As any good Cajun cook will tell you, "First you make a roux." But what, you might ask, is a roux?.

Even with the proliferation over the last couple of decades of Cajun chefs, Cajun restaurants and Cajun cookbooks, blackened this and blackened that (what ever that means); most non- Cajun aficionados of South Louisiana’s cuisine can’t explain a roux either.

But I was in luck Sunday when an actual real life Cajun from Kraemer Louisiana, my best pal Keith, showed up at my kitchen door in Silver Lake. "I heard ya'll needed some help with a roux."

As my fellow Louisianaian explains, the gumbo starts with the cast iron skillet, not the roux. If you don’t have a thick skillet the heat won’t distribute properly and the roux will be either over or under cooked. With that in mind, I turn the fire on high and pour one cup of canola oil in the skillet along with one piece of bacon. The bacon adds a subtle flavor and also serves somewhat like a canary in a coal mine. If the bacon cooks too fast the fire’s too hot (I said kinda like a canary in a coal mine).

Actually the Gumbo doesn’t start with the roux or the skillet, it starts with my Momma, Miss Betty. She passed away last month at the age of 86. Miss Betty lived a long life, raised six children, stayed married for 47 years (that alone made her eligible for sainthood) and always maintained a cheerful, loving disposition (and you thought the Nile was a river in Egypt). And even though a native of North Carolina she mastered the art of Cajun cooking and made an excellent Gumbo.

Cajun culture is matriarchal and like many families in South Louisiana Momma called the shots as far as the children and house was concerned. Everyone in the neighborhood, even Daddy, called her Miss Betty. She was at her best when preparing a big meal for the family. I was the youngest and remember the excitement of waiting for my older sisters, who were in school in Baton Rouge, to come home for the weekend. That meant that it was Friday, the day she made gumbo.

Since her death last month I feel overwhelmingly alone. It occurred to me when I got back to LA after her funeral that it might make me feel better or closer to her if I made a gumbo. So that’s what I did.

Now back to the roux. As the canola oil gets hotter and the bacon gets crisper (about five minutes), add flour, in quarter cup increments, over the next several minutes. Once one full cup of flour is added, I began the zen-like process of stirring the ingredients together, being ever vigilant to dissolve each pocket of flour. After about ten minutes remove the bacon, and continue to stir for another fifteen. Yes, zen. Once the roux reached a light chocolate brown color I remove the skillet from the fire, and continued to stir for another five minutes as it cools down. And then I pour it into a pyrex dish. Keep in mind, a roux requires constant love and attention, so be prepared to stand in front of the stove for at least a half hour.

Once the roux’s finished, the hard part’s done. Time to sear the chicken, cook the sausage, and chop the vegetables. (That’s when I start to be grateful that my boyfriend Gilbert, who never met a kitchen he didn’t like, is a professional chef, and is drinking coffee and chatting with me and Keith in the kitchen - my own nuclear family. Gilbert has a way with vegetables and expertly chops one cup of celery, one cup of sweet onion, one quarter cup parsley and cilantro; he also cuts fat off the chicken, 2 pounds, and chops 36 ounces of turkey sausage).

Back to the recipe, brown the chicken on high heat until crispy then put it aside. Next brown the sausage in the same frying pan. Once the meat’s ready, sautée the celery and onions until lightly caramelized. The parsley and cilantro (as with all herbs) are added last to keep from burning and getting mushy.

In a tall 32 quart pot (like the kind you boil pasta in) add 4 quarts of chicken stock, two 14 ounce cans of chicken broth, a teaspoon of garlic paste and a teaspoon of cumin. Then add the chicken, sausage, and vegetables; and for good measure two more cups of water. Bring everything to a boil, reduce heat and let simmer for five hours stirring occasionally. Miss Betty’s Gumbo.

Tim Aitkens was born and raised in Louisiana, in the middle of Cajun country. Today he lives in the Silverlake area of Los Angeles, lured to California by images seen in the popular television shows of his childhood. With his faithful step-dog Papi, he cooks, entertains and talks politics when he's not climbing the corporate ladder at a multinational computer company. 

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