By all rights, I should not be telling you how to make gumbo.

After all, I wasn’t born and raised in New Orleans nor in any of the communities between I-10 and the Gulf of Mexico where making gumbo is an art form. So, despite having lived in the Crescent City for more than a quarter century, I will never be able to claim any kind of genetic or cultural authority on proper gumbo making. Worst of all — maybe even worse than being from the Northeast — I’m a vegetarian, which means any gumbo I make will automatically be disqualified by the authenticity police.

That said, I make a pretty mean bowl of gumbo, if I do say so myself. I was taught by a late friend who grew up deep in Cajun country and insisted that its particularities be observed to the smallest detail. Roux must be patiently stirred until it’s the color of a Hershey bar. A base seasoning of the “holy trinity” (celery, green pepper, and green onion) is nonnegotiable, though the addition of garlic is optional, even suspect — as are tomatoes, which I gathered were some sort of big-city abomination. I later learned that they’re a legitimate ingredient in Creole versions of the dish and may have been introduced into gumbo recipes by Italian immigrants to New Orleans, but my mistrust of tomatoes in gumbo persists from those early lessons.

According to my friend, chicken and andouille gumbo was the only kind worth taking seriously (good thing I was still a meat eater back then), though seafood gumbo was permissible on special occasions. Either okra or gumbo filé (finely ground sassafras powder) can be used to further thicken the finished dish, but never both; some sticklers even say that neither should be used in a gumbo that starts with a roux. And so on with a litany of rules and strictures that I was hesitant to deviate from for many years. The art of good gumbo-making is one of working with a circumscribed palette.

But gumbo has also always been about making the most of what you have on hand. So, over the years, I started branching out from that original recipe to suit my own tastes and diet. My trinity now welcomes the addition of garlic (called “the Pope” for reasons that only those with a Catholic upbringing might find amusing). I prefer a lighter roux — closer to peanut butter in shade than chocolate — and sometimes use okra and gumbo filé to finish. And while I’ve eaten ones with tomatoes made by others, I still have never added them to any gumbo I’ve made myself. There are some lines I just can’t bring myself to cross.

With that extended disclaimer out of the way, what follows is a recipe my partner and I have come up with for a springtime gumbo that hews to the defining structure — a base of aromatics cooked in a light roux to which stock and other ingredients are gradually added — while transforming the dish into something both vegetarians and omnivores can enjoy. It’s partly inspired by gumbo z’herbes, a version served during Lent that incorporates several different types of greens and is about as traditional as can be.

Still, I’m sure there are purists out there who will howl that I’m bastardizing the tradition, in which case they’re free to call what follows a plain old bean soup. But it’s better than that.

You can use any combination of beans you prefer or have on hand; I like a mix of cannellini and great northern, though the white limas known as gigantes would be good here as well. You’re also allowed to use whatever greens you like. Kale will stand up to the extended cooking time (as anyone who’s made a pot of Portuguese caldo verde can attest), and mustard greens provide a pleasant bite, but you can also use spinach. Collard, turnip, and beet greens all find their way into gumbo z’herbes, and they’re equally at home here.

Since we’re already breaking the rules, don’t be afraid to experiment further and add tomatoes or even a little sausage — vegan or otherwise — if the spirit moves you. I won’t tell if you won’t.

SPRING WHITE BEAN GUMBO
Makes 6-8 servings

¼ cup all-purpose flour
¼ cup vegetable oil
1 cup green onions, chopped (about 6-8 green onions)
1 cup bell pepper (green or red), diced (about 1 medium pepper)
1 cup celery, including leafy tops, diced (about 2-3 stalks)
2-3 cloves garlic, minced
1 tsp. dried thyme
4 cups vegetable stock, either homemade or Better Than Bouillon
4 cups kale or other greens, chopped
1 tsp. smoked paprika
1 tsp. Cajun or Creole seasoning (Tony Chachere’s preferred)
3 cups cooked or canned white beans, well rinsed and drained
1 cup sliced okra, frozen or fresh
2-3 bay leaves
¾ cup parsley, chopped and divided
Salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste

For serving: 3-4 cups cooked long-grain white rice; hot sauce (Crystal, preferably); and good crusty bread.

1. In a medium-size (5-7 quart) Dutch oven or heavy-bottomed stockpot, combine the flour and oil over medium-low heat and cook, stirring this roux continuously until it’s the color of peanut butter, about 20 minutes. (Continuously is the key word here. Don’t stop stirring even for a moment, especially if it’s your first time making roux.) Lower the heat and add the chopped trinity (green onions, bell pepper, and celery), plus the garlic and dried thyme, and continue to stir until the vegetables are soft.
2. Begin adding the warmed stock to the vegetable mixture a cup at a time, stirring after each addition, until all the stock is added. Raise the heat to medium and bring to a gentle simmer.
3. Add the chopped greens, smoked paprika, Cajun seasoning, and several grinds of black pepper, and stir well. When the greens have reduced slightly, add the beans, okra, bay leaves, and half the parsley. Bring back to a simmer and let cook for about 45 minutes, stirring regularly. Add a cup or so of water or additional stock if the gumbo seems too thick.
4. Taste and correct the seasoning, adding salt and pepper if required (this will largely depend on how salty your stock was to begin with). Serve with a scoop of cooked rice, a sprinkling of the remaining parsley on top, and some hot sauce and good crusty bread on the side.

Note: Due to the starch in the beans, this will continue to thicken when leftovers are cooled and reheated. Add additional vegetable stock or water, a half cup at a time, to achieve desired consistency, remembering that gumbo should always be slightly thick. Otherwise, it’s just soup.