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Dijon Shrimp with Pasta — The Sauce Is Always the Star

Summer. The apartment complex experience led to another commercial referral: a small hotel in downtown Baton Rouge, boutique-style, thirty rooms. The biggest job Beaumont Electrical has ever taken. I hired a ninth and tenth employee for it — two journeymen from the union, recommended by Tee-Claude, who works with the IBEW and knows every electrician in a hundred-mile radius. Ten employees. Ten people who work under my name. Ten vans in the parking lot of my house (Danielle: "Tommy, the vans have to go somewhere else." Me: "Where?" Danielle: "Literally anywhere that isn't our driveway." We rented a lot.)

Made a BBQ shrimp — not barbecued, but the New Orleans classic: shrimp cooked in their shells in a sauce of butter, Worcestershire, rosemary, garlic, and enough black pepper to season a small country. You eat them by peeling the shrimp and sopping the sauce with French bread, and the sauce is the star — dark, buttery, peppery, the kind of sauce that makes you want to drink it with a straw. Rémy ate the shrimp AND drank the sauce. Through a straw. I have no further comment.

Ten employees, a rented van lot, and a boutique hotel contract — when a milestone like that lands, you don’t open a beer and call it a day, you cook something that demands your full attention. Shrimp does that. Whether it’s the classic New Orleans butter-and-pepper treatment or a Dijon-spiked version tossed with pasta, the principle is the same: build a sauce that earns its keep, then don’t apologize for sopping up every last drop. This Dijon Shrimp with Pasta is what I reach for when the week deserves a proper celebration — fast enough for a Tuesday, good enough to feel like you meant it.

Dijon Shrimp with Pasta

Prep Time: 10 min | Cook Time: 20 min | Total Time: 30 min | Servings: 4

Ingredients

  • 12 oz linguine or fettuccine
  • 1 lb large shrimp, peeled and deveined
  • 3 tablespoons unsalted butter
  • 2 tablespoons olive oil
  • 4 cloves garlic, minced
  • 1/2 cup dry white wine
  • 1/2 cup heavy cream
  • 2 tablespoons Dijon mustard
  • 1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
  • 1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
  • 1/2 teaspoon black pepper
  • 1/4 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes
  • 2 tablespoons fresh parsley, chopped
  • Parmesan cheese, for serving

Instructions

  1. Cook the pasta. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Cook pasta according to package directions until al dente. Reserve 1/2 cup pasta water before draining. Set aside.
  2. Season the shrimp. Pat shrimp dry and season on both sides with salt, black pepper, and red pepper flakes.
  3. Sear the shrimp. Heat olive oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Add shrimp in a single layer and cook 1—2 minutes per side until pink and just cooked through. Transfer to a plate and set aside.
  4. Build the sauce. Reduce heat to medium. Add butter to the same skillet. Once melted, add garlic and cook 30—60 seconds, stirring constantly, until fragrant but not browned.
  5. Deglaze and simmer. Pour in white wine, scraping up any browned bits from the bottom of the pan. Simmer 2—3 minutes until reduced by half.
  6. Add cream and mustard. Stir in heavy cream and Dijon mustard. Simmer over medium-low heat for 3—4 minutes, stirring occasionally, until sauce thickens slightly. Add lemon juice and taste for seasoning.
  7. Combine. Add drained pasta to the skillet and toss to coat, adding splashes of reserved pasta water as needed to loosen the sauce. Return shrimp to the pan and toss gently to warm through.
  8. Serve. Divide into bowls, top with fresh parsley and freshly grated Parmesan. Serve immediately with crusty French bread on the side for sauce-sopping purposes.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 580 | Protein: 34g | Fat: 24g | Carbs: 56g | Fiber: 3g | Sodium: 620mg

Tommy Beaumont
About the cook who shared this
Tommy Beaumont
Week 293 of Tommy’s 30-year story · Baton Rouge, Louisiana
Tommy is a Cajun electrician from Thibodaux, Louisiana, who lost his home to Hurricane Katrina four months after his wedding and rebuilt his life one roux at a time. He grew up on Bayou Lafourche, fishing with his father Joey at dawn and eating his mother's gumbo by dusk. His crawfish boils draw the whole neighborhood, his boudin is made from scratch, and he stirs his roux the way Joey taught him — dark as chocolate, forty-five minutes, no shortcuts. Laissez les bons temps rouler.

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