewed, or smelled that wonderful aroma that can revive you fully from a hard day’s work, a long drive, and only four hours of sleep.

Fiction South

Lily's Famous Eggplant Dressing

The best Cajun cook I ever knew was my former mother-in-law Lily. Every meal was an experience and always served up in authentic fashion. One of my favorite side dishes was her famous eggplant dressing that she prepared, like all her other culinary creations, sans cookbook.

I watched her make this dish many times and I’m recounting it now from memory, but I think it is pretty close.

2 large purple eggplants, cubed and diced
5 slices of bacon
¾ pound ground pork
1 ½ teaspoons black pepper
Salt to taste
1 large can whole tomatoes
2 ½ cups cooked rice
French bread crumbs
1 ½ cups onion, garlic, sweet pepper, chopped

Cook the eggplants in salted water until soft. Drain, mash and set aside. Sauté bacon in large cast-iron skillet and then add onion, garlic and sweet pepper mixture. Sauté until vegetables are wilted and then add to eggplants.

Cook the ground pork until brown, drain the fat and then stir in the eggplant mixture. Add the can of tomatoes, salt and pepper and bread crumbs. Mix well and then simmer on medium-low heat for about twenty minutes.

Pour the mixture into a casserole dish, add the rice and more bread crumbs and then bake at 350 degrees for thirty minutes. Enjoy.

Fiction South