Crab Cakes with Creole Mustard

The worst thing you can do to a crab cake is bury the crab. I've seen it a thousand times: restaurants stretching a few ounces of crabmeat with enough breadcrumbs and mayonnaise to fill a softball. That's not a crab cake. That's a bread cake with crab seasoning.

At Lagniappe, we do it different. The crab is the star, and everything else plays a supporting role. You want just enough binder to hold it together, just enough seasoning to make the sweetness of the crab sing. When you bite into a proper crab cake, you should taste the Gulf. You should taste that briny sweetness that makes Louisiana blue crab worth fighting over at the fish market.

My grandmother Evangeline used to make these on special occasions, back when you could pull crab traps from the bayou yourself. She taught me the two rules that matter: buy the best crab you can afford, and don't mess with it too much. Handle the meat gently. Season with a light hand. Let the ingredient speak for itself.

The Creole mustard sauce brings everything together. It's tangy, it's got a little heat, and it cuts through the richness of the fried cake. Make it ahead so the flavors marry while you're forming the cakes.