Fiddlefish Seafood Cafe

The Fiddlefish Story
Most common refrain around the Sunday evening dinner table: “We've got to open a restaurant.” It was meant as a compliment to the cook, my mom, but it evolved into a dream and then a serious endeavor. The story starts with the gumbo. Straight-up, hard-core seafood gumbo. We don't have anything against okra and tomatoes, just don't want it in our seafood gumbo. Shrimp and crab, crab and shrimp. Just like mom's sweet tea, we think it is the best.

Over forty years ago, my great uncle, Mayson, gave Mom THE gumbo cooking lesson of her life. I wasn't there, but I am sure there were not many jokes told, as cooking was serious business to Mayson. However, I am certain that there were a few beers consumed (by Mayson, not mom) during the three hour lesson. As everyone knows (or should know), it's all in the roux. Cook it til you almost burn it, cook it a little more, but don't burn it. Easy enough? No way. It is not easy stirring that roux for 45 minutes or so without leaving it. I consider it my workout for the day. Back to the family...growing up, we would fight over the gumbo. I was often accused of filling my bowl without putting any rice in it, a charge I will not confirm or deny. As the years passed, mom tried to get my brother and sister and I to learn to make it, but we wouldn't. It was too hard, too expensive, too much time and trouble. We let her continue stirring over the iron skillet (yes, it was a certain one) until we finally convinced her that the