This story is based on a real-life experience I had back in the day.

Geri grabbed my hand as the flight from Houston to New Orleans lost power. The silence of the engines brought shivers of gooseflesh, raising the hair on my arms. The airplane stopped climbing. I squeezed her hand back, trying to reassure myself as much as her. After what seemed an eternity, the scream of the jet engine once more roared in our ears, and the nose tilted toward the sky. An audible collective breath sounded throughout the pressurized cabin.

We’d been dating for more than a year, and Geri had invited me home to meet her parents. At Christmas, no less. To say that introduction caused me no end of nerves, understated the fact. This last leg of our journey did nothing to alleviate that anxiety.

“You okay?” I asked as we headed to baggage claim.

“I am now that our feet are back on the ground.”

Wrapping my arm around her shoulder, I gave her a quick squeeze, and stepped onto the escalator.

“My sister Callie is meeting us and taking us into New Orleans before heading to Lafayette,” Geri said as she retrieved her suitcase. She pronounced New Orleans as “Naw’lins”.

“Oh, boy,” I replied, nervous sweat staining my t-shirt.

“Geri!” A voice just like my girlfriend’s sounded behind us.

“Callie!” Geri spun around, dropped her bag, and hugged a mirror image of herself, only with long hair.

I stood waiting for them to catch up. After a few minutes, Callie turned to me.

“So, is this who I think it is?”

“Yes.” Geri moved to my side, wrapping her arm in mine. “Callie, this is Lynn. Lynn, Callie.”

“Pleased to meet you,” I stammered, offering my hand.

“Oh, the hell with that,” she said, pulling me into a bear hug. “We done heard so much about you, Lynn. Geri, here, just can’t stop gushing about you.”

I looked over at Geri; she rolled her eyes.

“Come on, now,” said Callie. “We’re heading down to Jackson Square. They’s a new gumbo place I wanna try. Momma and Daddy won’t be home til late, so let’s go get us some gumbo.”

Geri’s eyes lit up with anticipation.

“At…?”

“Not exactly. It’s better. Come on, now,” Callie cut her off and took her sister’s arm, leading her toward the parking lot. I retrieved our bags and followed.

Thirty minutes later, Callie pulled into a parking space near Jackson Square. I unfolded myself from the back seat and followed the siblings through a door leading down a long, narrow corridor. Callie held the door as I followed Geri into a small room with six small tables.

“Hey Jasper,” Callie yelled as she entered behind us. “Mwen avèk sè m nan ak zanmi l pou yon bòl gombo bon gou ou a.” She turned to me. “You ain’t allergic to shellfish, are you?”

“No.”

“Good.” She raised her voice again. “Twa bòl gumbo ak yon byè pou chak.,” she said.

“That sounds French, but not,” I said.

“Creole,” came a deep accented voice from behind my chair. A big black man with blue eyes and curly light brown hair smiled down at me. “My Anglais not so good is,” he said.

“I’m Lynn,” I said, standing to greet him, sticking out my hand. “Callie says your gumbo is the best.”

“Jasper,” he replied, taking my hand, pumping it once, all the while beaming. “Be back.”

A few minutes later, Jasper returned, carrying three brimming bowls of gumbo. I had to wipe my mouth lest I drool down my shirt. And I didn’t want to embarrass myself. Chunks of Andouillé sausage, crab, scallops, mussels, and shrimp shared the crock with celery, onion, bell peppers, and okra. Simmered into a thick gravy, Jasper served the stew over a bed of white rice. Chopped green onions and parsley garnished the top.

I inhaled the aroma, dipping my spoon into the concoction. The flavor of savory herbs and subtle spices complemented the meats. Generous portions of blue crab, mussels, and shrimp, all still sporting their shells, made the meal more challenging than lifting my spoon. To get to the tender bits, I did what Callie and Geri did. I got my hands in and stripped the seafood. By the time I finished shelling the clams, mussels, crab, and shrimp, juice dripped from my elbows. The girls wiped their arms as I finished my task. Jasper handed me a damp bar towel as he set a plate of piping hot hush puppies on the table.

I thanked him and turned to my meal. It had a smoky spice, full of paprika, cayenne, and black pepper. Hints of oregano, thyme, and basil balanced the heat, the mix of heat and sweet that I love the most. A hush puppy and drizzle of honey topped off the meal.

Three days later, Geri’s father and I stood at the stove as he showed me how to make roux, the thickening mixture used in many of the Cajun dishes I ate that week. I knew when we got back home, I’d be trying my hand at a new skill—making an authentic Cajun gumbo.