NPR News

Open Your Mind (And Your Mouth) To Okra

NPR | By Susan Russo

Published September 16, 2009 at 12:00 AM EDT

I have a wonderful relationship with okra, but it didn't start out that way.

Having grown up in Rhode Island, I had never even seen okra until I moved to North Carolina in my mid-20s. The meeting took place one warm September afternoon in the teachers' lunchroom. A co-worker had a Tupperware container full of boiled white rice and a mound of some dingy green, soggy vegetable that I could not identify. When I asked her what she was eating, she laughed good-naturedly and said, "Honey, you really are a Yankee, aren't ya? It's okra."

She stabbed a few pieces onto her fork. As she raised it to her mouth, a long, white, elastic piece of — there is no other word for it — slime stretched from the container to her lips. It was like a string of melted green mozzarella suspended in midair.

I felt queasy. "What is that?" I thought. Had the okra gone bad? Was it just a string of saliva? I was too polite to ask, so for the next three months, I averted my eyes each time she ate it. When the spring semester started, I was assigned a new lunch period and, thankfully, this one was okra-free. We would, however, meet again.

A co-worker had a Tupperware container full of boiled white rice and a mound of some dingy green, soggy vegetable that I could not identify. When I asked her what she was eating, she laughed good-naturedly and said, 'Honey, you really are a Yankee, aren't ya? It's okra.'

That summer, I attended a potluck dinner featuring an array of Southern favorites, including a huge basket overflowing with fried okra. I winced when I saw them. Then I thought, what better way to overcome my fear of okra? After all, everything tastes good fried. I closed my eyes and popped a warm, crispy nugget in my mouth. It was a revelation. There was no slimy, slippery texture. There was just a pleasingly salty, crunchy cornmeal coating that gave way to a piece of sweet okra tucked inside. I ate several more.

From that day forward, okra became a regular in my kitchen, especially from late summer through early fall, when it is at its tender best. If you can find it, locally grown and freshly picked okra is best. However, frozen and canned okra are available year-round in most major supermarkets.

The name "okra" derives from West African nkru ma, which suggests that it was brought to the Americas by African slaves who commonly used it in stews and soups. When okra is cooked in liquid, it releases a clear gelatinous fluid that acts as a natural thickening agent. Because African slaves grew okra on many Southern plantations, the vegetable became associated with Southern American cookery and later with soul food. Although okra has become mainstream over the past few decades, it remains most dearly beloved in the South.

Okra has a singular appearance. In many parts of the world it is known as "lady's fingers" because of its shape, which resembles a delicate, tapered finger.

When selecting okra, look for brightly colored green pods that are 2 to 4 inches long. Smaller pods are prized for their tenderness, while larger pods are often considered too fibrous. The okra should be firm and sport a soft, peach-like fuzz. Avoid okra that is bruised, darkened or limp. Place whole, unwashed okra in a plastic bag, or wrap in a paper towel, and store in the crisper drawer of the refrigerator for up to three days. When you're ready to cook the okra, rinse it well and pat dry. Cut off tops and tails, and discard.

Although okra can be eaten raw in salads, most people prefer it cooked. Cooked okra tastes similar to green bell peppers, but earthier. Okra can be sauteed, boiled, roasted, baked, steamed and even grilled. To reduce its viscous quality, many home cooks add something acidic such as vinegar or tomatoes to the okra while it's cooking.

Perhaps okra's most prominent role is in gumbo, the classic New Orleans Creole stew. The name "gumbo" is an African name for okra; in fact, in New Orleans, the word "gumbo" used to refer to both the vegetable and the stew. Today gumbo refers primarily to the stew, which usually includes okra, as well as cooked meats or shellfish, and spicy Creole seasonings.

Though there is much to love about fried okra and okra gumbo, there are many more delicious possibilities. Because okra gets along so well with corn, it makes a flavorful addition to succotash, corn chowder or creamy baked corn casseroles. It also works well in vegetable soups, meat stews and stir-fries, especially when paired with onions, red bell peppers and zucchini. And don't forget about pickled okra — a sour, salty and tangy concoction of okra, vinegar and pickling spices.

I live in California now, but I still have a wonderful long-distance relationship with okra. Not a summer goes by without us getting together, and this year has been no exception.