Ahhhh, it has arrived. It’s crispy weather time—the time of year in which the constant-rotting-garbage smell of a New Orleans summer is replaced by the maybe-once-a-week-rotting-garbage smell of a New Orleans fall. It’s October, y’all, and October hosts a very important day indeed. No, not the day (October 11th) on which we elect a (fingers crossed) qualified mayor who will hopefully slow the quickly sinking pirogue that is New Orleans. I’m talking about the following day. The 12th is National Gumbo Day, when we celebrate the roux-y stewy viand that is the official dish of Louisiana! Gumbo has been simmering its way to its modern amalgamations for centuries. The first mention of this decadent delicacy was on September 9, 1764 in the Louisiana Colonial Judicial Records of the French Superior Council, due to an investigation and eventual court case centered around the breaking of the Code Noir of Louisiana, which forbade the enslaved people of different masters to associate. In the document, Mama Comba, Louison, Foÿ, Cézar, and Fatima (amongst others) are accused of partying in Sieur Cantrelle’s garden. The slavers were especially riled-up (jealous) by the enslaved people’s enjoyment of Mama Comba’s mysterious dish un gumbeau. According to Serious Eats, the name “gumbo” is said to be derived from either the West African word “ki ngombo,” which translates to okra, or from the Choctaw word “kombo” or “gombo,” which means ground sassafras leaves, most commonly known as filé. Mama Comba’s “gumbeau” likely contained ingredients such as okra used for thickening the stew; a stock made from a fish head and crab shells; onions, garlic, and bay leaves; shrimp and maybe crab meat; possibly a pinch of land animal meat such as goat, and served over rice or a cornbread mash. As gumbo made its way through the households of different cultures, ingredients were added and subtracted. The French contributed the mirepoix-like trinity of onion, celery, and bell pepper to the mix and thickened the stew with a roux made of fat and flour. Indigenous people used sweet and earthy filét powder as a thickening agent. The gumbo of Creole people tended to have a lighter color, due to the addition of tomatoes. And down da bayou, the dark, fatty-rouxed gumbo of the Cajuns (such as the Theriots) included accoutrements like andouille sausage—shout out to LaPlace, the Andouille capital of the world! Ayyyeeee! Gumbo was officially named Louisiana’s state dish in 2004 with the passing of Louisiana State Legislature Act 2004, No. 406. So this October 12th, clean your kitchen counters, make room for your gumbo ingredients of choice, and get cookin’. Now let’s talk cleaning.
How do I get the stains off of the inside of my favorite Magnalite pot?
Oh, Magnalite! Classic. If you grew up in Louisiana, you probably saw one or more of these pots in your mama’s or mawmaw’s kitchen. I distinctly remember my Mawmaw Mary Ada cooking my favorite shrimp creole in her Magnalite oval roasting pot. I also remember that after scooping a teaspoon of the delicious creation into her mouth for a taste test, she would say—with closed eyes and a smile—something that sounded to my little ears like (and I’m going to write this phonetically) “necessay pa and uh padia qua!” While I have no idea what she was actually saying, I’ve always assumed that it had something to do with the food tasting good. If any of you Cajun French speakers can make la têtes ou queues of this, please let me know. Magnalite pots are such a standard in Louisiana, even Magnalite refers to the merch as the original Cajun cookware. The first WagnerWare Magnalite pot was cast in 1934 by the Wagner Manufacturing Company in Sydney, Ohio. These beloved thicker-based, thinner-sided pots, made of a magnesium and aluminum alloy, heat quickly and evenly, and therefore allow food to go from pot to mouth before you can say “c’est bon!” They also keep things juicier, due to their lids having a vapor-tight seal. Along with all of this veneration of Magnalite, I must also mention some controversy. There is a long-standing rumor that using Magnalite cookware is dangerous due to aluminum leaching into food, which can lead to neurological conditions and cancer. This claim has been debunked, as the amount of aluminum released from the pots during cooking is negligible. There was a voluntary recall of 2 and 3 quart Magnalite saucepans in 1987 because that tight lid seal that I mentioned earlier was causing the pots to become too pressurized and explode. You can check and see if your lid is too tight by placing the saucepan upside down with the lid on and press down. If the lid stays on when you lift the pan, the lid is too tight and you shouldn’t use it. Being that they are really versatile and therefore used a lot, Magnalites see a lot of wear and tear. In order to disappear the stains in your pot, pour some white vinegar into the pot covering the stains. Let this sit for about an hour. Sprinkle baking soda or my favorite cleanser Bon Ami onto a scouring pad and over the discolored areas in the pot. Lightly scrub the areas until you see the stains lifting. If spots remain, fill the vessel with water and add a few tablespoons of cream of tartar. Let this simmer for an hour. After it’s cool, wash it with dish soap and water, and dry it with a clean rag. If you want to be next level, you can polish your precious pot. Grab a food-safe metal polish. I hear that Mother’s Mag & Aluminum Polish is a good choice. Dip a clean rag or paper towel into the polish and rub the pot in a back and forth motion until the polish turns black. Wipe the black residue with a clean, dry rag. Sparkly! To keep your pots lookin’ good, hand wash and dry them immediately after use. Never put them in the dishwasher! I hope this obliterates the stains.
Got cleaning questions? Email isabel@antigravitymagazine.com
illustrations by Ben Claassen III | @dirtfarm
