Sweet Smell of Gumbo

I tried to slice little green onions with my working arm this morning. I thought, for some insane reason, I could make an omelet left-handed. I cut one and a-half onions, but gave up, a little afraid I might lose my balance since my right arm, in a cast from the elbow to knuckles, begins to throb if it falls below my waist. The nurse recommended holding it Pledge of Allegiance style, but Statue of Liberty style feels better.  So, I tried to raise my right arm heavenward while cutting with the left. I felt like I was in a wobbly yoga tree pose. Fortunately, husband came to the rescue and cooked my breakfast – avocado, green onions and cherub tomatoes – folded over in a creamy, slightly browned omelet. He hasn’t always been such a good cook, especially when it comes to gumbo. Even though good gumbo cooks run in both of our families, I’m convinced it’s a recessive gene. The gene simply recedes when you promise to make a big gumbo for supper or company’s coming. Such was the case one Saturday when husband got out all the recipes and promised a gumbo. When I returned from shopping a few hours later, he had made little progress. He said he couldn’t get the roux to brown.  “It smells like the fair,” I said as we discussed the basic things that can ruin a roux.  “Flour can get bad, you know,” I said. He pointed to the opaque Tupperware container, “It looked okay to me.” I inspected the foggy plastic, its masking tape label long weathered away, and laughed. He was using powdered sugar, not flour, to make the roux. That’s when I learned – never promise gumbo and if the roux smells sweet, sell it on the midway.


About thegumbodiaries

On the search for the perfect gumbo!
This entry was posted in Dear Diary (Gumbo Experiences).... Bookmark the permalink.

1 Response to Sweet Smell of Gumbo

  1. Jeannie says:

    Reading your blog has made me very hungry for gumbo! 🙂 Can’t wait for more!


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