Olivia West
- Apr 7, 2022
- 4 min read

New Orleans Shrimp Jambalaya

It's jambalaya time, so you know what that means...Laissez les bons temps rouler!

I am so excited to share this recipe with you. For a bunch of reasons! First, it was one of my absolute favorite meals my mom used to make for me growing up. I requested it all the time, and it was definitely a staple for my birthday each year. I've often thought that if I got to choose my last meal on earth, it would be this jambalaya.

Another reason is that I love the story behind this one. It's got a lot of family, a lot of history, and a lot of heart.

My mom typed out this recipe at some point in the past, and here is the blurb about its origin that she included at the top:

"This recipe originally came from Grandma's (Alice Hirsch Gurska) grandfather (Peter Francis Connolly). Although a native New Yorker who lived there most of his life, he did live for some time in the French Quarter of New Orleans and that is where he learned to make jambalaya!"

I just love this story. I obviously never knew my great-great-grandfather Peter Francis Connolly, but I wish I had. I remember mom telling me that he was a "bohemian" in his time. My Aunt Barbara remembers that Peter made friends with the owner of a French Quarter restaurant, and that's where he learned the recipe. I know that he was born circa 1873 in New York, his ancestors immigrated from Ireland, and ancestry.com lists his occupation alternatively as "engineer" and "bridge tender."

I don't know much more, but I like to imagine his time in New Orleans with him wearing loose linen shirts and beaded necklaces, living in a tiny artist's loft, surrounded by abstract paintings, ferns, and jazz music. Francis also happens to be a family name in my lineage and the feminine version, Frances, is my middle name.

So every time I ate this jambalaya as a little kid, I felt more closely connected to my heritage. Now, as an adult, I get this feeling from reading this recipe and making this dish. Stirring the pot, de-tailing the shrimp, slicing the sausage, and sprinkling the spices, all bring me closer to my mom, my great-great-grandfather, New Orleans, and all of it.

So let's get into it!

Begin your jambalaya by finely chopping one large onion (either yellow or white is fine), four cloves of garlic, and half of a green bell pepper. Sauté the above vegetables in two tablespoons of olive oil and your kitchen will begin to smell amazing. And make sure to do your sautéing in a giant pot, big enough for all the jambalaya.

For the next step, I veer from the original recipe a bit. Don't tell my great-great-grandfather! It calls for a 28 oz can + a 14 oz can of crushed tomatoes (so 42 oz altogether), but I've found that I like it better with just 28. It's a little thicker and less soupy. If soupy jambalaya is your thing though, then go for the extra can! Add your crushed tomatoes to the sautéed vegetables and stir thoroughly. Then add in 3-4 bay leaves, 1/4 teaspoon of red pepper flakes (or more, if you like a kick!), salt and pepper to taste, and 1/2 a cup of cooking sherry.

Next, reduce heat to low, cover your pot, and simmer for 20-30 minutes. While that's going, get to cooking your shrimp (unless you bought them pre-cooked). When the pot is finished simmering, reduce the heat so it's no longer simmering, and add the shrimp. It's here in the recipe that Mom adds another little note:

"At this point, I deviate from the original recipe by adding Andouille sausage. Yum! I like to use the spicy kind, but that is up to you. Cut up sausage links to bite-sized pieces and sauté in a pan with olive oil or butter till heated through, then add to the pot with the shrimp."

If you want my advice, definitely do not skip the Andouille sausage! It is amazing and takes the jambalaya to a whole other level.

Meanwhile, in a separate pot, bring 3 cups of water to a boil, and then add 1 1/2 cups of rice and 2 tablespoons of butter. Reduce heat to low and cover, cooking until all the water has been absorbed. Fluff rice with a fork.

Remove the bay leaves from the pot! Mom put this part in bold, probably because she knew I would always tend to forget this step. And let me tell you from personal experience: accidentally getting a mouthful of bay leaf is not fun. LOL.

Add the rice to the pot and stir to combine. Serve and enjoy!

And that's it! I recommend serving this in soup bowls with some nice, crusty French bread and a glass of red wine. Thank you to my mom, my grandma, my great-great-grandfather, and everyone else for this wonderful recipe. When you eat it, I hope you are transported to those warm, jazzy New Orleans nights, just like I am.