Julissa cut up the last of the sausage and chicken that was to be included in this year’s gumbo for the annual Bazaar at St. Mary's Chruch.

It was that time of year again when the annual Baazar for many Louisiana Creoles came and gathered in the community to experience lost memories while listening to native Zydeco players playing. Julissa waited 12 months to cook this year’s gumbo for the right crowd to taste. It was an enormous contribution to her culture, and years of cooking in the kitchen with her grandmother showcased her love for the art of gumbo-making.

“Chris, can you hand me that ladle in the cabinet,” Julissa asked him while keeping an eye on the brewing pot.

Chris handed her the ladle as she began to stir the ingredients for a fully immersed mixture. Julissa’s thoughts were clouded with memories of living in the lower southeast side of Houston, also better known as Third Ward. Third Ward was home to many people of Louisiana Creole descent who came from Louisiana in the early 1900s to seek new economic opportunities. For Julissa, her memories were filled to the brim with her grandmother, the neighborhood “Mo Mo.” Sunday was the perfect time to cook a big pot of gumbo; everyone was coming home from Sunday mass service, winding down to relax and commune together.

Gumbo was a staple in any Creole household, especially during the winter months!

The unique historical significance of this cuisine lies in its creation during challenging times, blending ingredients from Indigenous American, French, Spanish, and African cultures. It was a melting pot of past experiences interwoven in a delicious meal that can feed plenty.

She was still stirring around the pot to ensure everything was nicely mixed. She stepped away for a brief moment to wipe her hand on her apron and take a deep breath. Today was draining, but she was very hopeful.

Julissa looked out the cafeteria window onto the crowded parking lot that was now compromised with lawn chairs and tents to house the evergrowing community coming to listen to some Zydeco music. Older women smiling and greeting each other as if it was the first time they had seen each other in years, the men pulling their coolers behind them, and children running about the lot with water guns. This was definitely a moment to remember and cherish for many years to come.

Her only thoughts, however, were filled with her grandmother not being there. Julissa and her family had come to terms with her grandmothers' old age and her not being very mobile much. Her "Mo Mo" was the glue to the family. The centerpiece that heald everyone together, especially during family gatherings.

‘Bang!’

Julissa snapped out of her daze and jumped. The gumbo lid was plopped on the floor, and the savory liquids were overflowing from the pot. “Oh no, no, no, no. Not now,” Julissa said to herself aloud. Now was not the time to have any sort of mishaps. Turning off the gas burner, she rushed, trying to wipe the stove clean, but the pot overflowed with gumbo contents. The once large gumbo part that was filled with 50 servings of a savory delicious soup was now halfway gone.

Cleaning up the last of the mess on the floor, she urgently tried to think of a way to repair this tragedy in the little time she had. There were extra ingredients set aside that might work in place of the missing broth, but then it would turn into a chunky stew. Then, she considered adding a bit of water. However, the clear issue would be that the gumbo might end up too watery.

The sound of laughter and greetings approaching the cafeteria made Julissa's heart to pound. The fear of cooking this year's gumbo and not being able to feed the 5,000 like Jesus did in the Bible, her mind began to race.

"Julissa!" her mother called. Julissa expected her mother and the rest of her family to bring their dishes for the Bazaar. With only seconds to spare, she noticed they were still by the door chatting from the cafeteria's point of view, and a plan formed in her mind.

"I can-" Julissa was interrupted by a familiar voice. "Jul." Julissa turned around and saw her grandmother. "Mo Mo!"Julissa said in a shocked tone. Those frail legs she always saw hidden beneath the bedcovers were now walking through the very cafeteria her grandmother had cooked for many years at St. Mary's Church. "I brought you something, dear." A green wagon pulled by her grandmother's small but strong arms carried a large pot. "I didn't want to be cooped up in the house, so I made my own gumbo to go along with yours. Your mother tried to shut me down and told me to get back into bed, but I got up anyway. She can't tell me what to do!" her grandmother smiled.

Prying the large pot from the wagon, Julissa set it on the available burner next to her other pot. As she turned on the stove to warm it up, a whiff of nostalgia floated through the cafeteria.

"Julissa!" This time, it was her mother calling her. "I've been trying to reach you to let you know we were on our way. Is the gumbo ready?" Julissa looked at her mother and nodded.

"It's ready."