Shellfish

Italians say that to ensure your octopus is tender, first you pound it on the dock as you bring it in from the boat, then you put a cork in the cooking pot. I don’t know what magical alchemic properties are supposed to be at work there, but I always put a cork in my pot, just to be sure. I like to use bigger octopi because I think they have more developed flavor. They’re a little chewier, but I don’t mind—that’s just part of the joy of octopus. Use the recipe as a guideline, and feel free to experiment with combinations of whatever aromatics you have on hand. As a variation, add 2 cups cooked corona beans to the octopus as it marinates.

If you love fried clams or a nice bowl of clam chowder, then eating clams on the half shell will be a revelation for you. Serving clams as a crudo plays up their assertive, concentrated clam flavor and guarantees tender meat. It’s easy, delicious, and a little bit different. If you don’t have baby fennel, you can use finely chopped fennel bulb. For a less spicy dish, you can split the chile lengthwise and remove the seeds and membrane first, then dice.

This would make a lovely brunch dish, but you could serve it as an appetizer, too, with some toasted or grilled bread and a glass of sparkling. The quenelle of crème fraîche is made using two spoons like paddles to shape softer ingredients into an oval or a football. For a throwback to dot.com excess, pile some caviar on top if you like. If you aren’t feeling fancy, just dollop the crème fraîche on top instead.

In this fabulous crudo, baby fennel and radish offset the sweetness of the geoduck. This dish has an especially lovely texture to it, with the silken geoduck intermingling with the shaved vegetables. Serve with crusty bread to soak up all the goodness.

This dish channels the best of the clam shacks that dot the East Coast. Here, a crunchy cornmeal coating and a quick dip in hot oil render these soft-shell clams succulent and juicy. As an accompaniment, chopped sorrel gives aioli a lemony lift and gorgeous color for a nice twist on tartar sauce. For fun, serve them to your guests the way we do in the restaurants—in little paper cones. They’re not hard to fold, make for great oil-absorbing containers, and make you feel like you’re on the boardwalk.

I love broiling Kusshis not only because they have a lovely, delicate texture and a good brininess, but also because they have deeply cupped shells that hold both liquid and a lot of delicious breadcrumbs. Cherrystone clams would be a great substitute, and Totten Virginica, Barron Point, or Shigoku oysters would also work well, because they are the right size to hold up to the heat. Save tiny Kumomotos for eating on the half shell.

Yet another in the seemingly endless parade of hearty one-pot dishes from the Creole and Cajun traditions, jambalaya is a close cousin of Spanish paella (which comes as no surprise, given Louisiana’s earlier ownership by Spain). I love jambalaya, whether it’s made in the “red” Creole style, with tomatoes, or in the “brown” Cajun style, without, because even though it requires a little slicing and dicing, it’s actually a fairly fast and weeknight-friendly one-dish dinner—and it really sticks to your ribs. I often make mine with shrimp (as in this recipe), but jambalaya is sort of like gumbo in that it is made with everything from chicken, sausage, pork, and oysters to alligator, boar, venison, and turtle—basically, anything that swims, crawls, grazes, or flies in the vicinity of Southerners.

When I was in college I had a job waiting tables at the Half Shell, a little wood-paneled restaurant in Memphis that makes the best fried oysters I have ever eaten. They serve their perfectly crisp-on-the-outside, juicy-on-the-inside oysters by the half-dozen, with lemon wedges and tartar sauce, but you can also get them layered with slaw in a creamy po’ boy sandwich or sprinkled atop eggs Benedict. A few years ago the Half Shell moved across the street to a larger location, and while it’s never felt quite the same since they moved, I still drop by for their fried oysters every time I visit Memphis. My Half Shell–inspired version of basic fried oysters makes a perfectly good meal on its own, but check out the four easy serving suggestions if you want to take things one step further.

Étouffée is a traditional New Orleans one-pot dish whose name literally—and appropriately—comes from the French word for “smothered.” Like gumbo, étouffée is a highly seasoned stew of fish or meat and vegetables that is served over steamed rice. Also like gumbo, it has a big-hearted, homey quality that makes it one of my favorite dishes to serve to crowds (especially when they include friends who aren’t from the South). Although serious purists might disapprove, I never make étouffée the same way twice, and I don’t take sides when it comes to never-ending debates about the proper shade of roux or whether there’s room for tomatoes in a bona fide étouffée. For me, one of the joys of Cajun and Creole stews is their variability, so feel free to experiment.

With blue crabs, sausage, corn on the cob, and tender new potatoes, this lowcountry-inspired shrimp boil makes for a rustic and utterly delicious spread that is just the thing for impromptu summertime gatherings. I sometimes serve it in individual tins or buckets, but that’s about as refined as I ever get with this low-key dish, which is best eaten right out of the bucket or from a big pile on the table, with a crowd of friends, and always with your fingers.

I used to make crab cakes using all kinds of herbs and vegetables for added flavor and texture, but the ultrasimple crab cakes Peter and I enjoyed on a recent trip to the Maryland shore convinced me that in this case, less is more. I don’t add much more to this dressed-down version than is needed to hold the cakes together, so the only time to make them is when crab is in season and at the peak of freshness.

Soft-shell crab season, which generally lasts from May through June, is short and highly anticipated. That’s because soft-shell crabmeat is unbelievably tender and buttery-sweet, and the shell, which you eat along with the meat, is perfectly crunchy without being the least bit tough or chewy. True fanatics don’t let a moment of soft-shell crab season go to waste, eating them for breakfast, lunch, or dinner, in sandwiches or served solo. Ask your fishmonger to clean them for you.

Despite its name, this traditional shrimp dish isn’t so much barbecue as a savory, saucy stew. It gets its full-bodied flavor from Worcestershire sauce and dark beer, and a dose of fresh lemon gives it a bright, clean finish.

When Paul Prudhomme’s first cookbook, Chef Paul Prudhomme’s Louisiana Kitchen, came out, I think I made every last one of his gumbos in the span of a few weeks. To this day, his are the recipes I always refer to when I make gumbo. More often than not, however, I don’t have time to make ultra traditional, slow-cooking gumbo, so I’ve adapted my own quicker—and often lighter—versions that take a fraction of the time but still pack loads of soulful flavor. Served over rice with ice-cold beer, it’s all the excuse you need to throw a block party.

Traditional oyster stew was one of my dad’s favorites, and he used to make it all the time, especially when we visited my sister in Biloxi, Mississippi, where we could get really fresh oysters. Taking a cue from oysters Rockefeller, another hallmark dish from Antoine’s Restaurant in New Orleans, I brighten my version with fresh spinach. And, to achieve the same smooth, creamy texture with less fat, I blend potatoes with just a touch of heavy cream to make the broth. Taste for seasoning and add more salt and pepper, if desired. This soup should be served hot as soon as it’s done, lest the oysters continue to cook in the broth.

Every summer when the Carolina shrimp are in season, Nana’s, which is one of my favorite restaurants in Durham, makes a delicious shrimp chowder that is the inspiration for this light and succulent soup. Nana’s version is rich and creamy—closer to a traditional potato chowder—but because I love the sweetness of the corn and shrimp together, I make mine thinner, more like a corn chowder. To give this dish extra oomph, I add the shrimp at the very end, so they are tender and extra sweet, and top with Crispy Fried Oysters Four Ways (page 117).

It used to be that Southerners ate oysters only in months with the letter r in them because it was just too hot from May to August to ensure their safety and freshness. Today, thanks to the wonders of modern refrigeration, they can be eaten year-round. Keep in mind that oysters must be cooked or eaten alive, so freshness is paramount when using oysters, mussels, clams, and scallops. Fresh, properly stored oysters should smell clean and briny, with no hint of fishiness. Any that remain open when tapped prior to cooking or closed after cooking should be discarded.