Shrimps

We are lucky enough to live in one of the most beautiful places on earth. 

Pensacola has been blessed with so much, from the stunning turquoise and teals in those warm Gulf of Mexico waters lapping (usually) on our squeaky-under-your-feet sugar sand beaches to the inland waterways with the abundance of flora and fauna springing from proximity to those rivers and bayous that traverse the area, there’s always something to see. Something that catches your breath. 

The bald eagles over the house, the dolphins in the surf or just offshore, the alligators, the screaming colors of Mordor in some of our spectacular sunsets, or the brilliant Maxfield Parrish blues and peaches that give way as the gloaming approaches.

Palmettos spring so thick in the swamps surrounding our home and pop up unsolicited in yards that, if you close your eyes, you can almost visualize what it had to have been like for those first Spanish explorers who landed here. Having to hack through that tough, thankless forest of unrelenting, rapier-sharp undergrowth for mile after interminable mile in the heat and wearing heavy armor had to be a nightmare.

All that before the rattlesnakes, cottonmouths, and gators. And bugs.

But they, with the French, British, and Americans after them, kept coming back.

Rachel Jackson, wife of (at the time) General Andrew Jackson, wrote her husband a letter in 1821 with her first impressions of Pensacola. 

It so beautifully describes our steeped-in history and naturally blessed little city (America’s first colony, by the way) to this day.

“Pensacola is a perfect plain. The land nearly as white as flour but productive of fine peaches, oranges in abundance, grapes, figs, pomegranates, etc. Fine flowers grow spontaneously, for they have neglected the gardens, expecting a change of government. The town is immediately on the bay-the most beautiful water prospect I ever saw; and from 10 o’clock in the morning until 10 at night we have the finest sea breeze. There is something in it so exhilarating, so pure, so wholesome, it enlivens the whole system.” 

~ Rachel Jackson, July 23, 1821

General Jackson accepted the transfer of Florida from the Spanish on the morning of July 17, 1821, right in our own Plaza Ferdinand VII.

The bounty of the Gulf helped sustain those first arrivals and is a huge part of every one of our holiday traditions here.

We are so grateful to have access to the fresh offerings the hardworking fisherfolk still plying their trade along our coast provide. We are also blessed to have a legendary fishmarket in town, where the sights on ice dazzle the eyes and rarely pinch the wallet, even when looking for the perfect addition to a special meal.

We always make a special trip for the shrimp for shrimp cocktail, which is always on our Thanksgiving and Christmas tables.

Big, beautiful 10-15 Gulf brown shrimp, fresh off of one of either the Patti boats or from Alabama/Louisiana shrimpers.

I thought I’d share how I do our beer-steamed shrimp.

After I get those honkers peeled and ready, I get 3-4 cans of a good lager in a pot (eyeball enough to just cover the shrimps)…

… sliced lemons, squeezed before adding, and Paul Prudhomme Blackened Redfish (if you’re an Olde Bay type or Tony Cacheres, go for it!). Bring that up to a simmer and slide your shrimps in gently. Give the pot a little shake to make sure they all sort of nestle in.

The second you start to see that the temp is coming back up to a simmer, slap the lid on that and set a timer for three minutes.

Give that pot another little shimmy in a minute or so.

DON’T LET THAT SUCKER BOIL, EH-VAH

What you should have when the beeping starts, and you lift the lid are a heavenly smell and little pink curls.

Like this:

Now, get that pan over to a colander in the sink. I pull the lemons out so they don’t take up any excess space needed, and then dump it all into the colander to drain your shrimps. Immediately, ice goes over the top. If you’re doing a healthy amount, like I was today (about two and a half pounds), I stopped halfway through to layer ice in the middle, so they cooled quicker.

Remember, heat is now the enemy. No one likes tough luck OR tough shrimps.

Now, we are thoroughly spoiled in that major dad makes a kickass cocktail sauce from scratch, but you have at it however you want. Let the initial melted ice run through them, then put the colander on, like, a soup bowl or something with whatever ice is left, and pop it in the fridge until you’re ready. If it’s going to be a good bit, maybe a piece of Saranwrap over the top. They’ll be fine. 

I serve them in everything from 1930s depression glass champagne coupes to a big bowl with tongs in the middle of the table to grab at will – it’s all good.

It’s all goodness to be shared with family and friends amid the cacophony of laughter and the stories told every single time you get together.

What blessings we have in this country.

Of course, we were fretted about Ebola – would he be working, even get a decent meal? There’s no Thanksgiving in England. 

But no worries there, and again, I’m so grateful for his good friends and comrades in arms. The quick little video he sent of them all, loud and happy, in a room with their ad hoc Thanksgiving feast in a foreign country – even the youngest airmen had been dragged to the apartment they rented for it – made me sniffly. 

I remember those days myself, and I am so thankful the kids in uniform today still take care of each other.

There is so much in everyday life to be thankful for. My little family is more precious than anything, and I am blessed to have the most wonderful brothers, in-laws, and dear friends. 

I have a job I love and tremendous co-workers I adore. 

And then there is you all here. I always get such a kick out of you guys, and you keep me cranking. How lucky is that?

And now, we have such hope for the future, too.

Literally, my cup runneth over.

I hope your Thanksgivings are lovely, warm, and truly happy.

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