Don’t let the name fool you. The only fish in these pots were sweet, succulent crawfish. Or crayfish, if you’re some sort of carpetbagging Yankee.
Last weekend the Bass Brothers, Greg and Brian, wrapped up another entry in their decade long quest to host the perfect crawfish boil. Since we’re not in Southern Louisiana they’re already working uphill, but in my opinion they’re doing a heck of a job (and not in that Bush way.)
Since Austin attracts a diverse array of individuals and the Bass boys don’t assemble the invitation list based on one's knowledge of small crustaceans, the attendees often include quite a few crawfish virgins, so to speak.
If you’re not familiar with the ins and outs of dismembering the little guys, procuring a full meal, no matter how big the pile in front of you is, can be a daunting task. (Although I did hear one adorable girl mention that she had been “watching youtube all afternoon, so I’d know what I was doing.” Awesome.)
Thoughtfully, the hosts and their thematically beshirted friend Homer provided a mess of pre-crawfish eats.
Red beans and rice are always a hit. Especially when you serve them with a moist, buttery hunk of jalapeno cornbread.
The boudin was delicious as well and while I normally wouldn’t advise slicing into the pudding-y innards, these grilled ones held up quite nicely.
Since Greg masquerades at night as Bacon-man, we also had the good fortune to partake of some of his fresh-off-the-smoker, home cured belly. You should ask to see his pork cape.
This is a line you want to be in.
In the tradition of good crawfish boils everywhere, very little alcohol was present.
Very, very little.
My pre-dinner, dinner.
With the crowd of hungry onlookers briefly sated, the gallant chefs moved on to the main event. They gathered a slew of crawfish accoutrements including the old standbys, corn and potatoes but also gained bonus points with additional flair like artichokes, mushrooms, andouille sausage, orange halves and whole heads of garlic.
Readying the fire.
I have to confess that last year I was so excited about some of the new boil items that I exported them to our historically traditional crawfish gatherings in Louisiana. Don’t tell my family I learned it from Texans.
Into the pot.
The crawfish they got came from Quality Seafood, a handy little local fishmongery right around the corner from their house.
Greg and Brian use a two-pot method. Separating ingredients ensures that everything is cooked at the ideal time and temperature. These guys are pros; no chuck-it-all-in-a-pot-and-let-God-sort-it-out mistakes here.
At the appointed time, all of the goodies are extracted from their respective spicy brews in unison.
The crawfish, being the guests of honor, are shown to the long, paper covered table first.
In due course they are topped with their assorted vegetabley friends.
At this point, a select passel of connoisseurs (maybe just me) unhinged their lower jaws, engaged their nictitating membranes and dove into a frenzy of flying claws, bits of projectile carapace, and tiny hunk after tiny hunk of sweet, spicy, freshwater seafood.
Other people remembered they were in public and just, um, you know, ate like, uh, normal people. Whatever.
The aftermath was the best you could hope for. Nary a tail went unpinched.
These guys had a long night of cleaning up scraps. I joined them right after I snapped this shot.
Since hedonism requires dedication, we followed everything up with some lovely, chewy brownies from Karen and a pile of über-decadent cream cheese stuffed cupcakes from Tracy. My oh my.
Nothing was left but to mingle, chat, and recount our battle tales.
Thanks to the Bass Family and everyone else who made this such a kick ass evening.
Until next year,
-L. Pants
