Taught Emma to make a roux this week. This wasn't planned. She came into the kitchen while I was starting a gumbo and asked, "What are you doing?" I said, "Making a roux." She said, "What's a roux?" And then we spent forty-five minutes at the stove together while I explained the foundation of Cajun cooking to a twelve-year-old who was more attentive than any student I've ever seen.
A roux is butter and flour, cooked slowly, stirred constantly, until it turns from white to blond to peanut butter brown to dark chocolate. That's it. That's the whole thing. But the devil is in the patience. You cannot rush a roux. You cannot turn up the heat. You cannot stop stirring. One moment of inattention and it burns and you start over. It takes forty-five minutes to make a proper dark roux, and every one of those minutes matters.
Emma stirred. I supervised. She asked why we couldn't just use a can of gumbo. I said, "We could. But then it would taste like a can of gumbo instead of actual gumbo." She asked where I learned to make gumbo. I told her about the shrimp boats — about the Cajun guys who cooked dinner on the deck after a day of hauling nets, who made roux with engine oil and prayers (I'm exaggerating, but not by much), who taught me that Texas cooking doesn't stop at the Louisiana border.
The gumbo was a collaboration: my roux, Emma's stirring, chicken and andouille sausage, the holy trinity of onion-celery-bell pepper, okra, filé powder, and shrimp I'd bought that morning from the Vietnamese fish market on Bellaire. We served it over rice. Tyler ate three bowls. Lily ate one bowl with extra rice and no okra (she picked around it with surgical precision). Ma came over and ate a bowl and said the okra was "slimy," which is a fair critique that I choose to ignore because okra belongs in gumbo and I will die on this hill.
Emma glowed. That's the word. She made something from scratch, something difficult that required patience, and she glowed. I know that glow. It's the same thing I felt the first time a brisket came off the smoker and I knew — not hoped, knew — it was right. It's the feeling of making something with your hands that feeds people. It's the best feeling there is.
Bill had his hip surgery. It went fine. I brought him pho on Thursday. His wife, Margaret, said it was the first thing he ate without complaining in three days. Pho cures everything. I truly believe this.
The gumbo was a project — a beautiful, forty-five-minute-roux, whole-afternoon kind of project — and I wouldn’t trade it for anything. But most Tuesday nights, I need something that feeds five people fast and still tastes like I meant it. This BBQ Chicken Pasta is that recipe: smoky, saucy, satisfying, and the kind of thing that disappears off the table before you’ve finished your first bowl. Emma helped with this one too. Turns out, once you teach a kid she can make something from scratch, she wants to be in the kitchen for everything.
BBQ Chicken Pasta
Prep Time: 10 min | Cook Time: 20 min | Total Time: 30 min | Servings: 6
Ingredients
- 12 oz penne or rotini pasta
- 1 1/2 lbs boneless, skinless chicken breasts, cut into bite-sized pieces
- 1 cup BBQ sauce (your favorite store-bought or homemade)
- 1 cup frozen corn, thawed
- 1 can (15 oz) black beans, drained and rinsed
- 1/2 red onion, diced
- 3 cloves garlic, minced
- 1 tablespoon olive oil
- 1 teaspoon smoked paprika
- 1/2 teaspoon cumin
- Salt and black pepper to taste
- 1 cup shredded Monterey Jack or cheddar cheese
- 2 green onions, sliced (for garnish)
- Fresh cilantro, chopped (optional, for garnish)
Instructions
- Cook the pasta. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Cook pasta according to package directions until al dente. Reserve 1/2 cup pasta water before draining. Drain and set aside.
- Season the chicken. Pat chicken pieces dry and season with smoked paprika, cumin, salt, and black pepper.
- Cook the chicken. Heat olive oil in a large skillet or Dutch oven over medium-high heat. Add chicken in a single layer and cook 5–6 minutes, turning once, until cooked through and lightly browned. Remove from pan and set aside.
- Sauté aromatics. In the same pan over medium heat, add red onion and cook 2–3 minutes until softened. Add garlic and cook another 30 seconds until fragrant.
- Build the sauce. Return chicken to the pan. Add BBQ sauce, corn, and black beans. Stir to combine and cook 2 minutes until everything is heated through. If the sauce is too thick, add a splash of reserved pasta water.
- Combine with pasta. Add the drained pasta to the skillet and toss everything together until evenly coated. Taste and adjust seasoning.
- Add the cheese. Sprinkle shredded cheese over the top, reduce heat to low, and cover for 1–2 minutes until melted.
- Serve. Dish into bowls and garnish with sliced green onions and fresh cilantro if using. Serve immediately.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 510 | Protein: 38g | Fat: 11g | Carbs: 60g | Fiber: 6g | Sodium: 720mg
About the cook who shared this
Bobby Tran
Week 25 of Bobby’s 30-year story
· Houston, Texas
Bobby Tran was born in a refugee camp in Arkansas to parents who fled Saigon with nothing. He grew up in Houston straddling two worlds — Vietnamese at home, Texan everywhere else — and learned to cook from his mother's pho and a neighbor's BBQ smoker. He's a former shrimper, a recovering alcoholic, a divorced dad of three, and the guy who marinates brisket in fish sauce and lemongrass because he doesn't believe in borders, especially when it comes to flavor.