Gumbo

A short episode in the life of M. Carlton

The names have been changed, not to protect the innocent, but to spare the victims.


Ever notice how all southerners think they can cook? No offense to the ones who really can, but the true test is if it can last in your stomach longer than 8 seconds. Yes, I am a westerner and I am referring this to a bull ride. They both can contain a good degree of bucking and lurching if you know what I mean.

Take for instance the time a friend of ours came from Louisiana for a short stay (5 weeks and counting), this is short to a southerner. He made the decision to show his appreciation by “fexin” us some gumbo. I'm not sure if there was any road kill involved, which by the way is the only real thing that will ever lead a Cajun to gain any speed at all. At the sight of it they rush over to see how they can be inspired for a new tasty delight. If the poor thing still has a pulse they lose all their inspiration immediately. “Ya’ll jest have to come back tomorra.” They, of course, are telling you this as you are rubbing your neck. Your neck that has just been whip lashed going from 10 mph to 120 mph and then a complete sudden stop when they thought they spotted dinner.

Anyway, my husband, myself, and our dog, Buster, were the recipients of Buba’s generosity when he “fexed” his version of Gumbo. After recovering from this fine meal I was excited to share our comments with him.

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Dearest Buba,

We just wanted you to know that we had your gumbo for lunch yesterday. The smell was an aroma to behold. It tasted absolutely delicious. We were surprised by the chopped up hard boiled egg---but again it tasted absolutely wonderful. We do now see what you meant by adding the rice to the dish at the time of serving. The rice definitely has a much firmer texture and tastes better your way. We were also very surprised at how much it seemed to smell and taste so much like my own. We were extremely surprised by the amount of heat that your recipe seemed to have, never so much as the afterburner affect which it produced. I’ll explain below and then give it our grade.

Bob heard the gurgling first in his own stomach. I had no more than finished my small bowl, and bent over to let Buster lick the bowl, when I was alerted to the discomfort in my own stomach (Thank you, Lord, that my bowl was small). I was then encouraged by the pain I was suffering to get myself into the bathroom on the double. As I was doing an impersonation of someone with tourettes syndrome I heard an amazing scream as the gumbo was released from my bowels in such a manner as I fear I have been ripped a new one. Meanwhile Buster had finished licking the bowl and I came out of the bathroom only to find a distressed look of “Oh, My God!” on his little face. He ran to the back door and off the patio as quickly as possible and started to do the most incredible spinning I have ever seen in my life. I have never seen such a mind blowing display of spinning turkey squirts nor ever hope to see another one. Bob fared slightly better I owe this to his massive size. Buster and I are still recovering.

For these reasons we give it a “Oh, Mother Of God” grade of 9 out of 10, the only thing we’ve been able to give the “Oh, Mother Of God” grade higher to has been my own Chili. When it is mentioned in front of its previous victims they scatter furiously and grab their stomachs. You gave it a nice effort though. Let us know when you make up another of your gastronomical delights so we can be out of town.

Bon Appetit, (That’s French for “Oh, Mother of God”, I think.)

Marcella

P.S. Let me know if you decide to market this product as a colon cleanse or laxative as I would love to get in on the ground floor of that project.

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Buster still whines a little when he gets near the spot in the backyard where the gumbo was evacuated from his little tummy. He glances at me like “what in the world happened”? I try to calm him a little by taking him to the other side of the yard. Some memories are just hard to get rid of. And, I’m happy to say that any problems that I may have suffered were nothing that a few stitches couldn’t fix, and the doctor tells me the tremors should probably go away in time.

Then I’ll get up and go get some road kill, attach it to my bumper, drag it to the next town in the hopes that Buba will follow it, salivating all the way, where he can “fex” someone else up for a bit. After all, with his fixation on road kill it’s the only way to get him to hurry along. With any luck he’ll be lost for a few days. That should give me enough time to heal completely I hope.....

Gumbo, the word terrifies me.