Today, I put down my keyboard and put on an apron. For the second time since I have moved to Denver, I cooked gumbo for the Iliff community. The first time was a few years back just before I graduated. That time there were at least 100-125 hungry mouths to feed. This time it was a bit smaller at around 40-60. I spent Tuesday night buying groceries. Then my ‘su chef’, a.k.a. my wife, and I chopped and prepared ingredients last night for several hours. Today I started cooking at Noon and finally served the fruits of my labor this evening. It was a long hard day. Every time I do this, I gain a deeper respect for chefs and caterers. They have to love what they do to work that hard all the time. I don’t think I’ll make any more gumbo for a long time.
In the end I’m very glad I did it. It feels like it connects me to my heritage to cook like this. First of all, I grew up in Cajun country and food is such a part of that culture. When we gather to celebrate or just enjoy each other’s company, we cook and eat. This is a huge part of the joie de vivre of the Cajun culture. Wylma Dusenbery speaks eloquently about this joy in one of my new favorite old cookbooks, “Wylma’s La Trouvaille Cookbook: The Simple Joy of Cajun Cooking.” Wylma and her family found that cooking (and singing) for their community and eventually a growing loyal clientele was their way of sharing joy and love.
But cooking like this also connects me to my direct family heritage. We moved alot growing up and I can’t even think of a place we lived where my parents didn’t cook a couple of pots of jambalaya and invite the church or even the wider community to join us. My parents taught me this kind of hospitality. I have now begun sharing this with the communities in which we currently live. While it does wear me out and I have no desire to quit my day job, I am happy that I can share this little piece of my culture with my friends here.
