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So, my family is from New Orleans on my dad’s side. I grew up eating Cajun and creole food because my grandmother was an AMAZING cook. She was judgmental as fuck, but the woman knew her way around a kitchen. One of my biggest regrets was that we didn’t get some of her recipes before she died almost three years ago. Since her death I have waffled on attempting gumbo. Hers was insanely delicious, and lord knows that fucking it up wouldn’t be an option because she’s the type that would totally haunt me.

Last night, I made my roux. My grandmother’s gumbo was a deep brown, like chocolate, so I knew I was in for something just taking the time to cook my roux. I found a place to get crawfish meat. I got whole fresh shrimp and cleaned them myself (like I said, I grew up doing this kind of thing with and for her). I got myself some damn good crab. I even found filé in Cleveland!!

Y’all. I cried over my roux for five whole minutes. It looked like hers. Cooking is a particularly emotional thing for me, and after my breakup I didn’t cook for anyone other than myself for a year. The first time I tried to, I cried. Bawled. Anyway, long story short, my sister told me my gumbo tastes like my grandmother’s and it’s beautiful and this was my roux before I made the gumbo


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