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NOTE: What follows is a portion of the original interview that has been edited for length. To download the entire transcript in PDF form, please click here.

Edited Transcript:

Subject: Marcelle Bienvenu
Date: July 7, 2008
Location: St. Martinville, LA
Interviewer: Sara Roahen

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Sara Roahen:  This is Sara Roahen for the Southern Foodways Alliance. It’s Thursday, July 7, 2008. I’m in St. Martinville, Louisiana with Marcelle Bienvenu. Could I get you, Marcelle, to say your own name, how you pronounce it, and your birth date, if you don't mind?

Marcelle Bienvenu:  Okay. Marcelle Bienvenu, February 26, 1945.

Thank you, and could you describe your own words how you make a living?

I’m a food writer, food historian, cookbook author, storyteller. [Laughs]

So could you start out by telling me a little bit about your heritage, where your people came from, how long they’ve been in this area, and where you grew up?

My father’s family, the Bienvenus, my—that side of the family came to America in the 1700s through a land grant on the Mississippi River near St. Louis. And I believe—and I don't remember—there were six or eight brothers. Two of the brothers eventually came to New Orleans and were very active in the New Orleans area. There was a lot Bienvenus; two or three of those people eventually came to St. Martinville, probably in the early 1800s, and settled this area. My grandfather Lazaire Epiphany Bienvenu was one of the postmasters here in the 18--late 1800s. He and his brother Martial—M-a-r-t-i-a-l—and they were working at the post office and they were very bored. So they started a newspaper, and then the government—they were selling it at the post office for two-cents. And it was a little hand-press thing. And the government said, You can't have a business on governmental property. So they left the post office and started a paper in 1886 and it was called the Weekly Messenger. And so that was the newspaper and it became the Parish Journal and it’s still in operation.

My mother’s family is--is the Acadian group. She was a Broussard and she is a descendent of Beausoleil Broussard, who is one of the big leaders who eventually led the Acadians to South Louisiana. If you see the mural in St. Martinville at the Acadian Museum, he is the main--he was one of the main characters. There was a lot of them that— after they were deported out of Canada, some went back to France, and he was of a group that went back to France and he fought to come back to Louisiana. And some of them settled near Vacherie, Louisiana, and some of them came to this area. They were trying to find French Catholic areas because that’s what they would do. So they settled here probably in the late 17--late 1700s.

What were the differences between the styles of gumbo between the families?

Probably not much. My mother’s family probably made more because they lived on a farm and they had chicken and—chicken and sausage. We had pigs and we had chickens. And they also had a little smokehouse, so we had our own tasso, which is very different from what it is now. It was just the pig trimmings--pork trimmings that they smoked. Now you get all these beautiful pieces of very lean pork that’s very beautiful and seasoned, but theirs was just trimmings. They also—so the gumbos that we had at--at the farm were, you know, okra gumbo with chicken and sausage. And in town I don't think Toot-Toot [the family cook] and them ever put okra in their gumbo. We had seafood gumbo; okra was a side dish. It was a smothered okra, but it was never joined with gumbos. And they made seafood in town. Because they--they could buy the oysters and everything at the little fish house. I mean they had access to a little bit more.

It seems like Cajun cooking and ingredients didn’t really make [their] way into New Orleans until relatively recently. And a lot of people out here didn’t make their way into New Orleans and sort of vice-versa, and yet there’s this statewide dish: gumbo. Do you have any theories about why something with so many preparations in so many different areas of the state has the same name?

I mean if you like go to North Louisiana and [Laughs] —North Louisiana, they’ll put—. I’m kind of a purist. I don't want chicken in my seafood gumbo. And, but if you go to North Louisiana—it’s not that it’s bad; it’s just that they’ll put chicken, crabmeat, shrimp, sausage, tomatoes… And I’m going, Oh okay. And it’s—hey, I mean Emeril makes a wild mushroom gumbo. I don't know about that. I mean, but, hey you know, and everybody—and if you talk to a Creole or a black, they’ll tell you that a gumbo is not a gumbo unless you have okra in it, okay. And of course you know the word okra is the word for gumbo—African word for gumbo: okra. And so, hey. And I will make okra gumbo. I’ll make chicken and sausage okra gumbo, or seafood gumbo with okra, but I never put the two together. And I think [the reason] that gumbo became so universal is that everybody—not everybody, but I think that it was such a—now I hate to say easy; it was a dish that most people could put together. You could use anything. There was no rules, right, except it’s supposed to start with a roux. So if you wanted to put anything in it, it became your gumbo. I mean, how many gumbo recipes have you seen? And who--who is right? Who is wrong? As long as they taste good they can put anything in it. But I just think it became--just like jambalaya. It became a universal dish for everybody in Louisiana to make and there’s all kinds of different theories on it. I mean Leah Chase and I go round and round and round about that, which is fabulous.

Although you just said that it’s supposed to start with a roux, but I’ve met people who— Italians especially who don't make a roux.

Yeah, and a lot of people that will tell you if you use--if you use okra they don't use a roux. So, hey, who are you going to believe? And so you know it’s one of those un-definable things. That’s—and I’m sticking to that.

[Laughs] I think you’re probably right. Do you ever make a gumbo without a roux?

No. And I remember asking my mother ‘cause I remember when I moved to New Orleans in the ‘60s I lived next door to a delightful old lady in the Garden District. And she was very nice to me and I’d go sit with her every once in a while and she would make this wonderful gumbo with—it was a shrimp and okra gumbo and she never used roux and she used a lot of tomatoes. And Mama would go, Oh my goodness, because Mama would never do that. And so you know Mama said we never put tomatoes in our—any kind of gumbo. Any kind except that--except if she used smothered okra to put in her chicken sausage gumbo; she would smother that okra with some tomatoes. Oh so everybody would go, Well it’s just a little bit. So--so there was always this—and I was always enamored by gumbo because my aunt--my aunt Belle would make gumbo like you and I would--we would brush our teeth. Gumbo was just her thing to do all the time, all the time, all the time. And she would make gumbo with all kind of stuff and my daddy would go, Hmm, it’s not really a gumbo. And Belle would make it with—if somebody brought her a rabbit she made a rabbit gumbo and who cared? It was good. And Daddy used a lot of wild game in his, you know. He was a big hunter. So there’s no rules. It--I don't know how else to describe it.

What about the Native American influence? Did you grow up eating filé gumbo?

Yes, but we never-—it was always at the table in a little bowl. In fact I still have Mama’s little bowl that she used to pass the filé powder around with. She never would put it into the pot of gumbo and she always got--she used to get it from the Indians in Charenton and they’d always have it in a little—in more recent years it was in a baby food jar. But she had a little bowl with a little spoon and she’d put the filé powder in there and she would tell everybody just to add their own according to taste. And as far as I’m concerned it has no taste. I have yet to find—I mean I don't think it has a taste and I really don't think that it’s that much of a thickening agent, and we were told never to put it into the cooking pot ‘cause it would get gummy.

During our conversation you’ve mentioned how things used to be. Are you optimistic about, or pessimistic about, the state of the cooking in this area and the permanence of the food traditions?

I used to worry about it because I used to—my nieces and nephews who are now probably in their 20s and 30s, I used to get—I was afraid that they would get stuck in the drive-thru thing and they’d go round and round. But I think because we have such a great big family and so many family traditions, that I’m--I’m not as concerned as I used to be. A lot of my nephews and nieces are very--want to learn or have learned how to cook a lot of things that my parents did. Well my--my mother died 10 years ago and my father died, hmm, almost 23 years ago, so a lot of them didn’t remember Papa. But Mama was certainly an influence on them, and they are very aware, and maybe because of me—that whenever they come here we always cook something. And I’ve told them that they cannot cook everything in 15 minutes, you know, and—. So it becomes natural. Like Benjamin. He came the other day and he wanted to learn how to make a bouillabaisse and a courtbouillon and everything, and he brought his wife. But I think that because we live in such a fast-paced world they don't--they don't think they have the time to cook everything. But Benjamin, his brother Jeffrey, his other brother Nicholas—they all cook and I’m very happy that they are wanting to cook. They like to do new things. They--they’re aware of making rice dressing and maque choux and everything, and so I think probably it’s up to my generation to instill that into them.

What about you? You transitioned into the digital age, you’ve written a couple books, you have promotions to do. You have a lot going on. Do you ever feel like there isn't time to cook anymore?

Oh no, no. I’ll always cook. [Laughs] My poor husband, he used to be thin. [Laughs] No, I cook a lot. We cook a lot at night. We don't cook on the big scale of making gumbos and jambalayas all the time, but we cook. I entertain myself a lot with cooking.

What occasion would cause you to make a gumbo these days?

Whenever it gets cold. [Laughs] I don't make gumbos during the summer, and I know that people still do. Everybody said, Well don't you have air conditioning? It just doesn’t feel right unless it’s cold outside and it’s--it’s a big joke. When there’s the first cold front, Rocky, my husband, says, You better get to the store ‘cause there’s not going to be a chicken or a piece of andouille south of I-10, you know. And it’s true: you can just see everybody going to get their stuff for gumbo.

And so I noticed in your cookbook that you have a recipe for gumbo z’herbes that is with a roux and then without a roux.

—without a roux. Mama always said you can add--you know, make a roux on the side and if you wanted a thicker type of gumbo just add a little bit of roux to--when you’re cooking it. My Aunt Grace, who was the--the big cook that I’ve told you about, she never used a roux in her gumbo z’herbes.

What’s your preference?

I like a little bit of roux. I like that flavor.

Do you make the same shade of roux for every kind of gumbo?

I make really dark ones for chicken and sausage or if I’m making one with wild game like ducks and geese; rabbit. But seafood gumbos I usually make a little bit lighter. It’s more like the color of peanut butter, and I just think that a darker roux can be sometimes a little bit strong for seafood. So that’s about the two colors I use, dark and medium-dark.

And what kind of fat will you use for your roux?

I just use regular old vegetable oil and cheap flour. I don't know why I said that. My mother used to say, Don't buy any of that fancy flour, and I’d go, What kind of fancy flour? [Laughs] We used to have Red Ball Flour, and I think it was very similar to what people use in South Carolina—? White Lily? I think it’s a little bit finer or something. But we don't get Red Ball, so I just use whatever flour is out there.

I have to tell you this: I was up in New York in my 20s working for Time-Life Books and I did not know who—what’s his name? Everybody goes up to cook at the place in New York? My mind just went. James Beard. I didn’t know who James Beard was, but anyway he turned out--he was in the test kitchen one time in New York when I was up there, and I don't know how but we were all— they’d give us little stations and we’d have to take a recipe—everybody had the same recipe—and see if it would all work. And I don't know what happened but he must have gotten some self-rising flour and his roux started growing. [Laughs] I was going, Poor little man. What happened? [Laughs] And I didn’t even know who that poor little fat little man was. But anyway his gumbo had to be thrown away and I went, Oh, I’m so glad those Yankees didn’t make it. I mean it--it screwed up—but then I found out who he was—but I think somehow he must have just gotten ahold of it by accident.

What kind of pot do you use when you make gumbo?

I use a black iron pot. I have one of my father’s old black iron pots. It’s--it’s--I guess it would be called a—it’s about this big around and about six inches deep, eight inches deep. I can't--well I don't think you can make a roux, and I’ve never tried to make a roux, in a non-stick skillet or something. I have some Magnalite that I use, but usually the black iron. You know when I was working for--doing the book for Eula Mae [Doré], when we were testing—she didn’t want to do it but anyway—Mr. McIlhenny said, I want you all to go out and buy some pots; ya’ll go buy some new pots. And she said, No, Marcelle, I don't need any new pots. She said, I’m not cooking in any pots I don't know.

For the record, could you say who Eula Mae is, and your relationship?

Eula Mae Doré, and in fact she just passed away last week and she was one of the most delightful ladies. She lived at Avery Island and she was--she cooked for the McIlhennys; she cooked for a lot of people. And so Paul, he called me and said, Why don't you make friends with Eula Mae and do a little cookbook with her.

And y’all did a cookbook together?

Uh-hm, called Eula Mae’s Cajun Kitchen. She was a delightful person and she used to say, Cook by seeing, smelling; use all your senses. And I used to go, Well how can you hear something? And she’d go, Well when you fry chicken you hear it, or when you put a steak on the grill you hear it, and she was right. You could smell it, hear it, taste it, all that--smell—everything. She was an incredible little person.

When you add your flour to your oil and then make your roux, what implement do you use to stir?

I have an old wooden spoon that was my mother’s that probably the—the food police would probably come and get it and destroy it, but it’s just an old wooden spoon. My husband says, Oh, use a whisk; I went, Well I guess I could. And you know I never knew that there was so many ways to make a roux. There was a guy from Cooks Magazine. Is that the one that’s in Boston, I think? This is several years ago and he came--he called me and he said, I’m flying down to watch you make a roux. And I said, Honey, it’s only flour and oil. I don't think you need to see this. [He said] Oh yeah, I’m coming. And I thought about it and he came and we made two or three rouxs. But then he--and then he called me later when he was doing the article. He visited Leah Chase; he went to see Paul Prudhomme; he went to see Emeril; he went to see, you know, several cooks in New Orleans. He went to see a little cook in Breaux Bridge, and everybody makes it differently. I never thought that. I knew--I knew my way. I thought, Well hell, everybody makes it that way. And you know some people heat their oil before they put the flour. I always put the flour and the oil in cold. You see, so you never know.

And Miss Eula used to say--she put less oil--she used to use more flour than oil. And my mother said equal amounts of. Now my father was one of, you know—I mean Daddy used less oil and more flour ‘cause he liked thick--thicker stuff. And you know somebody said, Well does it really take about 20 minutes--20 or 30 minutes? And I said, Well I guess you could make it faster, but we always made it slow and I think it was because my mother had--always had a cocktail or so when she was making it. It was part of the evening. You know she’d start—you could have died at her feet when she was making a gumbo—a roux—and she wouldn’t pay attention to you because she was there slowly cooking that. But it’s a little wooden spoon; that’s what I use to make a roux.

What level of flame will you use?

Medium-low. I do it really slow. I’m afraid always to burn it so I’m one of those slow people.

Have you ever burned it?

[Laughs] Oh a couple times; too many cocktails. [Laughs] Yeah I’ve burned it several times, but I think it’s--slow is good, and I think that if you cook it slower there is a fuller taste. I mean and--and God save me, and Paul Prudhomme used to say, No, it’ll--it tastes the same and you can cook it fast or slow and it tastes the same. So what do I know?

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