With all that's been going on in my life lately, it's been a long time since I spent an entire afternoon in the kitchen. But on Thursday afternoon of last week, after a rapid-fire trip to the grocery store, I spent three or four hours on my feet, making a big meal from scratch. There's something about making food that is just so good for the soul.
I've lived in the South for most of my life, but it hasn't been until much more recently that I really connected with my southern roots. I suppose Mardi Gras is as good a time as any to figure it out--mostly because there's gumbo. I love gumbo. So I made some gumbo, with rice. And cornbread. And potato salad.
I scooped piping-hot spoonfuls of spicy sausage and shrimp gumbo over rice for my husband that evening when I had a bit of a revelation--it doesn't matter where you're from, or where you live. You can be down south or up north or somewhere in between, but love is the thing. Love, and food. (And maybe a cute dog in a silly hat.)
This is a sponsored conversation written by me on behalf of La Crema. The opinions and text are all mine.
Photos by Rémy Thurston for Freckled Italian.