It’s the first Friday of the month and time for the Inklings Challenge. This month’s prompt is from Linda Mitchell who challenged us to respond to Ethical ELA’s September 2025 Open Write by Kelsey Bigelow: “What is the happiest thing you’ve ever tasted?”
This was a lucky break for me because I already had a draft written, so with my Inklings thoughtful comments, I revised and have a poem to offer today.
My husband was born and raised in Cajun country where they ask, “Who’s your mama? Are you catholic? And can you make a roux?”
I don’t have to learn to make a roux because when it comes time to make a gumbo, Jeff is the best! Just last weekend when the air finally turned cool enough, he made the first gumbo of the season. Around here, when the cold front comes in, the weather man announces, “It’s gumbo weather!”
For our family, Black Friday is the day for making turkey and sausage gumbo. This year we may skip the Thanksgiving and go straight to the gumbo. Making gumbo takes two days. On the first day, you make the stock and the next day combine the stock with the roux. It’s a slow process. It takes patience and dedication.
Black Friday Gumbo
The happiest thing I’ve ever tasted
is your gumbo,
A slow stew on Thanksgiving night
in a stock pot of left-over turkey bones,
the trinity of bell pepper, onions, and celery.
Scented steam perfumes the kitchen.
Friday morning chill is heated by oil and flour
you stir for what seems like an hour
waiting for the brown of peanut butter.
Hunched and humming, listening to the game,
you stand taller
and hand me a spoon to taste.
Our love is certain in this simple touch
of lips to wooden spoon.
That first sip tingles on the back of my throat
like our first kiss, longing and true.
Margaret Simon, draft
To see how other Inklings approached this prompt:
Mary Lee
Linda
Heidi
Catherine
Molly
Reflections on the Teche 
such a good poem full of memories and scents and a bit of zing from that wooden spoon taste. This poem makes me want to be in that kitchen to feel all the love.
One of the gifts of poetry is it makes you take notice of what good you have in your life. I am blessed.
Margaret, I love your poem. It makes a beautiful tribute to your husband’s and your love for each other and for his gumbo. These lines I especially resonated with: Scented steam perfumes the kitchen.
Our love is simple in this certain touch
of lips to wooden spoon.
That first sip tingles at the back of my throat
like our first kiss, longing and true.
Also, you hooked me immediately with your first line. I like hearing all your /S/ sounds. Well done! I have always wanted to taste gumbo. Thank you for sharing your inspiration.
Our home is always open. I hope you get down south sometime. The food is good and the people are nice!
That is so sweet of you, thank you. The same goes for you if your husband and you if you come north.
Yum! I love how your gumbo poem is seasoned with long love.
Your poem made me want to start our own gumbo tradition! I especially love the “hunched and humming” and the spoon imagery. Yout poem conveyed so much tradition, deliciousness, and warmth. Thank you!
such a happy, comforting poem. so many lines to love. i really like ” our love is certain in this simple touch of lips to wooden spoon”. well done
Margaret, this is making me homesick! I really like the lines “Our love is certain in this simple touch/of lips to wooden spoon.” I can picture the scene. Going straight to the gumbo is a fine idea.
Sexy poem Margaret!
Lucky man that Jeff da gumbo man!
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Gorgeous poem, Margaret! ❤
Love this, Margaret! You are just rocking out the love poems these days!
Margaret, Your poem has reverence to it. Gorgeous! The trinity, true love, and tingling first sips. Thanks for sharing this family tradition with us today. I can see why Black Friday Gumbo is the Happiest Thing You’ve Ever Tasted! Well done!
Happy is the tradition full of love, Margaret. It’s special to read of yours, reading that your husband takes this as his, yet shares the taste. “Our love is certain in this simple touch” made me smile very big indeed!
Your poem is a love letter, Margaret! Now I want some gumbo.
I hope you gave this love letter to your husband, Margaret. And I’ve never had gumbo…I guess I’ll never have THIS one ❤
Margaret, I never had gumbo but you make it sound so delactible. I am enamoured by the love message you inserted and am sure your husband was honored by your words and true love.
The sensory details are rich and lush, Margaret, through and through. Love this.
The fact that it’s “your roux” and not just “roux” says it all. Y’all’s love permeates the entire poem. Lovely, Margaret. Also, my sister Patty and I went through loads of cards and such from my Dad’s place, including many cards from my mom to my dad where she called him “My Jim,” and even cards from her quilting guild friends to Dad telling him how much she talked about “my Jim.” So now I’m sitting here in my sister’s house on a Sunday morning, with no one else awake yet, crying over your poem. ❤
The task of cleaning out a lifetime is so hard and full of memories and grief. I hope you are finding some treasures to hold onto. I feel a My Jim poem in your future.
So much 💙bubbling out of this poem, and like a stew it gets fuller and richer as one reads on, enjoy! ☺️
Oh this gumbo is making me hungry. It says so much about the person who made the gumbo. Beautiful.
Been trying to get back to this for days! Margaret, I don’t believe I have ever eaten gumbo, and now, despite my objections to green peppers, never have I wanted more to partake of gumbo–this gumbo, the gumbo of love. One of your best poems ever.
(I missed the critiqe moment, but I will say that having now read all about making a dark roux, I wonder if there’s a better comparison than peanut butter, which goes in a whole different flavor direction for a person unfamiliar with gumbo. Molasses? Bayou mud?😊)