Cajun Tartar Sauce

Regular tartar sauce has no business sitting next to a properly fried piece of catfish. That bland, mayo-forward dipping sauce you get at chain restaurants? It's a missed opportunity. Down here, we build flavor into everything, and a condiment is no exception.

This is the tartar sauce we serve at Lagniappe, the one that makes people ask for the recipe before they've finished their po'boy. The secret is layering: Creole mustard brings that coarse-ground heat and vinegar tang, capers add brininess that cuts through the richness of fried food, and Louisiana hot sauce ties it all together with a warmth that builds as you eat.

My grandmother Evangeline used to say that a good sauce should make plain food sing and great food unforgettable. She'd stir hers together in an old ceramic bowl, tasting and adjusting until it was right. No measuring cups. Just instinct and a heavy hand with the hot sauce. That's the bayou way.

Make this a day ahead if you can. The flavors need time to get acquainted, to meld into something greater than the sum of their parts. By the next morning, you won't recognize it as the same sauce you stirred together.