very merry gumbo

I've been wanting to try my hand at gumbo forever.  I'm a huge soup/stew fan, but gumbo has always intimidated me a bit.  Roux is scary.  But, dear reader, I persevered yesterday and made my family a fine pot of gumbo.  It was KILLER.

But first, a little gumbo history, if you are interested.  From the Southern Foodways Alliance:

Of all the dishes in the realm of Louisiana cooking, gumbo is the most famous and, very likely, the most popular. Gumbo crosses all class barriers, appearing on the tables of the poor as well as the wealthy. Although ingredients might vary greatly from one cook to the next, and from one part of the state to another, a steaming bowl of fragrant gumbo is one of life’s cherished pleasures, as emblematic of Louisiana as chili is of Texas.

Gumbo is often cited as an example of the melting-pot nature of Louisiana cooking, but trying to sort out the origins and evolution of the dish is highly speculative. The name derives from a West African word for okra, suggesting that gumbo was originally made with okra. The use of filé (dried and ground sassafras leaves) was a contribution of the Choctaws and, possibly, other local tribes. Roux has its origin in French cuisine, although the roux used in gumbos is much darker than its Gallic cousins.

and from Foodreference.com:

Créole Gumbo is a stew-like dish made with brown roux, okra, filé powder, onions, green peppers, tomatoes and seafood, chicken and/or meat. Gumbo has an  incomparably rich flavor and texture, and derives from the cooking traditions of  the French, Spanish, Indian and African residents of the area. Ingredients can  vary widely (there are literally hundreds of different gumbos). Seafood (especially shrimp) is common to many gumbos. Gumbo should never be over spiced, it should have a subtle flavor. Tabasco sauce is always served with gumbo so those with a  penchant for spicy foods can be accommodated. Gumbo is always served with  rice.

So gumbo was my Sunday project yesterday.  I combined a few different recipes and here's how it went:

Prep a cup of coarsely chopped onion, celery and green peppers. Put them in the bowl of a cuisinart with a couple cloves of garlic and pulse a few times to finely chop them. If you don't have a cuisinart (shudder)  just chop them finely and set aside. 

 

Meanwhile, cook up some bacon because you need some grease for the roux.  Save the bacon for that spinach salad you're bringing to Sue's on Christmas day.  

Make sure your kids are sleeping so they don't eat it all.  

Heat up 3/4 cup bacon grease in a heavy pot or dutch oven.  I didn't have that much grease so just rounded it out with vegetable oil.  Probably a total gumbo sin but one must persevere.

Add a cup of flour to the hot grease

and then settle in because you're going to be there for a while. 

start whisking the mix over med/high heat, stirring constantly.

it starts out looking like this.  But you cannot, for a second, stop whisking, or it will burn the bottom and become disgusting and all that work will be for naught.  So put on your favorite music and stir. 

Enlist the help of your 14-year-old son who would NOT look at me for a picture.

And keep whisking until the above becomes the below, the color of melted milk chocolate. 

 It took about 25 minutes.

take the roux off the heat but keep whisking until it cools a bit.

add the celery/onion/pepper mixture (holy trinity, in cajunspeak) and cook until vegetables soften, about 10 minutes, at med/high heat. 

Then you add all kinds of amazing stuff:

3 quarts of  hot/boiling water, in which 4 beef bouillon cubes have been dissolved)

Stir until well mixed. 

 Add 2 TBSP tabasco

1/2 tsp cajun seasoning 

1/2 tsp dried thyme

1 lg can stewed tomatoes

4 bay leaves

Then add some of the meat:

1 lb andouille sausage, diced large

2 large chicken breasts, diced into chunks.

Let simmer on med/low for an hour.

Add 2 tsp file powder - the secret ingredient of gumbo. 

 It's apparently pulverized sassafras and is a thickening agent used in gumbo.  

Stir well. 

Add 2 lbs peeled, deveined shrimp.  

Let simmer another 45 minutes.

Add 10-16 oz okra - I thawed one lg package and cut into large chunks.  

Simmer until all flavors are combined and okra is heated.  

Add 2 tsp worcestershire and  2 more tsp file powder.

Add salt or pepper if you so desire

Meanwhile, cook up some white rice and serve with a big scoop right in the gumbo.

Like this.  

But I cribbed this picture from the internet because, dear reader, I could not take the suspense any more and started to eat.  See?

This recipe feeds a ton - we had nine for dinner with a couple servings leftover.  

The fail of the evening?  I said, "how do you say bon apetit in french?"  Corey:  um, nailed it mom.

Enjoy the week, y'all! 

 

The Turkey Sandwich

A hilarious exchange with my sisters about capers on Facebook yesterday brought up the very important concept of the Turkey Sandwich.  And I realize I neeeed to blog about it.

Let me back up. Last night I made chicken piccata.  Which I make regularly and have blogged about before.  It's stunningly delicious;  butter, wine, fresh lemon juice and parsley - how can you go wrong?  But the truly secret weapon is the caper.  As I reached into the fridge to grab the jar of capers I panicked to see there was only like two capers in the jar!  Impossible!  Capers are one of those items I ALWAYS have on hand.  Thankfully, I found another jar in the fridge door and all faith in mankind was restored.  So, naturally, I found myself thinking about how much I love capers, leading me to my FB caper love declaration, which led to a discussion about what, exactly, is a caper?  Which led to Jacquie remembering that she in fact blogged about the mighty caper once. Hilarious.  I love my family.

You still with me?
Good, because this is becoming perilously close to a turkey sandwich, which Jacquie alluded to in that  blog.

What on God's green earth are you talking about, you ask?  Let me explain.

The Turkey Sandwich is what you call that ill-conceived story, the kind when you have the floor and you suddenly realize that you have everyone's attention but it's really not that good of a story.  That story when you wish you hadn't started but now you have to save face and finish.   And there's that awkward silence or polite chuckle.  THAT, my friends, is a Turkey Sandwich.  Because in that awkward moment it's super helpful for someone to break the awkward silence with,  "would you like mayo with that turkey sandwich?" or, "Nice turkey sandwich.  Delicious."

My college roommates and I coined that expression my second year at UVA.

It's really helpful to have a term for this social debacle, so we all latched right onto it.  So I brought it home to my family, who also latched right onto it, as we are wont to do.   And it became a thing. 
But my favorite part of the turkey sandwich story?   Toward the end of that year, when my roomies and I were all sitting around the kitchen table in that apartment on 15th Street, I told a turkey sandwich, and got called out, and we all laughed, and then I said, "why do we call it a turkey sandwich, anyway?"  They all three looked at me like I had two heads.  I can still see all of their faces turned to me in astonishment.  Laura said, "You don't remember?"  At which point they reminded me that one day early in the year I had come home from lunch apparently very enthusiastic about a turkey sandwich I had eaten, and told everyone all about it.  In great detail. For much too long.

The Turkey Sandwich was born.

I had enthusiastically spread the phrase far and wide, not realizing I was, in fact, mocking myself.  Classic.


So. You've stuck with me this long.  I've told you a really long, inside-baseball, somewhat boring story.  And here we are.

Pass the mustard, please.

Slammed and YOBO

 I am out of my mind.  Busy, that is.  We all are.  We had a lovely dinner party and a fantastic Thanksgiving but, alas, I was too distracted in the moment to document them.   So I promise  hope next week to have scintillating conversation and recipes and stories.  But for now?  An oldie but a goodie.  Plus Yobo.

Pasta with roasted veggies and sausage

Trim and cut in half two red pepper and four zucchini

Wash & trim a package of mushrooms.  Peel a large onion and cut in wedges.

Mix them all in a bowl with a couple tablespoons olive oil and lots of salt & pepper.

Preheat the oven to 425.  Turn the veggies out on a couple cookie sheets and roast for 15 minutes.  

Add a pint of cherry tomatoes to the bowl and toss with olive oil, s&p.

Add to the roasting veggies and cook another 15 minutes.  Take out and let cool.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, cook up a box of ziti.

and further meanwhile back at the ranch, take four or five sausages, remove casing and throw in a large fry pan.  Break up with your trusty wooden spoon and cook until done through, about 15 minutes.  I use a couple hot italians and a couple turkey sausages to make life interesting.

Throw the cooked sausage on a paper towel on a plate to get rid of some of the excess grease, then put back in fry pan.

Add 1/2 cup dry white wine and cook on high for a minute or two.

When your veggies are cooked, let them cool on the tray for a few, then cut into large chunks.

Throw the whole mess into the pan with the sausage and give it a blast.

Put that whole situation in a large bowl with the drained pasta.

Add some extra salt & pepper and a handful of parmesan and you are in business.  

And in honor of Yobo, my family's beloved Airedale growing up, who would have been 46 today, I give you one of my very favorite photos of all time.  Does it get any more 70's than this? And any more adorable?