First You Make a Roux

There were and still are many things to learn about living way down south, so near the Gulf of Mexico. But one of the first and funnest has been the way of cooking. I don’t, nor will I ever, consider myself a “great cook.” I'm certainly no master chef! I’ve never had that label and don’t expect to work too hard to earn that label. But I sometimes have fun in the kitchen. I make the attempt often enough and experiment enough to have learned early on when cooking a Cajun meal, “first you make a roux.”

A roux is a heavenly, full-bodied gravy that serves as the base for most everything else. You begin by putting flour in your pan and adding a little oil - some people do equal parts, but you can use less oil or even no oil at all, if you really must. The results will be functional but less flavorful. The trick is to cook that over a low to medium heat, stirring and stirring and stirring the pot. You want the flour to brown to about the shade of peanut butter without any bits of it burning.

You should have, standing by, whatever onions, celery and bell pepper you intend to add - chopped and ready to go. The amount, of course, depends on the amount of flour/oil you use, which depends on the size of your finished dish. I can’t tell you all that. I always check a recipe for an approximation before I begin. The secret, however, is in stirring and browning the roux. When it’s ready, when you have it as dark as you want - or as dark as can be without burning - you add the “trilogy” all at once and stir that in. The addition stops the roux from continuing to brown.

You still stir, more slowly, to cook the vegetables. You can be a little less vigilant here, but don’t ignore it for too long or it will not evenly cook. When the vegetables are cooked - if the onions are clear the rest are done - you add your liquid, slowly, stirring well so the base does not clump. The liquid can be water or chicken stock or fish stock, depending on what you’re creating.

This is the base for your finished dish, and the diligence and patience with which you prepare the roux makes all the difference in the world with the final flavor. No matter how you season the finished stew or gumbo or etouffee, if you have not taken time with the roux the taste will tell it. It takes practice to make a good roux, to get it just right. And with someone, such as myself, who does not have the background to be a great cook, it is often a matter of hit or miss.

I’m just sitting here reflecting early morning after the children have left to go back home to St. Louis. Raising children is much like making a roux. The effort we put in shows up in the final flavor.
 
Fortunately, however, when it comes to children, we sometimes get a special grace for our lack of practice and expertise, for our lack of background in preparing the base. If we are blessed - as I have been. A grace that sprinkles like seasoned salt over the finished dish, bringing out the full flavor - as if a master had created her with his own hands.

Just a reminder to keep stirring the pot, gently, with patience and with vigilance.
 
And pray for grace.