My mom is famous for her chicken and sausage gumbo. Her Cajun stew is thick and dark and filled with flavor. My gumbo is a pale imitation.

I asked my mom how she manages to turn out a huge pot of dark, scrumptious gumbo every holiday. She smiled, reached into the back of the refrigerator and took out a plain glass jar.

“This is the secret,” she said, setting the jar on the counter.

Kary’s Roux, made in Ville Platte, the heart of Cajun Country, is a dark, thick pre-made roux that removes all the sweating and stirring over a hot stove. Cooks only have to add water, onions, chicken and sausage and thick, rich gumbo is ready to eat in 30 minutes.

“You cheat,” I said to my mother. She denied the accusation.

“It’s not cheating,” she said, putting the jar in the back of the refrigerator. “It’s just a little bit of extra help.”

“What next,” I said. “Are you going to tell me your spaghetti’s not home-made?”

She put a cup of hot water in the microwave.

“Ragu,” she said, pushing the buttons on the front panel.

“And your jambalaya?” I asked.

“Oak Grove,” she said. “Comes in a package. Just $2 and you’ve got enough jambalaya to feed an army.”

My mouth fell open in surprise.

“Don’t tell me you don’t use a little bit of help in your recipes,” she said stirring coffee crystals, a packet of artificial sweetener and powdered coffee creamer into her mug. She smiled and asked me a simple question.

“Tell me how you’re going to cook your Thanksgiving meal without a little bit of help.”

I started to deny using any crutches, but then I stopped.

The cornbread dressing I stuff my turkey with comes right out of a Pepperidge Farm plastic bag. Forget baking cornbread the night before and sautéing onions and celery at 5:30 a.m. All I add to the package is water and butter.

Guess I’ll have to concede that point.

“And tell me how you make those Thanksgiving mashed potatoes,” she said, taking a sip of coffee.

Okay, I’ll admit I use instant potatoes, but that’s just because I don’t have time to peel all those potatoes, boil them, mash them and spend 20 minutes beating out all the lumps.

It’s so much easier to open a packet, add some milk and butter and, voila, I’ve got enough mashed potatoes to plaster a ceiling.

“And the vegetables,” she said nicely.

Well, I had to admit I slit open a bag of frozen green beans and cook them in the microwave. I do, however, steam fresh broccoli each and every year.

“And did you grow said broccoli in your back yard?” she said, stirring her coffee.

She had me there.

“Now let’s move on to your rolls,” she said. “Make those with yeast and flour, do you?”

I had to admit I haven’t the first clue how anyone makes fresh bread. I always buy the three-for-a-dollar packages of cheap rolls that only require me to throw them in the oven for six minutes.

“And the desserts,” she said. “Roll out those pie crusts all by yourself?”

Sighing, I had to admit — I use frozen pie crusts for the pecan pies and canned apple filling for the apple pies.

“Tell you what,” she said, patting my arm. “There’s an extra jar of that roux in the pantry. Go ahead and slip it into your purse when you’re ready to leave.”

The next time I have family over and they rave about my gumbo, I’m going to tell them my mom passed down an old family recipe.

And make sure I hide that jar of Kary’s Roux safely behind the packet of instant gravy, canned cranberry sauce and jars of diced apples.

This article originally appeared in The Fort Bend Herald.