By March has arrived and with it the awareness that the things I do now in this house, in this school, at this table, are things I am doing for the last time in their current form. The last March of high school. The last spring at Scotlandville Magnet. The last time I will be a student in a building where every teacher knows my name and Mrs. Patterson still calls me "future doctor" in the hallway. I am not sentimental by nature — I am my father's daughter, and Marcus Robinson does not do sentimentality — but something about the last-ness of everything has made me pay attention in a way that is new and tender and uncomfortable.
The valedictorian speech. I have to write it. I have been putting it off because the weight of it is specific: I have to speak for the class, but I also have to speak for myself, and the two are not always the same thing. What does a class want to hear? What does Scotlandville need to hear? What do I need to say? The intersection of those three circles is where the speech lives, and I have not found it yet. I will. I have until May. But the not-finding is sitting in my chest like an unfinished roux — it needs attention and I am not giving it enough.
I submitted the sickle cell project to Mrs. Patterson on Friday. Forty-seven pages, including the family interviews, the genetic analysis, the historical section on medical racism, and a recommendations section that I am proud of because it is specific: these are the things a pediatrician in this community should know, should ask, should do. Mrs. Patterson read it over the weekend and emailed me Monday morning: "This is graduate-level work. I am going to miss you." I saved the email.
Saturday at MawMaw Shirley's. We made shrimp Creole — the tomato-based version with the bell pepper and the cayenne that builds slowly over three bites. She taught me to check the shrimp by color, not by time — "Time lies. The shrimp don't." We ate together at her small kitchen table, just the two of us, and she told me about the time she cooked shrimp Creole for a church fundraiser and accidentally doubled the cayenne and three deacons needed water. She laughed so hard telling it that she had to put her fork down. I love her laugh. I will remember it always. I will.
That Saturday at MawMaw Shirley’s stays with me — the slow build of cayenne, the color of the shrimp turning just right, her laugh filling the kitchen. Before any of that magic happens, though, it starts with the seasoning. The blend she keeps in a jar by the stove, measured out by feel after decades of practice, is the foundation of everything she makes. I asked her to walk me through it so I could write it down and carry it with me wherever I go next.
Creole Seasoning Mix
Prep Time: 5 minutes | Cook Time: 0 minutes | Total Time: 5 minutes | Servings: About 24 (1-teaspoon servings)
Ingredients
- 2 tablespoons paprika
- 1 tablespoon garlic powder
- 1 tablespoon onion powder
- 1 tablespoon dried oregano
- 1 tablespoon dried thyme
- 1 tablespoon cayenne pepper (adjust to taste)
- 1 tablespoon black pepper
- 1 tablespoon white pepper
- 1 1/2 teaspoons salt
- 1/2 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes (optional, for extra heat)
Instructions
- Combine. Add all spices — paprika, garlic powder, onion powder, oregano, thyme, cayenne, black pepper, white pepper, salt, and red pepper flakes — to a small bowl.
- Whisk. Stir or whisk together until fully blended and no streaks remain. The color should be a deep, even brick-red.
- Store. Transfer to an airtight jar or spice container. Store in a cool, dry place away from direct sunlight.
- Use. Add to shrimp Creole, gumbo, jambalaya, grilled meats, or roasted vegetables. Start with 1 teaspoon per pound of protein and adjust to your heat preference.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 8 | Protein: 0g | Fat: 0g | Carbs: 2g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 75mg