Louisiana-born Caroline Williams has a recipe for slowing down to savor the beauty of in-between

By Caroline Williams


I remember when it dawned on me as a child just how noteworthy my home state’s cuisine was. On one family trip, my dad told someone we were from Louisiana and the other man’s eyes lit up with interest. His exclamation was along the lines of, “Oh, so you like spicy food, then!”

Now as an adult, I know Cajun cooking is so much more than its ingredients and spice. It's how we experience the beauty of slowing down, enjoying place, and fostering community. 

The word Cajun comes from the term les Acadiens. In the 18th century, the British deported French settlers from the Acadia region of Nova Scotia thousands of miles south to Louisiana. Le Grand Dérangement or “The Great Upheaval” forced the French to adapt their cooking methods to local ingredients to survive after losing everything. They accepted that rice grows better in swampy environs than potatoes and found that cayenne and garlic were easy to cultivate.

The Cajun food I grew up with is robust, often defined by a starting point called the “holy trinity” (equal parts chopped and sautéed bell pepper, onion, and celery). Add dark roux, seafood, andouille, herbs, filé made from ground sassafras leaves, and spices on spices, and the result is humble yet unforgettable food, powered by the philosophy that more flavor is always better.

Cajun cooking was born of a displaced people, yet today it carries a famous sense of place, community, and blended cultures. Gumbo, for instance, is said to be the melding of French, Native American, and West African cuisine.

The mellow base of a quality gumbo comes from a dark roux: flour that has been painstakingly browned in oil or slowly toasted in a cast iron skillet. It can take an hour of nonstop stirring to get the necessary taste and dark brown color. You risk burnt roux if you look away for a second, but the rich flavor profile is worth the tediousness.

The other day, as I stood over my stove stirring (and stirring, and stirring) roux, feeling bored and flushed from the stove's heat, a quote from Shauna Niequist’s book Bread and Wine came to mind.

I want you to stop running from thing to thing to thing, and to sit down at the table, to offer the people you love something humble and nourishing, like soup and bread, like a story, like a hand holding another hand while you pray. We live in a world that values us for how fast we go, for how much we accomplish, for how much life we can pack into one day. But I'm coming to believe it’s in the in-between spaces that our lives change, and that the real beauty lies there.1

As the roux before me began to match the color of an old copper penny, I realized that here, on this ordinary afternoon, I was faced with a choice. I could feel rushed, or I could lean into a slow, familiar ritual before my home filled with guests. The meal I was preparing not only grounded me but also reminded me of something important. 

No matter what, right here, right now, we can slow down long enough to give the intimate gift of intentionality to those we love. You have only to experience one jambalaya cookout or crawfish boil to see the ways that Cajun culture nurtures warm, resilient community. It begs anyone who experiences it to join in and taste deeper with us. The real magic of a cauldron of gumbo or a giant sugar kettle of jambalaya is found in time spent together, whether in riotous celebration or the heartbreaking aftermath of a hurricane. 

There’s sacred beauty to be found—and shared—in the in-between of a half-cooked roux or a Tuesday evening meal. Perhaps, amid the jagged edges and upheavals of our human experience, the beauty of Cajun food is the spirit behind it: a spirit that browns, braises, and boils what it has and takes the time to share with others against all odds.

In closing, I give you my iteration of the gumbo recipe that was handed down by my grandmother to my mother and now me. This recipe has been central to countless birthday parties, Sunday lunches, and gatherings for our family and friends. My hope is that this recipe will serve you as you savor the beauty of intentional community around your own table. 

Chicken Andouille Gumbo 

4-5 large chicken thighs 

1 lb. smoked andouille sausage, sliced and quartered

1 large bell pepper, chopped

2 large onions, chopped 

2 bunches of green onions, chopped

4-5 stalks of celery, chopped

6 large garlic cloves, minced 

¼ c. fresh chopped parsley or 3 T. dried parsley 

1 T. thyme 

1 T. oregano

4 large bay leaves

1 T. Tony Chachere’s Creole seasoning 

4 T. Worcestershire sauce 

⅛ tsp. cayenne pepper (can omit) 

2 tsp. salt

1 tsp. garlic powder 

½  tsp. celery salt 

1 tsp. minced dry garlic 

10 cups of chicken broth

1 cup of dry roux 

Prepare the dry roux by toasting all-purpose flour in a cast iron skillet  over low heat. Stir constantly to avoid sticking and burning. When the roux is the dark reddish brown of an old copper penny, after approximately 45 minutes to an hour, remove from heat and sift to remove any burned bits. (You can also substitute Kary’s Dry Roux if you’re short on time. I won’t tell.) 

Sauté vegetables and seasonings in a large pot until wilted. Add Worcestershire sauce and roux. Stir well, then add broth gradually, stirring constantly with whisk to avoid lumps. 

Add in sausage and chicken. Bring to a boil, reduce heat and simmer on low for 30 minutes to an hour or even longer. Stir occasionally. 

Remove chicken thighs, shred, and return to pot. Remove bay leaves. Serve over rice and add filé and hot sauce if desired.  

The flavors will meld the longer it simmers, and intensify when refrigerated overnight and served the next day.

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Caroline J. Williams is a copywriter and editor by day and a writer by night. She authors the Cosmos and a Cuppa publication discussing the good stuff: mental health, faith, beauty, and Goodness. She lives in south Mississippi with her husband and two sons. When she's not embarking on adventures with her people, she can be found sipping a dirty chai while trying to conquer a stack of books. Connect with her here.

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1  Shauna Niequist, Bread & Wine: A Love Letter to Life Around the Table, with Recipes (Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 2013), 271.