To Tony, With Love.

The New Orleans style kitchen I refer to in this piece is that of the lovely Krewe Restaurant, my first ever kitchen gig. I picked up a prep cook job there at fifteen years old cutting celery for my higherups and heading out the door before service. A few years down the line, I’d find myself as their lead line cook. When writing this experimental list essay in September 2024, I’d meant it to be a simple comedic list of Creole Seasoning’s many uses. Looking back, it’s really a love letter to Krewe.

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I was introduced to Tony during my first day on the job in a New Orleans style kitchen. I coughed and sneezed when I shook his hand. I still do today. He boasted his versatility with the tagline “Great on Everything!” which, unlike other self-labels like “world’s best coffee,” or “best gyros in town,” is backed by distinguished chefs, home cooks, and myself. I began sprinkling his savory kick on my fries, and then in my salads, and then my soups, and then every dish I prepared for myself and others. Now it takes up more space in my bloodstream than iron. I’m here to take the witness stand in Mr. Chachere’s defense to prove that, perhaps other than salt, Creole seasoning is the strongest band of connective tissue in the realm of culinary art. Here’s a few ways to let Creole into your life.

Use Creole as currency.

Use Creole when your collard greens are lacking potlikker and you find yourself adding water or stock.

If your cornbread doesn’t have a kick, you’re probably either Paula Deen or one of her anti-flavor cult members, in which case you’d better find Christ, and he’ll tell you to season your batter with Creole.

When braising pork, or any meat for that matter, don’t foil your pan without first coating the shoulder in Creole until it has disappeared under a heap of red.

Use Creole in your red beans and rice.

Your hushpuppies had better have Creole.

So should your potatoes, whatever you might be doing with them. A morning hash seasoned with only salt and pepper is synonymous with getting up on the wrong side of the bed.

Deglazing a fond with wine requires flavor. No, your lonely cubes of chicken do not have flavor, so your fond will not either. Add Creole.

Rub it on your smoked quail.

Air frying anything is generally a disgrace, but Creole will make it less so.

If you’re poaching shrimp in straight lemon water, you probably take your steak well done. Reflect on how you’ve reached such a disastrous place in life, then add some Creole to the poaching liquid.

Shallots, Dijon, and garlic are not enough to create a good hollandaise. If you’ve learned otherwise, consider quitting your job at IHOP. Add some Creole while you’re at it.

Use Creole in your remoulade.

Serving catfish fried in plain cornmeal would lead any sane individual to run off leaving behind a cloud of dust with more flavor than your Po’ Boys.

Keep Creole seasoning in your purse.

Before adding liquid to your étouffée, incorporate enough Creole to kill a proper British man.

Eat Creole straight when you’re bored.

Sprinkle it on your wounds.

Put the use of Creole on your resume.

Gumbo can’t survive with only the juices of andouille sausage, chicken, and sirloin. The meats are calling desperately for Tony’s help. Hear them squealing as they hit the pan?

Keep Tony by your side if you are ever being mugged. Pepper spray is much more expensive and would cause difficulty breathing if you used it to season your mac n’ cheese.

When brunch service is underway and your hangover doesn’t subside, open a bin of Creole and waft it toward your nose. There you go. Now Tony himself has slapped you in the face and you’re ready to fry those eggs. Don’t forget to season with Creole.

Do the same if you suffer sinus infections.

Beware of wet smooches or the enthusiastic “dahlin!” from elderly women when they see Tony’s little figure on your shelf.

Prepare to fight another grocery-shopper for the last canister as Tony watches in disbelief.

Anyone singing the praises of Old Bay over Tony’s are the Capulets to your Montagues. Find Juliet and introduce her to Creole.

Propose to that special someone not with a diamond ring, but with a handful of Creole. Anyone worth vowing your life to will accept the seasoning with open arms.

If you show up to a seafood boil and the hosts don’t recognize you, pull out and show them the single of Creole you keep in your back pocket, and they’ll let you in, as you are a friend of the great Tony Chachere.

Tony will help you find your true friends: your knife, steel, and whetstone.

Take Tony with you to the vet, and to class, and to a weekend on the farm, and to make your bed, and to buy dish soap, and to buy a new car, and to walk your dog, and to see your therapist, and to the laundromat, and to the casino, and to do your taxes, and to meet with your grandfather, and to visit your old home, and to adopt a kitten, and to Christmas Eve, and to Easter, and to meditate by a river, and to fish for lobster, and to get a black cold brew at the bakery, and to yell at a prep cook for cutting the ham too thick, and to cater across the state, and to lose all feeling in your fingers, and to close out a fifty-five-hour week, and to cry when you leave for good, because the people that gave you Tony taught you to shuck oysters, and to cook a perfect medium rare, and to brunoise a shallot and form the perfect quenelle, and to find the life you have now.

So you put the canister on the shelf in your kitchen where you’ll turn your life over to Tony Chachere and never let him run away.