Gumbo Filée
Geneva Flot of Abita springs holds a bottle of gumbo filé she made from sassafras leaves. This amount will last her about 2 years.
In contrast to the upscale residents and artists who have made Abita Springs their home, there is a tightly knit network of Blacks with a strong Indian heritage, much like that in the Lacombe area, who have never left their hometown. Black, Indian, and French Creole bloodlines have created this unique group of families. Says Ms. Geneva Flot (pronounced Flo) "They's been a few of them that left. But plenty of 'em come back!" There is more than a score of Flots in the phonebook, and lots of them live on Flot Road, named for an ancestor.
The Flots and other families like them stick close to their land, and to the old customs as well. One enduring family tradition is the making of filé powder for gumbo. Geneva learned the art from her mother, who learned it from hers, who learned it from hers. Every other year, the Flot family, old and young, goes into the woods in search of the sassafras tree from which the filé is made. While a few favorite spots still yield the sought-after fragrant leaves, like old Uncle Antione's place on Talisheek Road, it's getting harder and harder to obtain sassafras. "It's getting scarce, now. You can't hardly find it anywhere, you just got to hunt," says Geneva.
A pint jar of filé lasts just about two years, she explains, and this is fortunate, considering the hard work involved. First, there's the breaking of the branches. Old trees make the best filé. In August, when the leaves are still green, the younger generation breaks the boughs and brings them to Geneva's shed to dry. The branches remain in the dark for about three weeks, depending on the humidity or weather conditions. When the leaves are sufficiently dry, they are picked and put into a cotton or burlap sack. The sacks are spread out in the sun each day to dry further, usually for two or more weeks. When the leaves feel crumbly, they are ready to beat.
The beating, Geneva explains, takes place on the first cold day in October, when the family is all called together. The leaves are put in a mortar and pounded with an old wooden pestle, the kind that was used to break rice from its husk. Geneva guesses that it has been in the family for nearly 100 years. The leaves are beaten until pulverized. Next, they are sifted with a special sifter, designed by Geneva's brother. After the first sifting, the filé goes back to the mortar for another beating, and then a final sifting. Geneva would rather go hungry than use that store-bought filé in her gumbo. &equot;They put bay leaves in it, you know," she sniffs.
Geneva also digs sassafras root on occasion. "My Mama would make a tea out of it. She said it was good for the high-blood. Maybe that's why she lived to be ninety-nine years old."
There's no chance that the filé will be sold commercially, because it's too hard to produce. Making it serves to tie the family together. Tradition, you know," says Geneva. "As long as I'm able to see, sit, and sift, I'm going to keep on doing it."
--Janice Dee Gilbert, from the publication, Folklife in the Florida Parishes
North Louisiana (includes Florida Parishes)
Creole
Photo: Jan Gilbert
