Its a popular thing for people to post pictures on FB of whatever is going on in their lives at the time. So, if you have the time to sit for a few minutes, here is a picture of my Sunday afternoon: Church was fine today. The childrens sermon is my favorite part. The kids always have something profound to add. The little girls are generally the ring leaders, but they all compete, hoping Pastor will point to their own, wildly-waving hand when he asks a question. Pastor is young. Sometimes, the conversation gets away from him, but hes learning to just keep on going. I sat in my usual spot: 2nd pew from the front; to the left as you face the altar. Im partial to that spot. Im the chief groupie for the bass player in the band. His hair is thinning a bit on the top and theres some gray in his beard, but I watch his hands on the strings of the electric bass and he still catches my eye. Every time. I listen for his voice, blended with the others, because hes not singing any solos today. Outside, its cold and gray and wet. Unusual for Austin, TX. The mist settles down in between the hills, making them look like a Japanese painting. In our house, its warm and many of the lights are on, to keep the grayness outside where it belongs. On the top of the stove sits my biggest soup pot and the distinctive, popped-popcorn smell of gumbo roux fills the air. In a skillet on the other side of the stove, andouille sausage browns. Soon, onions will take their place, sweating out their water, getting ready to join the sausage in the soup pot. The roux thickens until its thicker than oatmeal and turns a deep brown. The color of a copper penny. And my hand stings, where the oil in the roux popped and burned me. (Theres not much in the world hotter than gumbo roux, when it gets on your skin. Except maybe glue from a hot glue gun.) I run cold water over it and Mike brings me the Lanacaine. Im too busy to stop stirring the roux. Finally, it reaches that crucial point, where, if you stop the cooking too soon, it wont have the right flavor, but a few seconds too long, and you have to throw it out and start all over again. In goes the chicken stock and the stirring begins again. It wont thicken until it comes almost to a boil. Only then will I know if Ive gotten the proportions right, because I never measure when I cook. It makes it more exciting. Cooking is an art, I say. I measure when I bake. Baking is chemistry. I dont bake much. I dont like chemistry. The gumbo finally thickens and in goes the sausage and the onions, garlic and bell peppers, diced chicken, half of the green onions (For the flavor. Theyll wilt as they cook and Ill add the rest at the end, for color.) and finally, my favorite: the shrimp. No crawfish today. I like everything gumbo. Matthew, my youngest son, doesnt eat shrimp. Thats all right, is my opinion, more for me. Hell have to ladle out his gumbo carefully, when we eat, to get just the chicken and the sausage. No okra in this gumbo. I like okra gumbo, but no one else in the family eats okra. Besides, when my Momma cooked okra gumbo, it was a side dish: with onions, tomatoes, and corn. Next, comes the first round of seasonings: Old Bay, and more garlic (you cant have too much). I put in file powder next. Dried, ground sassafras leaves, for those who dont know. I cant describe to you what flavor it adds, but its the way I learned to make gumbo. Some folks dont like it at all and some folks put it in like a condiment, after the gumbo is served. And last of all, at least for this round of seasoning, comes my late mother-in-laws secret ingredient. (Thats my ex-husbands mother, the much-loved and greatly missed, Nellie Marie Robicheaux Pittman.) No salt. Not yet. (Old Bay has salt in it and you have to wait until the flavors mix to see if you need more.) Upstairs, Mike is taking a break from grading papers. There arent as many since he switched schools, but still a lot. Hes teaching middle school math now, instead of English. I dont miss grading papers. It ranked right down at the bottom of my list, along with faculty meetings, parents you cant get in touch with, and gratuitous in-service training. Im sitting; now that the gumbo is simmering, in my usual place: on the floor, at the coffee table, my back up against the couch. If I move around two much, Jackie, the Jack Russell terrier, up on the couch behind me, will snarl and Booger, on my other side, will inch in the opposite direction, to avoid any conflict. One day, Ill have to find a new place to sit. Getting down on the floor is still easy. Gravity takes care of that, but I cant stand up by just uncrossing my legs any more. That sucks. In the background, I hear whatever Matt is listening to on his computer. I cant tell what it is, but he obviously finds it funny. Its good to hear him laugh. And now that youve been so patient and let me take up a bit of your day, Ill go stir the gumbo and wait for Barrett to call me on Skype. I hope you have a good rest of the day.
Posted on: Sun, 16 Nov 2014 21:38:48 +0000
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