The lore of gumbo, Brother-style
Chef Brian Brother broke more than a few hearts last month when he closed the Bayou BBQ & Grill, his popular New London restaurant. Fans consoled one another like friends at a funeral, or took to social media to lamentably ask, “Now where will we go to get (fill in the blank)?”
Indeed, Brother’s original but simultaneously traditional and, yes, frequently ad-libbed approach to creating Tex-Mex, Cajun/Creole and barbecue dishes were distinct unto his own flavorful and sorcerous whims.
But the man was kind enough to leave us with two congenitally connected gifts.
Brother called The Day and offered, for purposes of an instructional video and the story you’re reading, to demonstrate and offer commentary on preparation of his two popular gumbos: seafood, and chicken and Andouille sausage.
A week later, on a prematurely vernal morning, most of the Bayou’s furnishings, décor and kitchen equipment were still in place, and any “empty house” gloom was dissipated by Brother’s high spirits and dry wit as he welcomed guests into the small kitchen. Also: there was a seductive aroma of deep-frying poblano peppers. They weren’t part of any gumbo recipes, but Brother explained, “They were laying around, so I might as well cook ’em, right?”
The chef had also done a bit of advance gumbo prep. A large platter of neatly diced vegetables — celery, onion and green pepper — was handy. This triumvirate is “the holy trinity” of Creole cooking, a nickname generally attributed to the late, great Paul Prudhomme.
An acquired wisdom
“You know, I’ve never had anyone prepare anything here except for me,” Brother said. “I come in in the morning and just bang out the whole menu. People come in later and assemble things or put something in the oven. But I do prep. It’s my comfort zone.”
He further explained that, like most chefs or people who spend a lot of time in the kitchen, “I rarely measure anything. I eyeball it. I’ve been cooking by eyes my whole life.”
He likewise doesn’t use written recipes and relies on experience. “A lot of what we do is instinctive. If I don’t make something for three years, I might forget how I did it.” He shrugged and grinned. “So I’ll make it up.”
Blasphemy?!
In that spirit, Brother was off. And an early comment, one that might seem blasphemous, set the tone:
“I used to make the classic roux in a cast iron pot when I was making the gumbo,” he said in tone that sounded slightly apologetic but with a “trust me” tone. “I don’t do that anymore even though that is a wonderful way to make it. But — he laughed —
people love my gumbo. And the way I make it is different. There’s a couple of secrets that I’m gonna give you.”
With that caveat, it was time to cook. He doesn’t pinball around the small kitchen area so much as move with rote economy from the stove to the prep table to the sink, reaching with casual exactitude up to high shelves or under counters. All the while, he contributed restaurant lore, stories from his own life in the biz, and offered parenthetical culinary tips or explained short cuts he might be using and why. panying
And please video see at the accom-. theday.com
Seafood Gumbo
Finely chop:
1 large green pepper
1 medium onion
2 stalks celery
Put 1 cup oil in a thick-bottom pot over low heat.
Add the vegetables along with 1 bay leaf and 2 tablespoons garlic.
Sauté till vegetables wilt.
Add:
4 tablespoons smoked paprika
1 tablespoon black pepper ¼ teaspoon Cayenne pepper (“Try not to make it too spicy.”)
1 tablespoon thyme (“Gives it the earthiness.”)
1 tablespoon oregano
½ tablespoon of salt
2 cups chopped and defrosted frozen okra (“You see the elasticity in the cooking okra and that gooeyness that helps thicken it all up.”)
2 tablespoons filé powder (“We gotta get the filé up in there! But a little bit goes a long way!”)
16 ounces tomato sauce
32 ounces seafood stock (“I use whatever. This is monkfish or swordfish.”)
At this point, leaving the seafood gumbo to simmer, Brother shifted focus to... Chicken and Sausage Gumbo
First, the roux:
2 cups oil on low heat
2 cups flour
Whisk for five minutes.
A brief addendum to the roux discussion
Careful readers might have noticed that A) Brother didn’t make a roux for the seafood gumbo and b) regarding the chicken and sausage recipe, the roux instructions seem brief and, well, under-dramatic.
Brother understands your confusion. He said, “The mystique of roux is not overrated. (But) it’s a labor-intensive process that I trimmed down (for functionality in a busy kitchen). And I realized that, for my seafood gumbo, I don’t actually need roux.”
Those who are aghast at that last quote should realize that, in fact, recipes for rouxless gumbo abound.
Back to the kitchen
With the roux on low heat, take a large bowl and toss:
1 cup flour
2 tablespoons black pepper
2 tablespoons garlic powder
2 tablespoons salt
Use the mixture to coat 3 pounds bite-sized chicken breast cubes.
Sear the coated chicken on an oiled flattop. (“This will seal in the juices and make it that much more tender.”)
Brother throws a curve
“THIS is the secret to my gumbo,” he said, clutching with two hands a large, open-top metal container of liquid. “When I’m making my barbecue and I finish it in the oven, I save all the drippings and the stock. This is a pork stock from my pulled pork for barbecue.”
Add 32 ounces pork stock. (Brother acknowledges that a chicken stock works if, y’know, there isn’t any pulled pork dripping in your kitchen. Liquid smoke can also add flavor.)
Add cubed and seared chicken to the pot, then 32 MORE ounces of stock.
Whisk over medium heat. Roux should be blond colored.
Brown 1 pound of sliced Andouille sausage on flat top on the flat top.
Slice sausage into coins and add to pot.
Add 1-2 tablespoons of Kitchen Bouquet Browning and Seasoning Sauce. (“This brings the color you’re looking for.”)
Add ½ cup of salt and then add as needed. (Brother: “Chefs do NOT want you to see how much salt they use. I generally don’t salt till the end, and to taste.”)
Squirt hot sauce. (“You want that vinegary tang.”)
Now BACK to the simmering seafood gumbo
Add 3 pounds of bite-sized cuts of catfish and 1 pound of cut, tails-off medium shrimp. The seafood will cook quickly (and firm white fish will work, too; whatever you like).
“And that’s it!” Brother exclaimed. “Ready to eat!”
At that point, both gumbos were officially done and ready to be served. Brother advised that, for maximum flavor fusion, they should simmer a while — or even sit in the refrigerator overnight.
Brother dished generous samples of each, topped with fluffy white rice, and pointed to an array of bottled hot sauces if desired. The feasting began.
Wow! The juxtaposition of two similar but yet vastly different taste sensations was great fun — like two distant cousins from a large and complexly weird family meeting for the first time and realizing they’d get along just fine. Possibly over bowls of gumbo.
And as one can no longer hit the Bayou for a gumbo fix, your own kitchen will do just fine.