
Growing up in Houston, I was no stranger to chicken and sausage gumbo. The city’s close proximity to Louisiana’s Cajun country insured that I knew plenty of kids with family names such as Boudreaux, Guidry or Hebert, whose parents often had a big pot of the chunky soup simmering on the stove. After an afternoon of riding bikes, you could walk into one of these kitchens, grab a bowl and ladle a portion thick with smoky, succulent meats over a pile of rice. Gumbo is good and during the cold months it was almost as prevalent as chili in my part of town.

Ken Wheaton, who lives in Brooklyn but hails from Opelousas, Louisiana, is famous in certain New York City circles for his gumbo. So much that when his editor caught wind of his prowess, he insisted that Ken include his recipe in his excellent new novel, The First Annual Grand Prairie Rabbit Festival.
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