Southern fare has grown on me, much like the invasive Japanese vine that slowly but steadily has covered the South,

After six years inn Alabama, I’m returning to my home turf of Southern California. Still, my time in Dixie has left an indelible impression on my palate. There are many things I’ll miss–great friends and neighbors, my 1930s bungalow in what has to be the kookiest neighborhood in Birmingham. But here are just a few of the foods I’ve come to love:

All of Frank Stitt’s restaurants. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, Birmingham’s Frank Stitt is a terrifically talented and versatile chef. He’s kept the empire manageable enough that he and his wife, Pardis, are involved in the day-to-day operations of their three restaurants: the high-end, New Southern-style Highlands; the bistro Chez Fonfon; and  Bottega. 

A plate of pull-pork 'cue and all the fixins=pure goodness.

Barbecue, and especially pulled pork barbecue. Until I moved to Birmingham, barbecue never did much for me. Maybe because I’d never had really great barbecue before. But a former work colleague, Mike Wilson, has a tidy side business making incredible North Carolina-style pulled-pork barbecue and selling his vinegary Saw’s Sauce, which you can buy. Add pickles and crunchy coleslaw (another food I learned to love in Dixie), and I’m a happy camper. Yes, there is barbecue in Southern California, but it won’t be a patch on Mike’s.

All pig products. Well, really, I’ve come to love pork in all its forms–bacon, sausage, roasts, etc.

Summer-fresh shell beans. Birmingham’s wonderful farmer’s market at Pepper Place is full of fresh shell beans and peas (butter beans, lady peas, pink-eyed peas–you name it), which became one of my favorite summertime staples. I love to toss the cooked beans with a simple vinaigrette (usually some variation of the supereasy Marinated Lady Peas from Cooking Light). For the piece de resistance, add a dollop of homemade mayonnaise, which I understand is a uniquely Birmingham treat.

Jon and his secret gumbo ingredient: Tony Cachere's

My friend Jon’s gumbo. Not too long ago, several of us gathered at my friend Aimee’s house for a gumbo-making lesson. It’s a big pot of love.

The soul-soothing, tummy-warming goodness of jambalaya. I was in New Orleans a few years ago and watched Chef Frank Brigtsen do a cooking demo of his jambalaya. The demo was interesting, but the tasting was heaven. The jambalaya was delicious, of course, but even more, it made me warm and contented from the inside out.

My friend Kevin’s biscuits and chocolate gravy. He’ll whip this specialty up on the occasional weekend morning. It’s his mama’s biscuits and a gravy made, literally, of chocolate. Hmm, I’ll have to beg him to make a batch tomorrow morning.

Kevin and one of his many cast-iron cookware pieces.

Kevin’s cornbread. Also made from a family recipe in a hand-me-down cast-iron skillet.

Sonic, which has helped me through a long, dry spell of no In-n-Out Burger.

Bahn mi sandwiches at Pho Que Huong. Yes, Birmingham has a Vietnamese restaurant, and it’s hopping at lunchtime. I’m addicted to their char sui bahn mi sandwiches. It’s another way I learned to love pork.

Falafel sandwiches at George’s Lebanese Restaurant. Birmingham has a lively and sizable Lebanese community, and my favorite spot is George’s. It’s a modest strip-mall restaurant and grocery, lined with hookah pipes and run by George and his wife.  I just wish George would start wearing his fez again. It was cool.

Gumbo Guru: Jon swears by Tony Cachere's Creole Seasoning

OK, my previous post covered the importance of roux and how to prepare it. Now it’s time to share the full recipe and share the finished product.

Jon’s Gumbo

You’ll need to allow plenty of time to make this Creole-style stew. The roux alone takes a half-hour or longer, and the stew needs to simmer at least an hour. It’s time well spent. Invite some friends and make a party of it.

Roux:

1 cup all-purpose flour

1/2 cup canola oil

Gumbo:

2 small bags frozen seasoning blend vegetables (onions, bell peppers, celery, and parsley), thawed

1 bulb garlic, minced

6 cups water

1 (2-pound bag) sliced frozen okra, thawed

2 (14.5-ounce) cans diced tomatoes, undrained)

1  can Original Ro-Tel tomatoes

2 bay leaves

2 pounds spicy smoked sausage, sliced* 

2 pounds shrimp, peeled and deveined**

1 pound jumbo lump crab meat (optional; add it if you’re feeling flush. We weren’t.)

1 pint raw oysters (optional; add them if you’re feeling flush. We weren’t.)

1 1/2 teaspoons Tony Cachere’s Creole Seasoning, to taste

Salt, to taste

Black pepper, to taste

Gumbo file powder***

Tabasco 

Rice:

4 cups water or chicken broth

2 cups Louisiana popcorn rice****

Jon's Gumbo: a pot of goodness on a chilly evening.

1. Prepare the roux, as per my previous post. When it’s done, add the seasoning blend and garlic. (As Jon, notes, this helps cool the roux mixture so it doesn’t blend. Still, keep in mind, roux is called “Cajun napalm” for a reason–it’s very hot and may bubble and spatter when you add the vegetables. Use caution.) Cook the vegetables until tender.

2. While the vegetables cook, bring about 6 cups water to a boil in a large soup pot or Dutch oven. Add the roux-vegetable mixture, okra, tomatoes, bay leaves, and sausage to the pot (“At this point, it’s just a dump soup,” Jon notes.) Reduce the heat, and simmer 1 hour. Add the shrimp (and crab and oysters, if you’re using them); simmer 5 minutes or until the shrimp are done. Stir in the Creole seasoning. Add salt and pepper to taste (you may not need them at all. Serve with file powder and Tabasco at the table.

3. While the gumbo simmers, prepare the rice. Bring 4 cups water or broth to a boil in a saucepan. Stir in the rice. Reduce the heat, cover, and simmer 15 minutes or until the liquid is absorbed. 

* Jon is a fan of Alabama-made Conecuh sausage. I couldn’t find it at the local supermarket, so we used Savoie’s Andouille sausage. Andouille is a spicy smoked Cajun-style sausage available in many supermarkets. You can use any kind of spicy smoked sausage you find.

**If you have the time and want to make your gumbo extra special, Jon suggests saving the shrimp shells and using them to make a simple stock for the soup. To do this, combine the shrimp shells; half an onion, coarsely chopped; 1 celery stalk, coarsely chopped; 2 bay leaves; 3 thyme sprigs; and a teaspoon of black peppercorns in a Dutch oven or other large pot. Cover with 8 cups cold water. Bring it to a boil; reduce the heat, and simmer for 45 minutes. Every so often, skim the surface to remove any solids. Strain through a fine-mesh sieve over a bowl. You can do this step a day ahead. Use the shrimp stock in place of the water in the gumbo.

***Gumbo file (pronounced FEE-lay) powder is made from ground dried sassafrass leaves. It adds an herbaceous quality and acts as a thickening agent. It’s added to the gumbo after cooking.

****Popcorn rice is a Louisiana specialty, a cross between basmati and American long-grain varieties. It actually smells like popped popcorn as it cooks. You can find it at specialty stores, order it online, or substitute regular basmati rice.

Rascal helps Aimee make her first roux.

I may have devoted my last post to bragging about my salad, but the real purpose of our shindig last night was for my friend Jon to teach my friend Aimee how to make his gumbo.

For the uninitiated, gumbo is a hallowed Creole stew that first appeared in Louisiana more than two centuries ago. It was made in humble backwoods Cajun settlements and in the kitchens of the finest Garden District homes in New Orleans. Every pot of gumbo is an American melting pot, melding culinary traditions from West Africa (in the form of okra; “gumbo” is an African word the green pods) to the file powder (made from dried ground sassafrass leaves used by the indigenous Choctaw Indians) to the roux contributed by French settlers. Gumbo takes many forms, with each cook tailoring the ingredients to suit. In lean times, folks might settle for a vegetable-only gumbo. In times of plenty, gumbos are augmented with oysters, crab meat, even turtle meat. Gumbo may be a child of Louisiana, but it’s been embraced across the South, from Mississippi to Alabama and beyond. For a wonderful, comprehensive history of the dish, check out the Southern Foodways Alliance’s Gumbo Trail Web site. It’s a treat.

Teacher and student: Jon gives Aimee a lesson in the finer points of making roux

So when someone agrees to share his gumbo with you, he’s sharing more than a recipe. He’s sharing a piece of his soul. (Sorry, Jon, I know that will make you puke, but it’s true.) That’s because gumbo recipes are handed down from one generation to the next, evolving with each cook’s taste. Jon made a study of gumbo, seeking advice from his mom, of course, a chef from New Orleans’ Commander’s Palace, and anyone else with expertise. Along the way, he refined his gumbo (I’ll share the recipe in a follow-up post). Last night, he taught the recipe to Aimee, who in turn will refine it and make it her own.

Gumbo’s foundation is the roux (pronounced ROO), which is nothing more than flour cooked in fat (can be vegetable oil, butter, lard, or drippings) over low heat for a long time. It takes patience. There are a few things to keep in mind:

• Roux takes time–at least 30 minutes, often longer. You can’t rush roux. 
• Roux requires constant attention. It can burn in the blink of an eye. Do not stop stirring, do not turn your back. Do pour yourself a glass of wine, gather a few friends for company (they can take over the stirring, if needed), and settle in at the stove.
  

  Kevin helps with the stirring.

• If the roux burns, you’ll need to start over.
• Making roux is a lesson in trusting your senses. You’ll see it change color, from a pale paste to a smooth, chocolate-colored, nutty-scented concoction with a consistency similar to thick yogurt.

Time and attention will transform a humble paste of flour and oil into a luscious roux.

Jon had Aimee start with 1 cup all-purpose flour and 1/2 cup canola oil in a well-seasoned cast-iron skillet (if it’s one that’s been in the family for generations–this one had been a gift to Aimee’s husband, Kevin, from his mama–so much the better). You can use any sturdy pan, but cast iron holds and conducts heat particularly well. Adjust the proportions as needed. If it looks too thin, add a tablespoon or so more flour. If it’s too thick, add a bit more oil.

Aimee settles in at stove to make her roux. Brodus supervises.

Within 10 minutes, the roux takes on a smooth consistency and pale-almond color.

Within 10 minutes or so, the roux begins to take on a pale almond hue. Things are happening…

Halfway point: the roux is the the color of caramel.

Another 10 minutes or so, and it’s starting to look more like caramel. Things are looking good!

After about 20 minutes, Aimee needs a quick break, so Kevin steps up to the stove. She returns, commences stirring again. After about 30 minutes, the roux is looking like milk chocolate.

“It’s magic!” Aimee claims.

“It’s science,” says Jon.

He’s a former high-school science teacher, so we know he’s right. He starts explaining how the heat and oil are affecting the gluten in the flour, etc. Etc. Etc. If you want to learn about the science behind roux, I suggest you consult the fine work of food scientists Harold McGee or Shirley Corriher. 

Finally, the roux reaches chocolate stage. It’s smooth. It’s dark. It smells nutty. It’s ready.

The roux is ready. It's time to make gumbo!

Up next: Gumbo and the Green Goddess, part 3: Time to Eat (and the recipe).