Twitter, I am cooking again. Shall we make creole jambalaya?

This is the first thing I ever learned to cook, because I ate my weight in jambalaya on a trip to New Orleans and couldn’t find anything remotely similar back home.

You can make this with literally any meat, but I do think andouille sausage is vital. NORMALLY I’d get a more authentic andouille, but here on Covid Kitchen we use what’s available, and my grocery store only had Hillshire Farms.

My chicken breast also looks appalling because we cooked it sous vide yesterday and it’s been in the fridge since—but I promise it will taste amazing. And don’t judge the color, sous vide doesn’t brown.

Here are the ingredients up front, if you’d like to play along at home.

You will need a big pot, a long spoon, and an oven mitt. I’ll explain later.

First step: Chicken and sausage get cut into bite-sized pieces and then browned in oil. Both are pre-cooked, so we’re just adding flavor. I put the sausage in much longer, then brown the chicken in the sausage fat.

Btw Hillshire Farms andouille tastes exactly like you’d expect. I’m gonna have to add some extra cayenne.

The sizzle sells the steak.

One thing I love about jambalaya, other than eating it, is how it reflects multiculturalism. Creole food incorporates French flavors and techniques with those brought from Africa by enslaved people—like replacing the carrots in mirepoix with bell pepper to create “the trinity.”

If you’re new to cooking: cut the tops off the bell peppers and pull out the middle with your fingers, along with the waxy white bits and the seeds (a rinse helps).

And remember a very sharp knife is the key to tear-free onions!!

Chicken and sausage become spectators for a bit. The trinity goes in together—we are “sweating” them, which means we want the heat low enough to soften them and give up their water without browning the onions. Hold the garlic for now; it’ll burn if it goes in too soon.

Salt the trinity while it sweats. It’ll start smelling real nice, which is why they call them “aromatic vegetables.” If you notice your onions browning at all, back off the heat—sweat them until everything gets soft and the onions turn “translucent.”

If you’re new to home cooking: at left is a garlic bulb, at right garlic cloves. Know the difference.

Easiest way to break a bulb, and to get the skin off a clove, is to apply pressure to either one.

Garlic—minced—goes in once the rest of the trinity is almost done; this will keep it from burning and turning bitter. Next step is the most delicate: add the tomato paste and cook it, stirring constantly so it darkens but doesn’t burn. A lot of flavor comes from this step.

Tomato paste burns easily, so keep it moving and scrape the bottom of the pot to keep it from sticking. A spoon with a flat front is a great tool—and a pot that distributes heat evenly (this one is copper-clad) will help prevent burning.

This step takes some time. You can skip it, the recipe will still taste good, but for an authentic flavor you really need to do this—the French term is “pince.” Without browning the red sauce lacks depth and tastes more like marinara.

I’d love to tell you when it’s ready, but this is like making roux—it’s really a question of how much you’re willing to risk ruining everything for a little more color and flavor. I will tell you the tomato paste will thicken and darken, and the smell will be deeper and richer.

When it’s ready (or when you chicken out) deglaze with a cup of chicken broth or stock—or, here on Covid Kitchen, water with powdered bouillon. Be sure and scrape up any bits of chicken, sausage, or tomato paste stuck to the bottom. I’m fond of it.