lunch, motherhood, seafoodJeanelle OlsonJanuary 29, 20222 Comments

Personal Shrimp Sandwich

lunch, motherhood, seafoodJeanelle OlsonJanuary 29, 20222 Comments

It took a lot of emotional, nostalgic, embarrassing scrolling through my photo archives to find it, but I can confirm the first time I made a personal shrimp sandwich. It was July 1, 2019, a world ago. I was pregnant with Louisa and possessed Jedi-level sensory powers, including heightened tastes for all things bright, vibrant, acidic, punchy, spicy, and luscious. I also had weird appetite swings, some days where I didn’t feel like eating much at all, and others where a voice in my gut (probably Louisa) demanded a royal feast and didn’t care if no one else in the house would eat it.

Cut to me and my 7-month belly at the grocery store some Tuesday morning, making heart-eyes at the biggest, plumpest shrimp I’d ever seen. Instantly I was an overbearing suitor in a Regency novel, wind ruffling my hair, eyes to the distance, pledging They Would Be Mine. My purchase wouldn’t be unreasonable, the shrimp were enormous and I only needed a few because I would be the only one consuming them, within an hour, over the sink, Jack at school, Danny at work, none the wiser of my luxurious private lunch.

It took me 2+ years to post this because I’ve debated whether it’s even a recipe. It can be - and it is, below. But in reality, it’s just advice to buy yourself the enormous shrimp. To give the juiciest, best, choicest parts to yourself. Tell no one. Not because it’s a secret, but because your enjoyment, your joy, is personal business.

Personal Shrimp Sandwich

Serves 1

For the Pickled Red Onions

1 medium red onion, halved and very thinly sliced

1 tablespoon kosher salt (1 1/2 teaspoons for sea salt)

1 tablespoon sugar

1/3 to 1/2 cup white vinegar

For the Sandwich

4 very big shrimp, peeled and tailed

1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil

1 lime, halved

1/4 teaspoon ground cumin

1/4 teaspoon smoked paprika

1/4 teaspoon chili powder (I tend to use a single pepper variety if I have it on hand - ancho is great here)

Kosher salt and freshly-ground black pepper, to taste

3 tablespoons mayonnaise

Big pinch of chipotle powder

1 ciabatta or steak roll, sliced

1/4 avocado, sliced

Make the pickled red onions: In a jar just big enough to fit the onions, pack the slices in tightly. Add the salt, sugar, and enough vinegar to fill about halfway up the jar. Top off the jar with cold water (add it slowly, sometimes it can take a minute to wend through the maze of onions). Seal the jar, shake it vigorously, and refrigerate for at least 1 hour before using, ideally overnight. These keep well in the fridge for up to 2 weeks.

Make the sandwich: In a medium bowl, toss the shrimp with 2 teaspoons of the olive oil, the juice of 1/2 the lime, the cumin, smoked paprika, chili powder, and salt and pepper.

In a small, nonstick pan over medium heat, heat the remaining teaspoon of olive oil until nearly smoking. Add the shrimp and cook for about 2 minutes, until pink and nicely seared on one side. Flip and cook for another 2 minutes or so. Remove the pan from the heat.

In a small bowl, stir the mayo and chipotle powder until combined. Smear the chipotle mayo on both sides of the roll.

On the bottom half of the roll, lay the avocado slices in an even layer and top with a good heap of the pickled onions. Lay the shrimp on top, squeeze the remaining lime half over the sandwich, and eat immediately.

Notes:

Your shrimp may be so big, or roll not quite big enough, that it might make more sense to make two open-face sandwiches with 2 shrimps each. Or you might buy 5 or 6 shrimps so allow for oops-there-are-too-many snacking. Shrimp distribution is a personal choice.
Your encounter with your own personal shrimp sandwich may vary, but I will say this is generally not a tidy endeavor, and that’s part of its charm. You will emerge smeared in avocado and spices, and should plan on licking your fingers. That said, this sandwich is best consumed alone. If you insist on a dining partner, I recommend draping your head in a kitchen towel while eating to maintain a private experience.