We participated in a three hour cooking class at the New Orleans School of Cooking. I knew we were in good shape when the head chef, an affable and rotund woman named Anne, doled out one full cup of chopped garlic PLUS one half a cup of dehydrated garlic to her gumbo recipe when the printed recipe she handed out to us called for 1/4 cup minced garlic. One I tried her gumbo (left), I tore up the printed version and started writing out the verbal version that was dancing on my palate. I beaded up with sweat. I slapped my ass and called myself Larry. It doesn't look like much here, but let me tell you, it kicked! That was some solid gumbo. This version is the andouille sausage and chicken version, but the seafood version requires a solid shake of file (which is a derivative of sassafras or whatnot) on the finished soup before serving. I had so hoped for crayfish (because Lord knows I can suck heads and tails), but they are out of season.

That strange food stuff at the top right is jambalaya. It also looks unappealing but you can blame my poor photpgraphic skills rather than the finished product itself. The serving that came to us was so chock full of rich sausage, garlic, Cajun spice and cayenne pepper that I almost fainted with glee and gastronomic pleasure. It's unappetizing color can be attributed solely to an industrial product named Kitchen Bouquet, which I can liken to the color of molasses and the quality to Bovril. The chef used chicken stock but felt compelled to use this dark, foul stuff to darken the texture. I'd opt for the red version myself (paprika, please). And it was served with a local beer ("from over the river") which made me think of Ozark stills in the Depression. The beer was good and the jambalaya? Freaking AWESOME. Yeah, forget the diet. I went for seconds.