Ask a foodie: Tales from The Bayou: Confessions of a reluctant survivalist

A couple of weeks ago, I found myself surrounded by local dignitaries, average Joes and everything in between. No one could have imagined a tip casually gleaned from a high-ranking official that afternoon would initiate Operation Codeword “G”, later leading me to discover the secrets of surviving the harsh, cold, potentially treacherous conditions of life that lay ahead.

I’ll begin this tale with a confession: I’m not always as random and spontaneous as my adventures would suggest. The truth? What some may dismiss or minimize with unhealthy terms like “dissociation” or “compartmentalization”, I embrace as the gift of “emotional triage". It’s a superpower, really. By day, I am a first responder for feelings, conducting immediate assessments and quickly employing the appropriate strategies for a given situation with the ease and grace of a prima ballerina performing "The Nutcracker". I’ve honed the skill of remaining calm, cool and collected while maintaining an active state of ongoing assessment. With my track record of good decisions and a history of demonstrating I have my priorities straight, you may be surprised to learn that while most of the Midwest was in search of Holy Trinity of storm warning goods (milk, bread and toilet paper), I was driving north on I-55 headed toward The Bayou.

With 315,000 miles on the odometer and an odd clicking sound coming from the ignition, my choice to head north toward the chaos sounds almost irresponsible. If I’d spent more time considering the input of others, I may have agreed, but that casual tip I’d been given began to feel like the physical manifestation of a calling.

I was in search of something bigger than the cloud of doom the impending storm had brought into the atmosphere. I was in search of gumbo.

Specifically, the gumbo at The Bayou Cajun Smokehouse in Pocahontas (6611 County Road 532, Jackson).

When I arrived, the parking lot was scarce and quiet. Before I could even open the door to exit my vehicle, a family of five cheerfully exited the restaurant holding containers that appeared to be filled with leftovers. Acting quickly, I asked, “What’s good?” The response was immediate and enthusiastic: “You HAVE to get the gumbo!”

The gist? Everything on the menu was fantastic, but the gumbo was not to be missed.

My purpose validated, I entered the dim, cozy warmth of the restaurant and immediately took a seat at the bar where I met The Twins: Thai and McKenzie.

No, they aren’t really twins, but they could have been with the way they teased and practically finished each other’s sentences. They complemented each other so well I was surprised to learn they’d met only 2 months earlier. They were the friendship equivalent of a couple from a Hallmark movie. City girl meets country girl. Some may assume I’m exaggerating for the sake of the story but, with God as my witness, they were ooh-ing and ahhh-ing over videos of cute baby cows, a delicious first bite of a prime rib sandwich and eventually setting up a date to visit a farm before I left. If friendly attentive service could be bottled and sold, The Bayou would be declared a goldmine.

Eventually, my gumbo was served, and I met with seasoned professional Brandon Emmett to discuss ingredients and pump him for secrets. An avid reader and a writer, words failed my attempts to capture the goodness of the dish. Words such as rich, thick, hearty, warm, delectable and heavenly all seemed to fall short. Emmett didn’t divulge any secrets that day, and I remain convinced there was more magic in that bowl than Frosty the Snowman ever found in some old hat. My soul was still dancing as I drove away.

Back on the interstate and deep in thought, I began to second-guess my instincts and the risk of running toward the storm. Was my decision to leave the safety and comfort of a warm home in seek of indulgence really a calling or a sign of selfishness? Did my detour keep me from stockpiling necessities? My car didn’t break down on an old country road forcing me to be rescued by the cute redheaded guy of my dreams, so was my faith in the calling misguided?

I didn’t find supplies but I found enough joy, laughter, friendship and delicious gumbo to survive all of life’s storms.

I think we've all learned a valuable lesson about me. In case of a real emergency, please send help.

Mary Ann Castillo has more than 50 years of eating experience with no plans to stop.