Pursuing a Legendary Gumbo - NYTimes.com Fred R. Conrad/The New York Times DEPENDING upon who is making it, gumbo has smoked sausage (or not), shrimp (or not), chicken (or not), crab (or not), tomatoes (or not), okra (or not) and filé powder (or not). The main point is that it be hearty, flavorful and Southern. If that's not quite clear enough, then let's just say there are legendary gumbos out there, and that is the aim. Gumbo (some older cookbooks call it gombo) is associated with Creole cooking, but its roots are more tangled than that. This main-course soup has evolved from and been influenced by indigenous tribes, as well as cooks from France, Italy, Africa, the Caribbean, Spain and others who ended up in Louisiana. Now it is ubiquitous, and the variations endless. Most cooks agree that gumbos must have the vegetable trinity of chopped bell pepper, onion and celery, and that they should be highly seasoned. Some gumbos do contain sausage, shrimp and chicken, but there are humbler ones that are made with only salt pork, onions and greens. Then there is the matter of thickening. Many versions start with a roux, a mixture of flour and fat browned together, to give the soup body and flavor. No one agrees on the color of the roux, however. Some cooks like it nutty and rust-colored, while others insist it be nearly burned. Still others reject the roux, depending instead on lots of vegetables, especially okra, which has thickening properties. Finally, there is the filé powder camp. These cooks use copious amounts of the stuff, which is made from finely powdered sassafras leaves. Added at the last minute, it thickens the soup while imparting a flavor that's earthy and herbal. I confess to using all three - a roux, okra and filé powder - in my own gumbo, which I hope is not sacrilegious. Not having grown up in gumbo territory, I based mine on a number of visits to New Orleans. One lucky afternoon, I assisted a local woman, a wise and widely admired self-taught home cook, as she prepared her gumbo for a buffet church supper. She was adamant about taking time with the initial browning of the vegetables, and paid fierce attention to the roux, to which she added handfuls of dried shrimp for a more intense flavor. Everything was simmered in a giant iron pot, and it was a feast of crab, shrimp and fat-smoked andouille sausage in the most fragrant ruddy, earthy, cayenne-kissed broth imaginable. Ladled into big bowls along with perfectly steamed rice, it was indeed the stuff of legend. And that's the gumbo I'm channeling in this week's recipe, just simplified a bit and scaled down for a smaller table of guests.