|Gumbo on the fly|
Nearly set the house on fire, smoke was everywhere, when I was saved by my mother's parish priest calling for me in the living room (he had come in the kitchen door) while I was in my mother's room tending to her. I threw the roux off the kitchen stoop into the bushes, put the skillet down on the steps and started over.
|Father Paul likes crazy hats.|
|A proper roux in the making.|
Father Paul, after alerting me to the near fire, in his subdued, calm, even-paced manner came back to talk with my mother when I interrupted him to ask, "How do you feel about spiders?" He unflappingly replied that he did not particularly like them but said that he did not share my grand aversion to them. I said, "Great, then you are the man for the job!" And he scooped up the giant spider (two inches across--no lie!) that I had previously blasted with Raid on the bathroom floor.
(I also made a berry cobbler and a pork roast. Both excellent.)
Father Paul later came back in the kitchen to observe my therapeutic cooking and we swapped gumbo know-how. Father Paul is from Pakistan and is not a completely active participant in South Louisiana cooking. But he has learned to make chicken gumbo for himself and we compared notes on our favorite roux making techniques.
|Black bellied whistling duck|
|Gumbo in the water|
And I am in the waiting pool for Yale's Physician Associate program. Boola Boola! Go Bulldogs!