Steak Eggs Benedict with Cajun Hollandaise
When I was a kid, I spent many days on my grandparents’ cattle farm. My PawPaw wasn’t what you’d call a sweet man. If you wanted to learn how to feed the chickens, maintain the catfish pond, fix a tractor, or watch a calf be born, my PawPaw was your man. If you were looking for snuggles and bedtime stories, well… an old blanket and Matlock reruns would have to do.
He had strange ways of showing affection. As an adult, I realize that pointing out when the blackberries were ready or letting me take the steering wheel on small gravel roads was his way of saying, “I love you.”
One of his quirks was naming cows after family members. You’d think that would be endearing—and it might have been—if my PawPaw hadn’t been such a harsh man. It also would’ve helped if someone had informed my five-year-old self that this was a fairly common farming practice.
There I’d be eating breakfast when he’d come storming into the kitchen cussing about Jenny.
“That damn Jenny—she’s a bitch! She better watch it or she’ll be supper tomorrow!”
I didn’t know what my Aunt Jenny had done, but I genuinely feared for her safety.
Then I’d overhear conversations about castrating Ryan or that Michelle had blackleg. I’d sit there staring at my cousin, waiting for her leg to turn black, or wondering if I should warn Ryan about this castration business. I wasn’t entirely sure what it was yet, but I knew it sounded bad.
It all came to a head one day when PawPaw came in yelling about Jolie going into the catfish pond again.
“Damn it! I’m not going to get Jolie again. She’s so dumb I should just let her drown and let the catfish take care of her dumb ass!”
Earlier that day, I had tried fishing in the pond and was desperately trying to figure out what I had done wrong. Did I leave my pole out there? Had the rules about fishing the pond changed? Was I fixing to die? Do I run into the woods and survive until my daddy comes pick me up?
Before I could stop myself, I burst into tears.
That got his attention. PawPaw wasn’t a fan of any kind of fit-throwing, and crying definitely fell into that category.
“Mais, what’s dis all about? Why you crying those big tears like a baby?”
Through snot and tears, I finally managed to say, “I’m sorry. I don’t want to be eaten by the catfish.”
He looked at me for a second and then let out the loudest laugh I had ever heard in my life. After he caught his breath, he said, “Girl, you wouldn’t even feed a baby catfish,” and walked out of the kitchen.
For weeks after that, every time he saw me, he’d burst out laughing all over again. Eventually, one of my cousins finally took pity on me and explained everything.
And just in case you were wondering—Jolie did eventually meet her demise in that catfish pond. She really was pretty dumb.
So this Mother’s Day, I’ll be celebrating by making this decadent steak dish in honor of the other Jolie. May she always bring my PawPaw laughter, even in heaven. And I’m sure if he ever looks down and catches a glimpse of me, he’s still getting a good chuckle at my expense.

Mama Meaux’s Benedict
A Mother’s Day-worthy Cajun-meets-steakhouse breakfast: crispy potato cakes topped with sautéed mushrooms, filet mignon, poached eggs, and rich blender hollandaise
Ingredients
Instructions
Notes
Fresh eggs work best for poaching. A fresh egg dropped into a glass of water will lay horizontal at the bottom.
Nutrition Facts
Calories
1350Fat
115 gSat. Fat
42 gCarbs
52 gFiber
5 gNet carbs
47 gSugar
5 gProtein
30 gSodium
1283 mgCholesterol
498 mg

