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22 ROUSES FAL L 2022

so humiliated, she never made another roux, choosing instead to develop her signature version: shrimp and okra gumbo. No roux = no danger of bitterness. This simple gumbo is the one she served her family and passed on to her daughters and other family cooks. For diners at her table, “gumbo” meant a very specific combination of flavors that are synonymous with Louisiana summertime — chewy sliced okra fresh from a neighbor’s garden, plump shrimp recently pulled from the nets, a fresh tomato if they’re ready and a can of RoTel if they’re not. She cooked it often, and people loved “Lorelle’s gumbo.” That was Mamma’s gumbo, the one on which my mother was raised, and the dish she passed along to the next generation. But since I wanted to learn a different style — I wanted to feed gumbo to a Texas, and couldn’t afford inland seafood prices— I went the “roux and poultry” route, seeking counsel and knowledge from a high school co-worker from outside Abbeville. “My” gumbo started out as Mike Vidallier’s gumbo, which he got from In a way, I chose a different fork in the road, and another edible family history. I’ve always loved Mamma’s story for its million different delicious layers: a portrait of my grandmother as a nervous young cook, her “never again” kitchen trauma response and, in a larger sense, how an important dish can define a cook’s identity. In the moment, it was a significant hit to my world view. In my mind, my grandmother had culinary magical powers, yet she tional dish? I needed to get some air. It was like being told I was adopted, or getting the results of a very surprising genetic test (23beans & Me, perhaps?). Fast-forward about 30 years and, once again, I was thinking about home-cooking culture, family tales and gumbo. I spent decades writing about food and cooking culture in and around New Orleans — using all my “hungry and curious” skills to eat and understand how restaurants work. I’ve eaten a million different gumbo styles, and always ask the cook or waitstaff the same key question: “How do I’ve talked gumbo with the venerable Leah Chase (“Some people make that Creole gumbo and it’s like a religion”) and the late, great Paul Prudhomme. I’ve eaten

add one to two

you make your gumbo?”

CHICKEN OKRA GUMBO Sauté 2 pounds of okra with 1-2 chopped onions, chopped celery (2-3 ribs) and green onions, and one big fresh tomato (or a can of tomatoes). Also add one or two cloves minced or pressed garlic. Cook until it stops roping (being slimy) and the onions are tender. For shrimp gumbo,

rather

backyard

her cooking education. description even more. Partly because it’s more of a sketch or a process document than a traditional recipe. If you knew Mamma, you can hear her voice in the practical yet vague directions. You’ve got a few ingre dients, a couple of tips and a wiggle room when it comes to proportions, timing and just about everything else. (Got shrimp? Great. Chicken instead? That’ll work.) And of course, my favorite near-universal punchline of Louisiana cooking: “Serve over rice.” (As The next phase of research was, in truth, both something I would do anyway and pure joy. Over the course of a few days, I spent hours on the phone talking to my mother’s remaining sisters — Lula, Barbara Rose and of course Noel — talking about gumbo, family updates and the state of the world. I told them the “burnt roux” story and asked if they’d ever heard it. None had, but the consensus seemed to be that it a lot like her. (There was a great story about Mamma baking a pie so bad that she buried it in the OR pounds of peeled shrimp, and enough water or chicken stock to make it soupy. Season with salt, pepper and Tony Chachere’s, and cook at least an hour. It will be even better the next day. For chicken gumbo: Follow the same instructions, except precook the chicken by boiling or sautéing it. You can either leave it on the bones or pick the meat off. Add the sautéed mixture of vegetables to boiled chicken stock and season to taste. Better yet: Use meaty gumbo. Serve over rice. And as much as I love the story, I love this

sounded

lot of people in his grandmother. I’ve told it for years to explain why I don’t use seafood, thicken with okra or put tomatoes in my pot. However, I realized that I was the only one in my family who remembered the story since my mother passed away in 1995. I wanted to dig a bit deeper, so I went to our family’s living archives — a living cookbook maintained by my mama’s youngest sister Noel and the firsthand memories of Mama’s siblings. The first part was simple enough: Noel’s keen organizational and preservation skills made finding the “recipe” easy enough (a huge advantage of being from a family shot through with librarians). The official version is as follows: SHRIMP OKRA couldn’t make this founda and discussed gumbo with so many of the chefs that defined the dish in New Orleans’ food scene over the decades. For example, Donald Link’s early signature style — dark roux, chicken, tasso, andouille — made its way onto other menus around town as cooks learned and then carried it with them to the next gig. I learned about wintertime “duck camp” gumbos with juicy oysters and occasional bird shot. I dedicated my own cooking practice to a Thanksgiving ritual — rich turkey-bone gumbo. I loved gumbo as a culinary institution, a widely varied food group and a never-ending source of impas But I kept going back to that story — that burnt roux tale — as a touchstone, but one that I’ve never heard since my mother explained the gap in

if you had to tell us.)

whole lot of

sioned kitchen stories ( “Now let me tell you how I make it…” ).

both chicken and shrimp for a really

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