“Oh no, no escargot, no cordon bleu
This ain’t the place to go lookin’ for beef stew
But if you like tender shrimp and rice
If ya think ya can stand the spice
She cook gumbo
A mighty rad gumbo” Rad Gumbo by Little Feat
I’m landlocked. It’s a six-hour drive to the nearest beach. So how do I manage fresh seafood for gumbo? I have it delivered fresh from the Alabama Gulf Coast by Betty Champion, Instructor at The Gumbo Academy in Mobile, AL. Not only is Betty and her husband Gil delivering the seafood, but she is going to give me a crash course on making the pottage that fills the stomach and the soul.
Betty, with her darling dimples and sweet smile, grew up in South Alabama, with gumbo readily available. But she never attempted to make a pot herself until she became an adult. Years later, after church fundraising gumbo cook offs and a state arts grant, the Gumbo Academy was born. Her mission is to keep the labor intensive art alive for future generations. This was especially important after the Deepwater Horizon oil spill in 2010, a disastrous event that almost devastated the bottom-dwelling oyster, blue crabs and flounder.
Gumbo probably comes from an Angolan word kingombo, which means okra, a key ingredient in the delicious stew. A mixing pot of cultures flooded into the coasts of Louisiana, Mississippi and Alabama from France, Spain, Haiti, England, along with the African slaves and the indigenous people inhabiting the area. Each ethnicity contributed their tweak to the stick-to-the-ribs recipe.
“No one person will make their gumbo just like someone else’s,” Betty tells me. Years of experimenting can bring new, and perhaps, preferred, tastes to the palate.
Betty cites four things to remember when attempting gumbo: practice makes perfect; making gumbo is not hard; make lots of gumbo and freeze for later; and don’t save gumbo for special occasions.
“The secret to a good gumbo is organization. It cuts down on your time,” Betty dictates, adding, “Another secret is PATIENCE: don’t cut corners on the roux.”
First and foremost, I carefully read over the recipe, graciously shared by Betty, from her mother’s collection. Then I begin prepping my ingredients. With veggies cut up and spices measured, I nervously begin to melt the shortening for my savory brown roux, the gravy-like base for my gumbo. Making the roux requires patience and steadfast stirring.
A well-seasoned cast iron skillet is the preferred vessel. Melt the fat low and slow and add flour. Then drag up a chair, because this step will take some time. You MUST stir roux constantly, using a slotted spoon or whisk, to prevent burning. And I mean constantly; long and repetitively enough to give you carpal tunnel syndrome. Seriously, the cooking time can vary from 30 minutes to an hour. Playing some funky jams can help pass the time. (Alexa, play some Mardi Gras mambos.)
So what does the roux look like when it’s ready? It’s not just about the appearance, but also the aroma. For seafood gumbo, most cooks prefer to use a medium brown roux, with a rich copper/brown hue and an aroma of freshly popped popcorn. Sometimes the roux smells ready, yet it hasn’t reached the tone of brown Betty prefers. In these cases, she reaches for a dash of Kitchen Bouquet, a caramel and vegetable based food additive used by food stylists. Also, bear in mind, she say, that adding vegetables to the roux will also darken it a bit.
How do you know if you’ve burned your roux? You may see some black residue, but you’ll also smell the burn, an odor some say is similar to burnt popcorn. If this happens, throw it out and start over. There are a few methods floating around that allegedly save a burned roux, but if you really care about your cooking, you’ll want it to be just right.
It’s all downhill from here. Add your “Holy Trinity” (celery, onion and bell peppers) to the roux, transfer the mixture to a large stock pot, add the rest of the vegetables and spices. Then it’s stir and simmer time.
I like to serve my gumbo in a shallow coupe bowl, with a scoop of rice in middle. Hushpuppies or Mexican cornbread are the perfect accompaniment.
Since Betty was kind enough to share her tried-and-true recipe, I’ll share it with you. Tweak it to your taste or follow the original. Will this be a keeper for you?
1 cup Crisco or oil
1 cup all purpose flour
1 cup chopped onion
1 cup chopped celery
1 cup chopped bell pepper
1-16 ounce package of frozen okra or a generous 2 cups of fresh, cut
2-15 ounce cans diced tomatoes
4 cups water, chicken broth or seafood stock
4 chicken bouillon cubes
1-1/2 tsp salt
1 tsp pepper
1/2 tsp oregano
1/2 tsp thyme
1 tsp parsley
1/2 tsp turmeric
2 to 4 bay leaves
Dash of Worcestershire sauce
6 to 12 cleaned crab bodies and/or one pint of crabmeat, preferably claw meat
2 to 4 cups peeled shrimp (approximately 2 pounds)
Into a large stock pot place the following ingredients and have on low heat while making your roux: okra; tomatoes; 3 cups water, chicken broth or seafood stock (reserving one cup for later use); chicken bouillon cubes; salt; pepper; oregano; thyme; parsley; turmeric; bay leaves; and crab bodies, if you are using them. If you are using crab meat, do not add it at this time.
In a cast iron skillet, heat Crisco to just melted, then add flour. Stir constantly to prepare a roux to a rich, brown color over low heat, approximately 25-45 minutes. Add the onion, celery and bell pepper and sautéed several minutes until the onion is transparent. . Transfer the mixture to the large stock pot. Rinse the cast iron skillet with the remaining one cup of stock and transfer all the deglazing liquid to the stockpot.
Cook the above mixture approximately one hour over low heat.
After at least one hour of cooking, add 2 to 4 cups of peeled shrimp. Allow gumbo to return to temperature and cook for 10 or so minutes. Add crabmeat and allow gumbo to heat up again. Crabmeat does not need to cook. Do not overcook the crabmeat and shrimp. If you do so, the shrimp will be tough and the lumps of crabmeat will disintegrate.
This recipe makes about a gallon of gumbo.
Wondering where the photo is of the finished product? Yeah, well, we ate it before any pictures could be taken. You’ve got the recipe, now make your own.
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