I woke up this morning with a craving for soup, specifically gumbo with shrimp and Conecuh sausage. What a treat it would be on this cold and windy day to have that most spectacular of dishes that simultaneously combines summertime’s bounty of okra with, as Bubba Gump would say, the fruit of the sea, all rounded out with savory chunks of original Conecuh, which comes from God’s own smokehouse.

But I had no shrimp, and I had no sausage, and as I did not plan on a trip to civilization to purchase the necessary ingredients on a Sunday, I settled for what would probably be a chili and grilled cheese evening. No worries–it would still be most satisfying and appropriate for a turn of sub-freezing temperature. Friends at church confirmed the need for soup was contagious, with one having white chicken chili, and another enjoying taco soup. Oh yes, I needed to get with the program. I needed to make my own pot of warm goodness to fill the body and cozy the soul.  

Before going to the store to get the ground beef for the chili, I had reason to delve into the freezer. I had purchased two rock solid-frozen turkeys yesterday for Thanksgiving dinner, and as that most glorious of food holidays is still over a week away, they needed to go back into the freezer, lest they sprout feathers and salmonella. Freezer organization is lacking in my household, which sometimes yields grand and various surprises. The bounty: a pack of dried breadcrumbs perfect for battering ranch pork chops, a meaty ham hock ready for a pressure cooker with dried pintos, and my favorite: a single frozen beef and bean burrito, the lone survivor remaining from the school’s food distribution during the COVID days.

But what was this? A bowl of what appeared to be chili, covered with plastic wrap. Or was that a kernel of corn stuck in the frozen depths? Maybe it was taco soup after all. Either way, it would save a trip to the local store and reunite my medium glass bowl with its large and small mates in the cabinet. Welcome home, old friend! Into the microwave it went on defrost, until I could poke around the edges tentatively with a spoon and smell what would surely be chili powder and cumin, confirming my suspicions. But no! The aroma was delightfully smoky, almost like barbeque pork, and it was quite possibly was a leftover batch of Brunswick stew. Even better! Something different! It would be so filling with a slice of piping hot buttermilk cornbread.

The defrost continued, the bowl getting hot around the edges, and it was time to pour off the first liquid and break up the chunk of frozen remainder. 

Two shrimp plopped into the saucepan, then a round slice of sausage….

You know what this means? I was going to enjoy gumbo after all!

Those things we want the most we sometimes already have. They are hidden and then forgotten in the freezers of our lives. We take a portion to save for later, but life gets busy. Then, as a last resort, we go through the depths and find some surprises. Like a $20 bill in a forgotten coat pocket, or a bowl of gumbo just when you really want it, so it is with life.

And why is it like that?

I don’t know. It is a mystery.

I’m about to ladle some gumbo over a bowl of piping hot rice and pretend I’m at Wintzell’s while I contemplate it all.

May you find a surprise and do the same.