Shrimp Creole

When I was a young teenager, in the late 1950’s, my family vacationed in Atlantic Beach/Morehead City North Carolina. The bed-and-breakfast where we stayed was in Atlantic Beach. There was a small marina attached and in residence were a creative and playful black standard poodle and a really dumb Dalmatian. One of my favorite dog stories is about the poodle. One afternoon the proprietors decided to try out a trimaran, a very new hull design for that part of the world, and wouldn’t let the poodle go with them. I stayed on the dock with him as he watched the boat go out, make a big loop, and come back in. As the boat approached, he waded out in the water and waited for his people. When they stepped off the boat he carefully shook all over them. It was deliberate because he didn’t shake until they were within range. He also chased butterflies.

The only food available on the island was breakfast at the inn and fast food. If we wanted a real meal we had to go across the bridge and causeway to Morehead City.

After a hard day of shell-hunting, salt and sand there was nothing like getting clean and dressed up and going for a good dinner. I remember walking on the dock where the shrimp boats came in, the salt marsh, salt water, fish and creosote making a not-quite-unpleasant smell on the soft evening breeze. Sometimes a shrimp boat would come in while we were there. The holds were emptied and the fish sorted out from the shrimp and packed in ice. The shrimp were dumped onto long tables, where young boys would snap the “heads” off, leaving just the tails to be packed in ice and shipped north.

At the time, Morehead City was the farthest-north shrimp fishery. Almost all shrimp were sold frozen, but these were sent by truck directly to the New York markets, where they commanded a premium price as fresh. There were cats, of course, one of whom refused to eat anything but fresh shrimp. I know how it felt.

The shrimp dock had a restaurant attached, but they offered only the standard: fish, shrimp, bay scallops, crab cakes, soft shell crabs, cole slaw, hush puppies, and French fries. All fried, all accompanied by tartar sauce. It was all good because it was all fresh, but it got to be too much of a same thing to eat it every night.

Just up the road apiece was a different restaurant. It billed itself as Italian, but that was only part of the story. That’s where the good shrimp were. They bought fresh shrimp from the dock so it hadn’t been frozen. They offered “Cold Boiled Shrimp” which was basically a giant shrimp cocktail with a really good horseradishy cocktail sauce. And then there was shrimp creole. It was wonderful. Lots of shrimp in a chunky sauce of tomatoes, green pepper, onion, and celery served over rice. It was my introduction to shrimp creole and I measure all shrimp creole recipes by that dish.

In the years since, I have duplicated that shrimp creole. I used to use just canned tomatoes and chop them up but the variety on the market has improved and I can get diced canned tomatoes. When I can find it, I stir in some filé powder (AKA gumbo filé): powdered sassafras leaves used for thickening and flavor. If I can’t find the kind that has ground thyme in it I add thyme leaves. One of the saddest things in my life is that my grandchildren don’t like it.

Over the years I’ve been served some disastrous messes that masqueraded as shrimp creole. Most of them use tomato sauce instead of tomatoes and leave out any real flavoring. I’ve now given up eating any shrimp creole but my own. In New Orleans, believe it or not, I was served something that was really shrimp in tomato soup over rice. It was dreadful, but we were in a real tourist trap. We should have known better because there was no line outside. It was the only bad food we had in the Crescent City.

Every time I smell the “holy trinity” of green pepper, onion, and celery sautéing it brings back those vacations at the beach. The bed-and-breakfast with the standard poodle and the Dalmatian in residence; hunting shells, trying to swim in a gentle surf, getting sunburned and trudging through the sea oats on the dunes; dressing for dinner and enjoying shrimp creole and cold boiled shrimp; and dancing at the dance pavilion with Coast Guardsmen from the locally based CGC Chalula and Marines from Camp Lejeune.

(c) 2008 Katherine DeWitt