Sorry, Buddy, but I got plans for you!

It's finally Fall in Austin, Texas, USA. Which means that it's only 89 degrees outside instead of 95. It's also looking like rain. I say looking like because there are dark clouds in the sky, though it might be a trick. After a few years of EXTRAORDINARY drought, most of us have forgotten what rain looks like, and given the idiocy I saw on Lamar Boulevard when we finally got a few inches last week, I'd say that the average Austinite has forgotten how to drive in it as well. If they ever did.

[UPDATE: It's pouring down rain right now. I hope that rye grass seed I put down in the backyard doesn't wash away]

Since it's October (almost) and I'm feeling all autumnal even though I probably ought to put on sunscreen most days around here, I've got quite a hankering for long-simmering stews and such. A big fave of mine has always been Chicken And Dumplings. It's capitalized because it deserves to be. Also, if you happen to live in South Austin, where we Keep It Wierd with pride, it's a good way to get rid of that rooster the neighbors have been keeping in their misguided attempt to become Urban Farmers. You'll eat well and get to sleep longer in one fell swoop.

If you don't want to wait around all day for this Font of All Deliciousness to cook on the stove, the first thing you gotta do is get yourself a pressure cooker. Like this baby:

The one reason not to hate Emeril Legasse

I bought it for my lovely wife, Chef Leslie, to use in her catering business. Up late one night watching television, it was on HSN. I'd probably already taken my sleeping pill, so it counts as an Ambien-induced Shopping Experience (ASE). Remind me to write y'all about how I got our Dyson vacuum cleaner sometime.

The pressure cooker I got is branded by Emeril Legasse, the Most Obnoxious Man in New Orleans, but don't hold that against it. It ended up becoming my favorite kitchen tool. You don't have to heat up the kitchen. You don't have to wait hours. It does a great job on things like making chicken, beef, or veggie stock, cooking Sunday Sauce and meatballs, making a really good boeuf bourguignon and boiling chicken till it's falling off the bone in like fifteen minutes. Got kids and a job? It'll make cooking a real meal much easier, and you don't have to come home to the mush that slow cookers make out of everything that's not chili.

Now that I'm on Lipitor, I can profess my undying devotion to you, dear Paula.

The recipe I use, which I adapted from my homegirl, Miss Paula Deen, is if you'll excuse my New English, Wicked Awesome.  I feel a little conflicted about this because I learned a lot about cooking from my other homegirl, that Paragon of Southern Womanhood and Le Cordon Bleu grad, Nathalie Dupree, but she's not on the teevee around here anymore, which is a danged shame.

Nathalie Dupree, Godmother of New Southern Cooking

You never get over your first love.  Miss Dupree won my heart when I was a fat teenager camped out in the livingroom on hot summer days instead of playing football like all the other Texan boys. Her show on PBS was just wonderful. Later, I learned that she ran a write-in campaign against the premier jackass of all Washington, Senator Jim DeMint, saying that she wanted to "cook his goose." This was before DeMint endorsed Todd Akin, who infamously lectured the American public on legitimate rape and how women's bodies can "shut down" a pregnancy caused by one. Nathalie was just carrying on her long-standing policy of being ahead of her time. Plus, she taught me how not to overcook shrimp (see The Roux Goes On Forever, And The Gumbo Never Ends.)

CHICKEN AND DUMPLINGS

Chicken:

• 2.5-3 lbs chicken legs and thighs
• 3 ribs celery, chopped
• 2 carrots, chopped
• 1 large onion, chopped
• 1 bay leaf
• 1 head garlic, cut in half latitudinally
• 3 quarts water or stock to cover
• salt, pepper to taste

Roux:

3 tbs butter

3 tbs flour

Dumplings:

• 2 cups all-purpose flour
• 1 teaspoon salt
• Ice water

Directions

To start the chicken: Place the chicken, celery, onion, carrot, bay leaves, garlic and stock or water in the pressure cooker. Cook under high pressure for 15 minutes. Remove the chicken from the cooker and, when it is cool enough to handle, remove the skin and separate the meat from the bones. Skim the fat from the stock. 

Make the roux in a sauce pan: melt butter until it stops foaming, then add flour and whisk for a four or five minutes. Ladle stock into the roux while whisking, and add this mixture to the remaining soup and stir.

Return the chicken meat to the cooker. Set the cooker to simmer and put the cover on loosely until it bubbles.

To prepare the dumplings: Mix the flour with the salt and mound together in a mixing bowl. Beginning at the center of the mound, drizzle a small amount of ice water over the flour. Using your fingers, and moving from the center to the sides of the bowl, gradually incorporate about 3/4 cup of ice water. Knead the dough and form it into ball.

Dust a good amount of flour onto a clean work surface. Roll out the dough (it will be firm), working from center to 1/8-inch thick. Let the dough relax for several minutes.

Cut the dough into 1-inch pieces. Pull a piece in half and drop the halves into the simmering soup. Repeat. Do not stir the chicken once the dumplings have been added. Poke at the dumplings with a chopstick or a skewer to turn them over so they cook evenly. Cook until the dumplings float and are no longer doughy, 3 to 4 minutes. OR, cook under the low pressure setting for five minutes. They'll be wonderful either way.

Giambott, or Noni's So Good for You Veggie Stew

I could say that I grew these myself, but you all know better!

Giambotta, or Noni's So Good for You Veggie Stew

I really love summer in New England (in Texas, not so much, but that's another post.) When I was a small boy, I was fortunate enough to spend a lot of my summers hanging around my Italian mother's family. They all lived in a compound of three homes on my great-grandfather's several-acre place in what was then a rural part Worcester, MA-- on a low green  mountain right by Lake Quinsigamond. My Noni, or great-grandmother, Antoinette was a fantastic cook, and I definitely got my love of cooking from pestering her in her kitchen all summer.

She and the rest of the family were also very talented gardeners--100% organic, as a matter of fact. Peppers, tomatoes of all kinds, zucchini and yellow squash, broccoli rape, green onions, white onions, garlic, sweet corn, potatoes, turnips, lettuces, radishes, carrots, basil, parsley and other herbs. There were pear, apple, mulberry and cherry trees, wild raspberry and blackberry runners, and several treasured gooseberry bushes--which were a particular favorite of mine. I loved how the berries would turn from sour green to sweet red when they were ripe and would pop them in my mouth every chance I got. I usually tried to get my sister and younger cousins to eat the green ones--still paying that bad karma back, BTW.

There were three big vegetable gardens, a flower garden, and a grapevine-covered patio with a brick fireplace at one end and a marble-topped table big enough for everyone to sit together and eat underneath. Everyone weeded and watered the plants in the evenings, and then the whole family would gather out there after dinner, drinking coffee and sharing pastries, telling stories and enjoying each other's company, usually with a fire going. The fireflies would light up around dusk and we kids would chase them around, trying to catch them in jars. It was pure magic.

My Uncle Angelo, who had an impressive girth, wore a fedora, and talked a lot like one of the guys in Goodfellas. His trademark were these little twisted cigars called Parodis (or Guinee Stinks, according to my not-very-PC Irish dad) and he was famous for two things: his Fourth of July fireworks, which involved actual dynamite, and his numerous and mammoth zucchinis. Like baseball bat sized zucchini. So big there's no way you can eat it all. So big it's a challenge to figure out what to do with the whole damn thing. Fortunately, my Auntie Theresa, Antoinette, my great-grandmother, and Grace, my grandmother were outstanding cooks. But even they rolled their eyes when he pulled yet another one out of the garden.

People in Texas would understand the dilemma--during hunting season freezers from El Paso to Beaumont runneth over with venison, nilgai, wild boar and all sorts of very tasty meat that even Dr. Atkins would get sick of if he had to eat it every day. Imagine having to eat zucchini every day for three months and you see the point.

One of my least favorite of their dishes when I was a kid was giambotta. Pronounced "shambort" in Noni's Bari dialect, it was a meatless stew made up of all those veggies I mentioned earlier, and I hated it. They said it was "good for you," and that was practically the kiss of death to an eight year old. My mother would make it sometimes and I always felt like I was being punished for something I didn't do when she made me eat it.

As an adult I've come to love this dish, and its health benefits can't be denied. Unless you put a ton of grated pecorino or Parmesan on top right before serving and eat it with a big hunk of crusty, butter-slathered bread, which I always do. But you're eating zucchini, so fuggedaboutit.

Giambotta

3 tsb good olive oil
1 medium onion, fine dice
2 cloves of garlic, smashed
2-3 medium sized zucchini, medium dice
2-3 medium sized yellow summer squash, medium dice
1 bell pepper, large dice
4 plum tomatoes, medium dice
1 stalk celery, medium dice
1 carrot, medium dice
1 cup garbanzo beans, cooked and drained
1 large potato, diced
1-1/2 quarts vegetable or chicken stock
a handful of chopped parsley, basil or whatever herbs you have handy
salt and fresh ground pepper
(Option: a tbs of tomato paste if you want a thicker broth, added ten minutes before finishing)


Sweat the onions and garlic for ten minutes in the olive oil in a large enameled pot. When translucent (no color on them,) add the potatoes, pepper, carrot and celery and raise heat to medium. Cook for another ten minutes before adding the remaining ingredients. Bring to a simmer for 20-25 minutes, or until potatoes are cooked through.  Finish with a drizzle of good olive oil and lots and lots of grated cheese.

Note--I added that garbanzo beans for the protein, and you can use whatever vegetables you have an abundance of. Like most homestyle Italian dishes, it's all about using what you've got.

A Tail of Two Shrimps, Part Deux: Etouffee

By now, you've amassed a pile of shrimp heads and shells. Most reasonable people would look at that and think, "Bait." A Cajun thinks, "Lunch." 

Etouffee means "smothered" in French. It's usually made with shrimp, crawfish tails, chicken or sausage. It's generally thicker than a soup, with a thick, gravy like texture. And it is really, really good.

A fine shrimp stock, along with a well-made roux, is the secret to a really good etouffee. It's also great for layering extra flavor in a gumbo. Making it is very simple: Put whatever quantity of shells and heads into a saucepan with a chopped onion, two stalks of chopped celery, a chopped carrot, a few cloves of garlic, a few peppercorns and a bay leaf. Cover with water, and simmer for a half hour to forty five minutes. If you're using it right away, strain it right into the etouffee. If not, reduce by 3/4, and freeze in an ice cube tray for later use. Note: if you have time, you can roast the shells and heads in a dry frying pan or in the oven for a deeper flavor before adding the liquid.

The Holy Trinity of Louisiana Cooking: Onion, Celery and Bell Pepper

For the Etoufee:

1/2 cup all purpose flour

1/2 cup canola or peanut oil

1 large onion, medium dice

3 stalks celery, ditto

1 large green bell pepper, ditto

4 cloves garlic, finely chopped

1 cup diced tomato

3 tbs Cajun Seasoning (I like Tony Chachere's or Zatarain's, but you can make your own with equal proportions garlic powder, onion powder, thyme, oregano, black pepper, and cayenne)

1 tbs salt

2-3 lbs large shrimp, peeled and deveined

1 quart shrimp stock, hot

2 bay leaves

finely chopped scallion for garnish

Steamed white rice

In a enameled dutch oven over medium heat, combine the oil and flour and whisk constantly until it turns the color of peanut butter. You want a fairly light roux here--it has more thickening power than a dark one and has the right flavor profile for this dish.

Add the onion, celery, bell pepper, and garlic, and sweat over medium-low heat for ten minutes or until just soft. Turn heat up to high. Add tomato, seasoning salt, bay leaves and stock, bring to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer, stirring, until mixture thickens and reduces a bit, maybe another 30 minutes. You're looking for a thick, gravy consistency. Taste and adjust seasonings ( I often add more Cajun seasoning here--it's better to start with too little than too much.)

Add shrimp and cover, removing from heat. Let sit on the stove for 10-12 minutes. Shrimp should be just cooked through.

Serve over white rice, and garnish with chopped scallions. Pass Tabasco at table.

Borrowed this photo--we ate ours before I could take pictures!

A Tail of Two Shrimps

A Tail of Two Shrimps: Poached and Etoufee, Part 1

Moving to the Texas Gulf Coast at an early age came with some definite benefits. My late father was a beach hound, and we spent nearly every weekend on Galveston Island, working on our Irish Tans (that's when your freckles grown together enough to cover up how red your Northern European ass has gotten from not wearing sunscreen), dodging Portugese Man-O-Wars ( a particularly mean variety of jellyfish,) and pretending that there were sharks inches from my little sister. That last part worked out pretty well, and to spectacular effect, but that's another story.

On the drive home, we'd usually stop in a small fishing village called Kemah, which is now a popular tourist trap resort destination, but back in the 70's and 80's, it was filled with honky-tonks, seafood restaurants, and best of all,seafood shops run by Vietnamese immigrant families. We used to get the biggest, freshest shrimp imaginable for very little cash. 

Rose's Seafood was our favorite, and thirty years and several hurricanes later, my family still shops there. Here's why:

Rose's has fifteen feet of counter space dedicated to various sizes and types of shrimp, both head-on and cleaned. The head-on 12-count per pound Colossal brown Gulf Shrimp costs around $7 per pound. Seriously. You'd pay three times that at Whole Foods. Here's why you want the ones with the heads: firstly, you can chase your wife or kids around with them, because they gross people out for some reason; secondly, the heads make the finest fume, or seafood stock you can get. And you need the fume pour la etoufee, mon cher! 

But first, a word about the most horrifically mistaken use of this noble creature, the Overcooked Boiled Shrimp Cocktail. In a word, it's just plain bad. There's almost nothing more disappointing, other than going home alone on a Saturday night, than an overcooked shrimp. Tough, chewy, flavorless. What you want is briny, springy, and shrimpy. There are two ways to accomplish this. One is to come over to my house on any given weekend when my mother-in-law is over for dinner. She's allergic to shellfish, and I always find some excuse to make sure shrimp is on the menu. The other is to do EXACTLY as I say in the following recipe.

Tough Shrimp--you're doing it wrong, Otho!

MadDawgg's Fool-proof Perfect Poached Shrimp 

2 lbs. 10-12 count per pound shrimp

4 quarts water

4 tbs sea salt (estimated)

2 bay leaves

1 small onion, cut in half

1/2 head garlic, cut in half crosswise

1 lemon, cut in half and/or

2 cups white wine

10 pepper corns

parsley stems, celery leaves, and/or fresh dill

cayenne pepper

Bring the water to a rolling boil, adding enough salt to simulate seawater. This makes the shrimp happy. Add all other ingredients, squeezing lemons into the water before adding the halves. Cover and let this rip for about 20 minutes to infuse.

Remove the heads, peel, and devein shrimp. I usually do this by holding the shrimp against the cutting board and running a very sharp paring knife from the middle of the meat up through the dorsal section from front to back. This nearly butterflies them, exposes the digestive tract which can be picked out (to throw at your kids or little sister) and makes it very easy to take off the shells. Reserve the heads and shells for stock (that's in Part Deux of this post._

Add shrimp to the pot, stirring, and bring back to a boil. Cover, and take off heat. Let sit for 10-12 minutes. Remove shrimp to an ice bath--a bowl filled with ice cubes and a little water to stop the cooking process immediately. Remove to a dry towel to drain. Serve with cocktail sauce.

Dad's Kick Ass Cocktail Sauce

Ketchup, 1 cup

Chili Sauce, 3 tbs.
Grated Horseradish, 2-4 tbs, depending on your degree of wussiness/badassness

Worcestershire Sauce, several dashes

Tabasco, don't be a wuss--use lots

Chopped capers, 3 tbs.

Lemon juice, 3 tbs

Salt and Pepper to taste

Mix all well. Adjust according to taste. Chill well before serving.

Advice to A Yankee About Texas Chili, But First, A Detour to Frito Pie

Advice to A Yankee About Texas Chili, But First, A Detour to Frito Pie

Anybody who knows me from childhood can tell you that my parents had the most outrageous Boston accents--like "Boibbie Cahtah, pass me a beeeah befoah I come ovah theya and give ya a beatin'!" This would have worked out as God had planned, I'm sure, if they'd had the eminent good sense to stay within the environs they'd been born in--Worcester, Massachusettes. That's W-O-O-S-T-A-H to the uninitiated. They didn't, as it turns out, and at the impressionable age of six I was transported against my will to Pasadena, Texas.

It didn't go so well for me as a six year old kid taking spelling tests in Miss. Sorrell's third grade class at Richey Elementary in Pasadena, TX. As if the humiliation of putting r's in the wrong places and leaving them off where they belonged wasn't enough, my Yankee language training up to that point gave me absolutely no preparation for three letter words pronounced at great length--like five syllables.

"Peee-eee-nnnn. Peee-eee-nnn." Next Word "Theeee-aate-er." "Theeee-aate-er."

I started failing immediately. The gentle Miss. Sorrel suggested that a good stout paddling in front of my classmates would help my spelling immensely. My horrified mother refused. Dad complied. I dropped my accent like a bad habit and adopted the drawl, out of sheer self-defense.

One thing I did pick up on right away, however, is that our school cafeteria would serve that singular exemplar of perfection, the Frito Pie, upon special occasions, like Rodeo Day and San Jacinto Day. The Frito Pie is a bag of fritos, slit open longitudinally, doused with the best Texas Red available, and sometimes served with cheese, sour cream, and pickled jalapenos. It cost a quarter or fifty cents if you wanted a Coke with it--and you wanted that Coke, believe me.

Later in life, I came to understand that the fritos weren't really the main act. It's all about the Chili. This is serious business in Texas, you understand. By age ten, I'd lost the remains of the haaahd vowels and replaced them with liberal saltings of "y'all, all y'all-- and screw all'y'all" to anyone who looked at me funny.

By college, I had been to many chili cook offs, and had sometimes been disappointed. Not by the batshit crazy characters attracted to the competitions, mind you. I've never been so honored as to have rubbed elbows with a grand assortment of Civil War reenactors, coon-skin cap-wearing black-powder rifle enthusiasts, overly friendly former Klansmen in denial about their obvious racism, bearded welders in their odd little caps discussing the best method for turning a 55 gallon drum into a smoker, and the occasional John Birch Society Member/High School Economics teacher who learned to make five hundred gallons of the stuff while serving on an air craft carrier in the Indian Ocean and who could hold forth at length on the necessity of returning to the gold standard.

I credit meeting these fellows as the beginnings of my political career. After all, if an arrogant little shit from Woostah, Mass like me could be accepted by these motley denizens of redneck bluecollardom, I knew I had a future in it for sure.

Now, to the Chili

First thing you need is a great big cast iron pot. Or maybe an enameled cast iron pot, if your wife's a fancy chef (which mine is.)

Find yourself a large chuck roast and trim off most of the fat and all of the silverskin. Cut into 1/2 in cubes

Heat some canola oil in the pot, and brown the cubed beef in batches. You'll build up a fond at the bottom of the pot--this is good. Don't fuck with it.

After browning all the meat, add one big-ass diced onion and stir with a wooden spatula, scraping up the brown bits. The onion ought to release enough juice to facilitate this necessary step. Add several cloves of smashed garlic and let that go a while. Tablespoon of tomato paste (no more!)  Put the beef back in an add some freshly toasted and ground cumin (two tbs.), some Mexican Oregano (one tsb), salt, black pepper, and at least ten dried and roasted mixed chilis (arbol, pasilla, ancho, New Mexico, etc) ground up in the blender. Maybe some beer or beef stock just to cover, bring to a simmer. Mix well, turn to low heat, and cover. Stir occasionally.

A Note About Chilis: Don't bother with pre-ground stuff you get at teh supermarket--it losees its potency very quickly and just doesn't have the flavor that distinguishes a realy Texan chili from the sort of meat-mush you get in Cincinatti or (gasp!) Canada. You're free to experiment here. The best way to prepare them is to very quickly toast them over a gas burner using a pair of kitchen tongs, let them cool, then take off the stem and remove the seeds. Whir around in a food processor for a few minutes. Alternatively, you can steep them in hot beef stock and scrape the flesh from the skin, and make a paste in the food processor with them. I've tried both and the easier first option does just fine.

After two hours lift the lid and adjust seasonings. Add a diced fresh jalapeno or two. Let it simmer uncovered until reduced OR, make a slurry with a little masa harina (Mexican corn flour) and some beer and stir in, simmering until thickened.

The best part if how you serve it. I put out sliced avocado, grated cheddar or crumbled Mexican farmer's cheese (cotija, which is sprinkled on food in the same manner the Italians use Parmesan,)  diced onions, pickled jalapenos, sour cream,  and for those who need some carbs with their meal, corn and flour tortillas, tortilla chips or some white rice

Note: Beans are never included in a Texas chili recipe. There's generally some sort of implicit threat of disembowelment or at a minimum, a chortling disparagement of one's manhood for even suggesting such a thing to chili cook-off types. So if you're going to ignore the warning, best not to mention it to anyone.

The roux goes on forever, but the gumbo never ends

"Guff" Coast Shrimp Gumbo

Dear Rachel,

So, since it’s more fun to write to you than it is to watch the House Ways and Means Committee hearing (in which they stumble their way through explaining why they won’t raise taxes to fix the hole the state has dug itself into, as if Governor Goodhair’s run to replace Obama has nothing to do with it.) I think some gumbo is in order. I’m copying my big sister and dearest friend Elizabeth, who lives in Baton Rouge, LA, pursuing her PhD at LSU and works as a spokesmodel for “her people” on the side, just so that you know my recipe is “fo true, ma cher.” Besides, you need to know each other. She has an outstanding sense of humor, which is a good coping mechanism when you live in hurricane-prone swampland populated by a dating pool of guys named Earl.

Boudreaux and Thibodeaux in their native habitat 

I promise your Jewish heritage does not bar you from making outstanding gumbo, anymore than my McWop ™ roots prevent me from making kick-ass Cajun food. It helps that I grew up on the mainland side of Galveston Bay, where we get really excellent crabs, shrimp, oysters, red snapper and redfish—all of which are best prepared by our neighbors to the East in Louisiana.  Despite this, the very best shrimp in the world come from right here in Texas, in a little fishing town-turned resort called Kemah. And they sell them here, at Rose's Seafood, where my family have been customers since the Carter Administration. So, I know from gumbo and you get get benefit of my experience.

Also, most of the other Anglo (as in Caucasian, not as in British) Catlicks at St. Pius were named Boudreaux, Theriot, Fontenot, etc, so I grew up hearing a lot about and eventually eating a lot of exotic Sunday post-church Cajun dinners made by ladies named Marie--all while while my protestant friends suffered through plates some grayish thing named “Roast” regardless of its provenance.  They deserved it, I assure you.

Pasadena Catlicks stuck together

Growing up Catholic in the Land of the Evangelicals wasn’t easy, what with all the Baptist kids passive-aggressively and sometimes pointedly letting me know that they’d pray for me, even though it was a sure thing I was going to H-EE-LLLLL (the whole three syllable version.) They had me pegged at an early age—like in third grade. We Romans stuck together. So, it’s only human nature that I both cleaved to, and learned to make fun of, all my Cajun friends. ‘Cause you know, if you’re going to HELL, you may as well have company. Which reminds me of a couple of jokes.

Boudreaux the Born Baptist

Each Friday night after work, Boudreaux would fire up his outdoor grill and cook a venison steak. But, all of Boudreaux's neighbors were Catholic....And since it was Lent, they were forbidden from eating meat on Friday.

The delicious aroma from the grilled venison steaks was causing such a problem for the Catholic faithful that they finally talked to their priest.

The Priest came to visit Boudreaux, and suggested that he become a Catholic. After several classes and much study, Boudreaux attended Mass.....and as the priest sprinkled holy water over him, he said, "You were born a Baptist, and raised a Baptist, but now you are a Catholic. Amen"

Boudreaux’s' neighbors were greatly relieved, until Friday night arrived, and the wonderful aroma of grilled venison filled the neighborhood.
The Priest was called immediately by the neighbors, and, as he rushed into Boudreaux’s' yard, clutching a rosary and prepared to scold him, he stopped and watched in amazement.

There stood Boudreaux, clutching a small bottle of holy water which he carefully sprinkled over the grilling meat and chanted: “You wuz born a deer, you wuz raised a deer, but now you a catfish. Amen”

Boudreaux and the crab grass

Boudreaux was paddling his pero (boat) down on the bayou and he passed by Thibodaux's camp.

Thibodaux ax, "What dat you got in that pero?"

Boudreaux say, "Crabgrass- Me gonna go catch me some crabs, me."

Thibodaux laughs and say, "You fool, you can't catch crabs with crabgrass."

An hour later Boudreaux comes back with a boat load of crabs and show them to Thibodaux.

The next day Boudreaux was paddling his pero and passed by Thibodaux's camp again.

Thibodaux ax, "What dat you got in that pero?"

Boudreaux say, "Duck-tape- Me gonna go catch me some ducks, me."

Thibodaux laughs and say, "You fool, you can't catch ducks with duck-tape."

An hour later Boudreaux comes back with a boat load of ducks and show them to Thibodaux.

The next day Boudreaux was paddling his pero and passed by Thibodaux's camp again.

Thibodaux ax, "What dat you got in that pero?"

Boudreaux say, "Pussywillow."

Thibodaux say, "Hold on! I’ll get my hat! "

De Gumbo, Ma Chere!

The Holy Trinity

Those creoles and Cajuns know their way around a stockpot. The vein of French culture shows in the technique; there’s always a flour and oil-based roux and a mix of aromatic vegetables that form the base of the dish. In Louisiana cooking, onions, celery and bell pepper form the “Holy trinity” that takes the stead of the French mirepoix. Also lots of garlic and green onions. This is where the healthy part ends. The rest ain’t exactly Jenny Craig.

If you want to make a good, authentic gumbo, you have to develop a very expansive attitude towards your concept of “edible.” Like their Gallic forebears, Louisianans use EVERYTHING—snouts, tails, frogs, raccoons, nutria, squirrels, whatever flies/swims/ambles in their Parish. The French do this too—my grandfather once noted that he was offered a ragout of fox during WWII. So, if Paris was in a swamp, this is what the food would taste like there. Plus Tabasco, which they use on all consumable items. Fortunately, you only want shrimp gumbo, so you’re off the hook for learning how to skin a possum. All you gotta do is know how to select, shell, and devein the critters, which I’m sure you’ve got figured out already.

Best. On. Earth.

Here’s the deal—if you don’t have great fresh seafood, don’t worry. Frozen is okay. Not everyone is as blessed as we on the Guff (the l is silent) are. But it's better if you do, so look for big brown or white shrimp with the heads on. Much more flavor in the heads, and we’re making a fume, or shrimp stock with them. If you’re not too squeamish and the fish guy lets you, pinch them to see if they’re springy—you don’t want mushy ones. IMPORTANT: Avoid anything imported from Southeast Asia—they farm-raise shrimp there and GOD ONLY KNOWS what they feed them. Maybe leftover roast. You want wild-caught Gulf shrimp. At least we know what they were raised up on, thank you British Petroleum.

Also, some people use the Cajun sausage, andouille, to add some smokiness to this recipe, but I think it detracts from the seafoodiness of the thing, and besides, you avoid pork. You could mess around with substituting in smoked turkey wings, etc., but I think it’s better to have the courage of one’s convictions, leave it out altogether and go for a really rich shrimp stock instead. NB: if you were making chicken gumbo or red beans and rice, the turkey wing thing ain’t a bad idea.

Guff Coast Shrimp Gumbo

2lbs head-on jumbo Gulf shrimp

4 oz flour

4 oz oil

2 quarts water

2 cups white wine

1 large onion, finely chopped

2 stalks celery, finely chopped

1 big bell pepper, finely chopped

4 cloves garlic, minced

Bay leaf, thyme, granulated garlic, onion powder or Zatarain’s Cajun Spice

Worcestershire, Tabasco

Gumbo Filé  (I’ll mail you some if you can’t find it)

½ cup chopped green onions

White Rice

Have the boys decapitate and shell the shrimp. It’s gross and most pre-teens like gross things, so put ‘em to work. Teach them how to devein them while you’re at it. These are useful life skills, like baiting a fishing hook or shot gunning a beer, and will impress the girls when they’re older.They'll look like this when they're properly cleaned:

They'll look like this when you've cleaned them.

Shrimp stock

Then make a fumé with the heads, shells, water and white wine. I usually roast off the shells first to increase flavor by putting them in a hot pan for five minutes. Put everything in a pot and let it rip for half an hour. Maybe add some celery ends and onion skins. Strain it in a mesh colander, pressing the shells and heads to get all the good stuff out. Keep hot in a saucepan.

Flour and Oil

Now for the roux. You got two choices: Alton Brown’s excellent, but wussified in-the-oven technique (Quoth Good Eats: “Place the vegetable oil and flour into a 5 to 6-quart cast iron Dutch oven and whisk together to combine. Place on the middle shelf of the oven, uncovered, and bake for 1 1/2 hours, whisking 2 to 3 times throughout the cooking process.” ); or the way Marie would make it. In a heavy-bottomed dutch oven, heat the oil on medium flame. Whisk in flour. Turn down low. Stir with a wooden spoon until it reaches a peanut-butter color—about half an hour. DO NOT RUSH! This is labor intensive, and I’d say you could enlist the boys, but that stuff gets wicked hot. So make your husband do it. See if you can get him to adopt a Cajun accent while he’s doing it.

Too light!

Just right

Too dark!

Once you’ve got the roux where you want it, time for the Trinity. Add the onions. Stir until they release their juices and turn translucent. Add celery and bell pepper, let cook for a few minutes, then add the garlic. 

Sweating the vegetables in the roux

Turn the heat up and add the stock. Whisk until everything incorporates and add spices, Worcestershire and Tabasco. Simmer uncovered for 45 minutes.. Add shrimp, stir, take off heat, cover and let sit for ten minutes. Check to see if the shrimp are done, and stir in filé, which thickens the gumbo a bit. The consistency should be thick enough to coat the back of a spoon, like a gravy.

Tuck in the shrimp and cover

Add stock

Serve over steamed white rice. Sprinkle chopped green onions on top. Pass Tabasco and extra filé at table. Some crusty bread would be good. Maybe a little salad just to make yourself feel better about the high-calorie gumbo that you just fed the boys. Watch in amazement as your family scarfs it all down and suddenly decide they want to go fishing.

Ginuwine Guff Coast Gumbo

NOTE: You can add shucked oysters and picked crabmeat to this if you’re feeling particularly well-off. Just be careful not to overcook.