New Orleans Remoulade Sauce

As with many delicious things, remoulade was introduced to the world by the French. According to the Oxford Companion to Food, the sauce’s first rendition was likely in the 1600s as a “broth flavoured with chopped anchovies, capers, parsley, spring onions, garlic, and a little oil.” A century or two later, the sauce traveled to New Orleans with French settlers, where it joined the other European, African, Indigenous, and Caribbean influences being stirred into the melting pot of Creole cuisine. Over time, remoulades came to fall under two basic categories in Louisiana: those made with oil, and those made with mayonnaise (though both would be characterized as ‘piquant’ in flavor). 

Some early Creole recipes for remoulade, such as ‘Sauce Remoulade (Cold)’ from 1901’s The Picayune's Creole Cook Book, called for oil to be stirred into finely-mashed hard-boiled egg yolks then flavored with tarragon vinegar, garlic, mustard, and lemon juice. Other versions from this time period include the ‘shrimp remoulade’ dishes at Galatoire’s and Arnaud’s, two historic New Orleans restaurants—each founded over a century ago—that remain in business today. Both still make their remoulades from a base of oil and Creole mustard (a punchy mix of brown mustard seeds, horseradish, and white vinegar) and season them with (more) horseradish, vinegar, ketchup, parsley, celery, and spices.

Over the decades it’s become the pink-hued, mayonnaise-based version that’s often recognized as the quintessential New Orleans remoulade. In his 1984 cookbook, Chef Paul Prudhomme’s Louisiana Kitchen, the legendary Creole chef offered a blueprint for the creamy versions of remoulade we see today, with oil that’s emulsified into egg yolks before a long list of other ingredients are added. These include: horseradish, Worcestershire sauce, white wine vinegar, Tabasco, and garlic, with ketchup and sweet paprika giving the sauce its signature salmon-pink color. Because of the creamy texture and swath of acidic ingredients, it’s easier to compare this version to the tartar sauce-like remoulade within classical French cuisine. 

While New Orleans remoulade may have a complicated-sounding history, there are three principles we can stand upon with certainty: If it ain’t zingy, it ain’t remoulade; variations are welcome; and any self-respecting remoulade made in New Orleans must include horseradish and Creole mustard. Don’t have access to the latter? That’s fine—a mix of Dijon and whole grain mustard are a fine substitute.

This recipe is wonderful as a condiment or dressing for poached shrimp, crab cakes, fried fish, and/or anything with a crunchy, deep-fried coating—fried dill pickles, perhaps? However you choose to eat it, this remoulade is a satisfying way to get a taste of The Big Easy.