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“A serious cook’s signature gumbo can be
as unique as their thumbprint.”
contained holiday celebration. It can be a
thin-bodied filé gumbo packed with shrimp
and quartered crabs, or a complex roux-
thickened duck gumbo with chunks of
smoky andouille sausage in every spoonful.
But one thing it’s
not
(ironically) is “one
thing.”
The Three Thickeners
Part of gumbo’s wide range is its flexible
structure, which allows the use of three
thickeners (alone or in combination,
depending on taste and tradition).
Okra:
Foodies with a linguistic bent and time
to argue will insist that a gumbo isn’t gumbo
without okra (stemming from the plant’s
Old World Bantu root word
quingombo).
Most people have pronounced opinions
about the often-gooey texture of this curvy
green podlike vegetable. (Technically, it’s
called “mucilage,” but detractors and fans
alike call it “slime.”) Love it or hate it, this
African-born, Deep South-bred vegetable
is the secret of many gumbos across the
land-and-sea spectrum.
Roux:
Many dishes, especially from South
Louisiana’s Cajun tradition, start with this
napalm-like paste of oil and toasted flour.
This staple couldn’t get any simpler — equal
parts wheat flour and vegetable oil cooked
gradually until the flour turns brown. A
slow, low flame toasts the flour particles as
the mixture develops a deep, nutty flavor.
Adapted from classical French technique,
the Louisiana roux process often heads
straight for the dark side of the spectrum
— with tones described as peanut butter,
medium brown, brick, chocolate, and
“almost black.”
And despite what you may have heard, roux
preparation doesn’t require magic, intricate
rituals, or incantations to long-ignored
kitchen gods. Just a cast iron pot, a single
stovetop burner and ample, spoon-turning
patience.
Filé (or Filé Powder):
Away from the Gulf,
filé can be a culinary mystery. Most folks,
they’ve heard Hank Williams Sr. sing about
it, and they know it’s never too far from
gumbo, but it’s not one of those products
you routinely find on spice racks outside the
region.
Filé is the dried leaf of the native sassafras
tree, pounded into a fine powder. Native
Americans used the pulverized leaves to
thicken stews, a trick picked up by French
and African cooks during the colonial
era. The dusty green powder gives gumbo
a distinctive, herbal flavor and is usually
stirred into the pot directly before serving
or as a “sprinkle your own” table spice.
Making It Our Own
Combine the three thickeners with a
tradition of natural bounty and you’ve got
the possibilities of a
million
different gumbos
— maybe more. Cooks along the Gulf Coast
might hold tight to the way they were taught
by their grandmother (shrimp and okra
made during summer vacation) or pre-game
chicken and sausage version their aunts used
to make during college football season.
Our gumbos can reflect a wide variety of
cultural influences and regional variations
that we recreate at our stovetops. Some folks
have fond memories of shrimp/ sausage
gumbo served in Iberia parish grade-school
cafeterias, crawfish-spiked gumbos from the
Cajun Prairie and Atchafalaya Basin towns
or the fish-spiked seafood versions served
around Mobile and Biloxi. Others yearn for
Thanksgiving’s turkey-bone gumbo, made
from post-feast leftovers or the comfort of
an intricate New Orleans Creole gumbo
that appears for formal holiday gatherings
for families in the city’s Seventh Ward.
(This special-occasion variation contains
shrimp, crab, oyster, chicken wing, veal stew
meat and two kinds of sausage — cooked
low and slow with a roux/filé combination.)
A dedicated cook’s gumbo — even when it’s
as unique as their thumbprint — tells a story
with every pot, every bowl and every bite.
Look for the Story
Which brings us back to the Disney debacle.
The online backlash showed us an important
truth about the cultural importance of the
dish, the story and the interaction of the
two. “Tiana’s Healthy Gumbo” (shudder)
should be recognized for what it was — the
work of some well-meaning nutritionist
with decent intentions — rather than an
aggressive act of cultural imperialism bent
on undermining our culinary traditions.
The whole affair showed us how our regional
cooks connect food and identity. And most
importantly — how every bowl of gumbo
is a chance to learn a different story, which
keeps our vibrant food culture intact and
thriving one pot at a time.
GUMBO