Sunday Gumbo — Feeding the Porch When the World Closes Down

The world is closing and my kitchen is open. That is the only sentence that makes sense this week, baby, so I'm going to start there and build around it.

Everything is closed. Schools. Churches. Restaurants. The farmers' market. The library. The community center where I was going to teach my next cooking class. The dock where Eddie sells shrimp. Even Bonaventure Cemetery has limited hours, which means I can't visit Earl whenever I want, and that feels like a cruelty layered on top of a cruelty layered on top of a pandemic.

I am alone in this house. Not lonely — I have the phone and the iPad and Denise on the porch every other day, standing six feet away with a mask on, talking to me like I'm behind glass. But alone. The kind of alone that retirement was supposed to cure with cooking classes and Sapelo trips and whatever came next. Instead, whatever came next was a virus, and whatever came next is this: me, in the Thunderbolt house, cooking for one and delivering to porches.

The porch deliveries are my purpose now. Monday: chicken soup to Miss Corrine. Tuesday: red beans and rice to Denise (she can cook, but she won't cook as long as I'm alive and delivering). Wednesday: shrimp and grits to Kayla, who is working twelve-hour shifts at Memorial and comes home too exhausted to open a can. Thursday: cornbread and greens to the elderly couple at the end of the block — the Washingtons, both in their eighties, both terrified. Friday: whatever I have left, which I leave on Miss Corrine's porch again because that woman is eighty-five and I will not let a virus take her food supply.

I cook all day. It's the only thing that makes sense. I wake up at four-thirty — same time as my school mornings, because my body doesn't know it's retired — and I cook. Soups, stews, casseroles, cornbread, anything that travels well in a foil pan and can be left on a porch without losing its dignity. I label everything with my name and reheating instructions, because even in a pandemic, there are standards.

Kayla texts me every night. "Home safe." Two words. The most important two words in the English language right now.

Now go on and feed somebody.

Wednesday is Kayla’s day, and Kayla works twelve-hour shifts at Memorial, so Wednesday has to count. I’ve sent her cornbread, I’ve sent her red beans, I’ve sent her greens — but Sunday Gumbo is the one she texted me about twice, which means Sunday Gumbo is the one I keep making. It travels in a foil pan without losing a thing, it reheats without apology, and it is, if I say so myself, the kind of food that reminds a person they are loved even when it arrives on a porch with no one standing next to it. That’s the whole job right now. That’s all any of us can do.

Sunday Gumbo

Prep Time: 30 minutes | Cook Time: 1 hour 30 minutes | Total Time: 2 hours | Servings: 10

Ingredients

• 1/2 cup vegetable oil
• 1/2 cup all-purpose flour
• 1 large yellow onion, diced
• 1 green bell pepper, diced
• 3 stalks celery, diced
• 5 cloves garlic, minced
• 1 lb andouille sausage, sliced into 1/2-inch rounds
• 1 1/2 lbs boneless, skinless chicken thighs, cut into bite-size pieces
• 1 lb medium shrimp, peeled and deveined
• 7 cups low-sodium chicken broth
• 1 can (14.5 oz) diced tomatoes, undrained
• 2 cups frozen sliced okra
• 2 tsp Cajun seasoning, plus more to taste
• 1 tsp dried thyme
• 1 tsp dried oregano
• 2 bay leaves
• 1 tsp Worcestershire sauce
• 1/2 tsp black pepper
• Salt to taste
• Cooked white rice, for serving
• Sliced green onions, for garnish
• File powder, optional, for additional thickening

Instructions

1. Build the roux. Heat vegetable oil in a large, heavy-bottomed Dutch oven or stockpot over medium heat. Whisk in the flour and cook, stirring constantly with a wooden spoon or flat whisk, for 20 to 25 minutes until the roux deepens to the color of dark chocolate. Do not walk away and do not rush it — a scorched roux means starting over.
2. Soften the aromatics. Add the diced onion, bell pepper, and celery to the roux all at once. The vegetables will steam and sizzle — stir to coat and cook for 6 to 8 minutes until softened. Add the garlic and cook for 1 minute more.
3. Brown the sausage. Stir in the andouille sausage slices and cook for 3 to 4 minutes, letting them pick up some color and releasing their spiced fat into the base.
4. Add the chicken. Stir in the chicken thigh pieces and cook for 5 minutes, turning to coat everything in the roux and sausage drippings.
5. Build the gumbo. Pour in the chicken broth one cup at a time, stirring well after each addition to keep the base smooth. Add the diced tomatoes, Cajun seasoning, thyme, oregano, bay leaves, Worcestershire sauce, and black pepper. Stir to combine and bring to a boil.
6. Simmer low and slow. Reduce heat to low, cover partially, and simmer for 45 minutes, stirring occasionally. The gumbo will thicken and the chicken will become very tender.
7. Finish with okra and shrimp. Stir in the frozen okra and simmer uncovered for 10 minutes. Add the shrimp and cook just until they turn pink and opaque, 3 to 4 minutes. Remove and discard the bay leaves.
8. Taste and season. Adjust salt, pepper, and Cajun seasoning to your liking. If you want a thicker consistency, stir in a pinch of file powder off the heat.
9. Serve. Ladle over cooked white rice in deep bowls and top with sliced green onions. For porch deliveries, pack rice and gumbo separately in labeled foil pans with reheating instructions: 350°F, covered, for 20 minutes.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 415 | Protein: 33g | Fat: 21g | Carbs: 19g | Fiber: 2g | Sodium: 870mg