Very few Americans knew anything about the Cajun people of Louisiana or their language, their music, their customs or their food until Louisiana native Chef Paul Prudhomme made the food part of their tradition a culinary sensation in the late 1970’s. Suddenly, everywhere you looked there was something “Cajun” or “Cajun style” featured on the bill of fare. If Prudhomme had made blackened redfish so incredibly popular, well, then, every chef and cook in the whole country had to have it on the menu, to the extent that redfish almost became extinct.
But, hey, that’s okay, we’ll just start blackening any kind of fish and everything else and call it “Cajun”. Plus we’ll toss on a lot of cayenne pepper and make it REAL Cajun because REAL Cajun is always hot, right? Alas, that’s not how it works. At any rate the world got to find out a little bit about who the actual Cajuns are.
The word “Cajun” is a contraction of “Acadian” in the same way that “injun” once was the old cowboy movie contraction of “Indian”. Prudhomme, who died in 2015, was from Opelousas, Louisiana and was as Cajun as you can get.
Acadia is that part of Newfoundland which was renamed Nova Scotia when the British more or less overran the place and gave the French settlers there the boot. After being refused residence in France, those Acadian settlers wound up in the southern Louisiana parishes which now make up “Cajun country.” They went there because the Spanish who then owned Louisiana, needed farmers and offered them free land grants west of New Orleans if they would go there and farm it and make food. So they did.
Cajun food, both from the bayou and the prairie, makes up in flavor what it lacks in the Creole sophistication of New Orleans cuisine. It is “country” food and uses fresh vegetables, fresh meats, warm seasonings and lots of rice. It is also heavily influenced by African and Native American foodways in addition to many food traditions brought over from France.
One of these is boudin (“boo-dan”), made with pork liver, onions, green onions, salt, red and black pepper, parsley and rice —- the rice being cooked in a rich meat stock. You then stuff it in natural pork or artificial casings. It looks like sausage but it’s not. You don’t fry it, you just barely simmer it in water or stock until cooked through; about 40 minutes.
The first time I tasted Cajun boudin was in the little country town of Mamou, Louisiana, at the sundown conclusion of the dawn-to-dusk Mardi Gras festival there, while being surrounded by men in clown suits, standing up in the saddles of moving horses while drinking whiskey from the bottle. (Mardi Gras is French for “Fat Tuesday”, the day before the abstinence of Lent when you are free to eat a lot, drink a lot and be as merry as you please.)
It was one of the strangest things I had ever seen in my whole life and even that was eclipsed by the boudin. I bought a 5-pound box of this stuff from “Joe’s Slaughter House” hot from the cooker and ate almost a fifth of it on the four-hour drive back home. “Delicious” doesn’t even come close! My son, Robert and I now make it on occasion to the horror of other household members who no can longer recognize their kitchens after we’ve wrecked it stuffing boudin.
But it is the gumbo that can really win your heart. At around the time of my first boudin encounter, the best gumbo was reputed to be at Cazan’s Hotel in the middle of Mamou. So I had some. I made up my mind on the spot that I would make this wonderful thing at home.
The word for gumbo is “ki-ngombo” in the West African Bantu dialect and it is their word for “okra” so the derivation of today’s gumbo no doubt traces back to Africa and to okra. Currently, gumbo either contains okra or it doesn’t. Some people put it in there to thicken the result but I don’t. The dark brown, flour-and-oil “roux” does the thickening equally well.
The same logic applies to powdered sasafrass leaves, known as “file” (fee-lay), a spice inherited from the Cherokee Indians which I also omit. The roux is a contribution from the French, although it is very much darker and richer than a typical French roux. Obviously, Cajun cooking has many varied pedigrees.
To me the roux is the most important part of a great gumbo. To make enough gumbo for 8 people you should brown 3/4 cup of white flour in 1/2 cup of oil in a large pot over medium-high heat, stirring constantly with a whisk for about 30 minutes. I use a light olive oil which has a high flash point. This will give you a very dark roux which is what you want.
Stirring constantly is vital to keep the roux from burning. If you see flecks of burnt residue you’ll have to ditch it and start over because you can never get the burnt taste out. If you haven’t made this before just take your time, don’t have a beer while stirring and you’ll be okay. My roux takes me about 25-30 minutes but it’s worth it. Then you’ve earned the beer.
Before you start making the roux, however, you should chop 1 large onion and set it aside, then 3 stalks of celery, 1 red or green bell pepper (and/or 2 medium, seeded, jalapeno peppers), 1 whole bunch green onions, about 1/3 bunch fresh green parsley and set this aside. Also cut up 1 pound of andouille sausage or 1 pound kielbassa (or some of both) and a cut-up whole chicken and set it aside. (You can certainly use shrimp and/or oysters instead of or with chicken). I don’t use garlic in gumbo buy you certainly can if you prefer.
When your roux is nice and mahogany-colored, add the cut-up white onions and stir this for about 5 minutes. Then add the remaining vegetables and continue stirring for 3 minutes more. Add 2 quarts of water and 2 tablespoons of chicken base paste (or simply use 2 quarts of packaged chicken stock). Allow this to simmer on medium heat for 10 minutes. Add 1 tablespoon of brown gravy sauce and 3 or 4 whole bay leaves. Add as much ground black pepper as you like. Let this simmer for 20 minutes then add the chicken or the shrimp and fresh oysters. Then pour yourself a nice glass of beer and relax. Your gumbo should be ready in 30-45 minutes. Allow it to cool for a few minutes before serving with a scoop of rice in the middle. (Gumbo just as tasty after being stored overnight in the refrigerator and re-heated).
Check your gumbo after 30 minutes or so and if it seems too thick add water. Test for saltiness and add salt if needed.
My great friend and film producer, Bill Norris, introduced me to Cajun Country years ago and I fell in love with the place, its people, its marvelous food, its quirky version of spoken French and its butt-kickin’ music. Pictured here are friends and Mamou natives, Hadley Fontenot, reknowned concertina accordionist with Savy Augustine, after an afternoon of fabulous music, a magnificent, homemade sauce picante at Savy’s camp outside of town. (It was Savy’s wife, Clarisse, who made the sauce picante).
I once asked Savy what a gumbo was and he replied “it’s a roux you add stuff to, Bob” thus underscoring the primacy of a good roux.