Gumbo and Grace

mama dearest
Gumbo Queen

Finally! It’s gumbo weather in Louisiana.  Temperatures are mild, and the humidity is low.  Time to stir up a roux in a cast iron pot and get cooking. Even better, it’s a good time to ask my mama to make a gumbo.  When it comes to gumbo, I can’t think of any I have had that compares to her gumbo. Especially her seafood gumbo.

The roux is turned into dark brown.* The holy trinity is added. ** Stir in a tad of finely chopped tomatoes,  and lastly fresh shrimp and crab.

 

And best of all, okra. I love okra. Just the name, okra, makes me smile. It sounds southern and exotic at the same time. It’s a weird-looking vegetable, spindly and green on the outside. On the inside, it’s full of muokra and rouxcilage and seeds.

 

My mama is the Gumbo Queen in my mind. I didn’t know, until recently, that she feels she has spent a lifetime in pursuit of the perfect gumbo, and after 85 years on this earth, she hasn’t gotten it right yet. She’s always comparing it to her mother’s gumbo. She feels insecure mainly about her chicken and sausage gumbo.We figured it out maybe. Her mama used fresh chickens from the yard, killed the same day as the gumbo is fixed, as well as using her own lard, not oil in the base. The okra would have come from my grandfather’s garden, picked by one of her seven children.

I think she should allow herself a bit of grace. A store-bought young fryer chicken never will taste like a large hen from the chicken coop. Nor will frozen okra compare to the pods one can pick from the garden. I scarcely expect her to find fresh pig fat either.

Maybe her roux isn’t as good as my mother’s mom did it, but it’s good, no doubt. For me I consider it a success to not burn the roux.  There’s a trick to it, after all. Only the best cooks can get a smoky, dark roux just perfect without burning the oil and flour mixture. Too little cooking, and a light brown watery broth makes for a tepid bowl of gumbo.

My Cajun mama needs to give herself permission to have an excellent gumbo even if her mama had a better one. I need grace, too. Not just with gumbo. But with myself, with my family, and everyone else, for that matter.

Smiing Adele.jpg
Grandma Adele in the 1950s.

 

*A roux is made from equal parts of flour and fat/oil heated over a low flame, turned constantly until the mix becomes dark brown.

**The holy trinity of most Cajun dishes are these three: celery, onions, and bell peppers.

 

 

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Welcome to Gumbo YaYa. My writings are an eclectic blend. A Louisiana gumbo is a composite dish of roux, rice and whatever else the cook wants to add. Yaya is a Creole term for ladies all talking at the same time. The Gumbo Ya-Ya features my writing on spirituality, travel, culture, and humor. Grab a bowl of gumbo here and dig in!

6 thoughts on “Gumbo and Grace

  1. Okra is becoming very scarce in supermarkets. You can find it at farmer’s markets at times. The reason is simple: pickers won’t touch it. It’s spindly outer skin has irritants built into the skin. Let me know if you make a good gumbo.

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  2. Aunt Vivian is an awesome cook and should never sell herself short. I use to go and cut the okra with papa in his garden. You better wear long sleeves because if you don’t, you will itch for days. I sure do love a good gumbo, wish I could make one.

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    1. It’s hard to find anyone who will grow okra. Farmers can’t find workers to cut it. Mama is a good cook. Her gumbo is great. However, she’s probably correct that lard and an old hen makes for a better Chicken Gumbo.

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  3. Oh a real gumbo made with fresh okra.
    The times of old when our grandparents raised the chickens and grew all the veggies needed –or got them from neighbors.
    I read this entry, I close my eyes and I can smell the roux, the onions and all things simmering. The treasures of our times growing up. We may not have grown up in fancy houses in families with coffers overflowing with coins (well at least I didn’t) but we grew up blessed beyond measure in so many other ways..
    Thanks for sharing the gumbo!

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    1. I can small the roux, too. Onions simmering in the hot oil and flour. A fresh chicken waiting on the counter, ready for the pot. I grew up surrounded by good food and even better than food, a sense of family and community. Mama doesn’t make her gumbo too much anymore. Her eyes are not good, and her strength is waning. Jesus said he would eat again with his disciples in the Kingdom to Come. I hope he likes Gumbo.

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