Tasso Cream Gravy

Tasso changes everything it touches. That smoky, peppery pork carries enough personality to transform a simple cream gravy into something that makes you close your eyes and forget whatever else you had planned for the morning.

My grandmother Evangeline kept tasso in her icebox the way other folks keep butter. She'd shave off a few slices for red beans, dice some into her eggs, crumble it over greens. But when she made this gravy, she'd render those little cubes until the edges went crispy and the fat turned into liquid gold. That's where your flavor lives. Don't rush it.

The technique here is simple but unforgiving. You're building a blond roux, nothing dark like you'd use for gumbo. Just enough color to cook out the raw flour taste and give the gravy some depth. Then cream, a touch of stock, and all that rendered tasso fat bringing smoke and heat to every spoonful. At Lagniappe, we serve this over our house biscuits at brunch, and I've watched grown men go quiet with the first bite.

Taste as you go. The tasso brings its own salt and heat, so hold back on seasoning until the end. Every piece of tasso is different depending on who made it, so trust your palate. That's the bayou way.