Barbecue Shrimp has nothing to do with a barbecue pit or grill: there are no flames or skewers, and there is no traditional barbecue sauce. Barbecue Shrimp was devised in a famous New Orleans restaurant (Pasquals Manales restaurant to be exact), and has been copied umpteen times. I first encountered Barbecue Shrimp sitting in a sidewalk cafe near Cafe DuMonde one evening sometime in the early 80s when celebrity chef Paul Prudhomme and his K-Pauls Louisiana Kitchen were the hottest thing on the culinary scene. K-Pauls had a huge line (my husband was hungrier than me, so waiting was out of the question). So we found this little open air dining spot on Decatur Street in the French Market and sat down. I saw Barbecue Shrimp on the menu and asked the waiter if I could have it a la carte instead of the full meal. No problem. What transpired then was nothing short of magical. A few minutes later he brought a confusing bowl of huge shell-on gulf shrimp tightly curled and bathing in a buttery broth about an inch-deep. Not the barbecue shrimp I expected! Surrounding the bowl was superb French breadcrusty, light, and flavorful. Having never seen such a dish, I asked the waiter how to eat it. He graciously demonstrated the shelling process and suggested I dip the bread into the sauce. Divine. Probably one of the most memorable dining experiences Ive ever had (except for the all-you-can-eat mussels adventure in Quebec City, Canada, but thats another story).
Barbecue Shrimp has nothing to do with a barbecue pit or grill: there are no flames or skewers, and there is no traditional barbecue sauce. Barbecue Shrimp was devised in a famous New Orleans restaurant (Pasquals Manales restaurant to be exact), and has been copied umpteen times. I first encountered Barbecue Shrimp sitting in a sidewalk cafe near Cafe DuMonde one evening sometime in the early 80s when celebrity chef Paul Prudhomme and his K-Pauls Louisiana Kitchen were the hottest thing on the culinary scene. K-Pauls had a huge line (my husband was hungrier than me, so waiting was out of the question). So we found this little open air dining spot on Decatur Street in the French Market and sat down. I saw Barbecue Shrimp on the menu and asked the waiter if I could have it a la carte instead of the full meal. No problem. What transpired then was nothing short of magical. A few minutes later he brought a confusing bowl of huge shell-on gulf shrimp tightly curled and bathing in a buttery broth about an inch-deep. Not the barbecue shrimp I expected! Surrounding the bowl was superb French breadcrusty, light, and flavorful. Having never seen such a dish, I asked the waiter how to eat it. He graciously demonstrated the shelling process and suggested I dip the bread into the sauce. Divine. Probably one of the most memorable dining experiences Ive ever had (except for the all-you-can-eat mussels adventure in Quebec City, Canada, but thats another story).
A deep bowl of Gulf shrimp bathing in a dark, glossy pool of melted butter, Worcestershire, and pulverized spices produces a potent, peppery aroma that fills the kitchen long before the timer goes off. Despite the name, this preparation contains no tomatoes, no smoke from a grill, and no barbecue sauce from a bottle, relying instead on a massive quantity of dairy fat to emulsify with pan juices.
Proper management of the baking time prevents the large shellfish from turning rubbery, while keeping the butter from separating into a greasy pool. Success depends entirely on respecting the thermal limits of dairy and shellfish simultaneously.