Recipe: Sichuan Crawfish Pie (2024)

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updated May 1, 2019

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More than 8,000 miles separate Sichuan, the province in Southwest China where I was born, and New Orleans, the city where I spent my formative years. And yet the food — and the cultures that shape these cuisines — have remarkable similarities and parallels. Growing up with Sichuan parents in New Orleans has given me a truly singular experience of the two.

Food as an event and as a way to show your love for friends and family is intrinsically ingrained in both cultures. Knock on the door of a Sichuanese or New Orleanian and chances are you will be greeted with the question, “Have you eaten yet?” In New Orleans, my friend’s father always had a huge stock pot of delicious jambalaya ready on the stove whenever I visited. And a visit to my hometown of Yibin always meant various family members and friends jostling to host us for a meal. The all-important fourth meal (the late-night meal) was always an option.

Both cuisines, too, are characterized by dishes of unapologetically bold personality, with liberal use of spices, garlic, and heat. The food I was surrounded with as a child always demonstrated a thrilling variety of flavors.

Of course, Sichuan dishes are well-known for their fiery nature, but while chili peppers are certainly heavily used, there is so much more to this cuisine. The use of Sichuan peppercorns (which aren’t peppercorns at all, but rather the dried citrus rinds from the prickly ash tree), pickled and preserved ingredients, plus garlic, ginger, star anise, sesame paste, and soy sauce gives the food a complex balance of spicy, yes, but also smoky, sweet, sour, salty, and bitter.

And it’s this balance that allows cooks to create the most transcending taste experiences and stunning array of variations with even the most common ingredients. One of the most delicious meals I’ve ever had, in the remote mountains of Sichuan, consisted of a multi-course meal of every imaginable part of the humble bamboo plant. Braised, steamed, stir-fried, or pickled — each preparation showed just how versatile this one ingredient could be.

The food of New Orleans, built on a rich history and the combination of cultures — French, Spanish, West African, Native American — that settled the city, is similarly nuanced. Dishes generously use piquant spices and seasonings, like cayenne, paprika, black pepper, garlic, onion, and fresh chili peppers, but even with such strong flavors, balance is always evident.

These two cultures also share another commonality: a strong oral tradition. Dishes and food traditions are passed down from one generation to the next verbally and through taste memory. When I first started to cook in college, my mom would give me vague directions over the phone. It was challenging, but ultimately I learned to cook much the same way my mom and countless generations before her did — through intuition and fond memories of past meals with family and friends.

Now that I live in New York City, I don’t always get to eat the food that I grew up with. There are certainly examples of Sichuan and New Orleans cuisines to be found here in this city’s diverse food scene, but most restaurants stick to the basics, which only scratches the tiniest tip of the iceberg of what these cuisines can be.

So when I find myself missing home — as I am now with Mardi Gras and the Lunar New Year upon us — I am reminded of the crawfish stir-fry that my mom would make with Sichuan peppercorns, broad bean chili paste, and dried chiles in place of traditional Cajun spices. This crawfish pie is my take on that dish.

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