QUESTION: Dear Chef Coleman: May I call you Jim? I’ve scanned your Web site and can’t find the recipe for roux that you mentioned in your show. This was the preparation in which you browned the flour in the oven. I did a word search for roux, gumbo, and étouffée, and came up with rien. Also, could I get the shrimp étouffée recipe you were talking about? I love the show.

ANSWER: You can call me Jim; you can call me Chef Jim; you can call me just Chef; and I’d love it if you’d call me for dinner — but please don’t call me by the name that my TV producer Jim Davey uses for me: “Ten-Take Jim.” Heck, if I could do a scene in 10 takes, I’d be happy.

That was an easy question to answer, but you’ve got me scratching my bald head about part of your query. I can tell you what a roux is, but how on Earth did you come up with “rien?”

There is a place in Austria called Rien, and there is a village in the Netherlands named Rien. There is even a lake (good fishing, by the way) in Norway called Rien. But as far as I know, there is no thickening agent called Rien. If it is some obscure, ancient thickening method for blackbird soup or something, I want my cooking school tuition back. (Editor’s note: Chef Coleman obviously doesn’t like to speak French, or he’d acknowledge that meant he found “nothing,” — or “rien,” as it translates in French, — on the Web site.)

Now, roux may not be ancient, but it is an old cooking technique (dating from the middle of the seventeenth century). Though the Italians are credited with first using roux, the French and their “classical cuisine” took roux to the next level. More importantly, they were the first to put a recipe for roux in writing and include it in a cookbook.

OK, stop yawning, I’ll get down to how to make the stuff. First of all, a roux consists of nothing more than equal amounts by weight of flour and a fat (normally butter or oil). This mixture needs to be cooked for a short period for two reasons: cooking the flour with the fat coats the starch and prevents it from lumping when added to a liquid; and cooking the flour in hot fat creates a chemical change that allows the starch to hold liquid in suspension, even after it has been cooled and reheated. If you want more details about that, you will have to take it up with a food scientist — I’m not going to do it because I have a hard enough time understanding the short answers from those guys.

In culinary school, you learn about white, brown, and blond roux in classical and Creole cooking (the cooking of the city of New Orleans). But when you talk about Cajun (Louisiana country-cooking) roux, that’s where it starts to get fun. Cajun roux is very, very dark brown with a nutty taste and is used as much for flavor as it is for a thickening. Along with the use of white, red, and black pepper, roux is as important to Cajun cooking as a helmet is to a running back going against the Baltimore Ravens defense with Ray Lewis.

Almost all Cajun recipes that use this dark roux tell you to get the oil smoking hot (preferably in a cast iron skillet), then add the flour and stir vigorously. What they don’t tell you is that when you do this, it splatters like crazy. So be warned that if your hand or arm gets in the crossfire, no matter how fast you wipe it off, you will get a blister. They don’t call it “Cajun Napalm” for nothing. The chef’s secret is to first brown the flour to a nutty color in the oven before making the roux to prevent splattering. This is a secret you will have to take to your grave, but your hands and arms will thank me.

As long as we’re on such a violent topic, you might be interested to know that the word étouffée comes from a French term that means “to smother or suffocate.” Don’t worry, I don’t think they’re talking about doing away with the cook — although there are a few that have tempted me over the years. Enjoy this Cajun dish, and when it’s ready, I’ll come no matter what you call me.

6 tablespoons butter6 tablespoons flour¾ cup chopped onion2 cloves garlic, peeled and minced½ cup chopped bell pepper½ cup chopped celery2 cups chicken broth3 pounds shrimp, peeled and deveined1/8 teaspoon each of white, black and red ground pepperSalt to taste1 small bay leafTabasco sauce to tasteHot cooked white riceBrown the flour on a cookie sheet in a 250-degree oven for 25 minutes. In a skillet, melt the butter, then add the browned flour, stirring to blend.Add the vegetables and cook until tender. Stir in the broth, shrimp and seasonings. Simmer, uncovered, for 15 to 20 minutes, or until the shrimp are cooked. Serve over hot rice cooked according to package directions.Serves 4 to 6.