There are moments in life when we press the pause button for one reason or another. It may be a birthday, an anniversary, a wedding, an illness, a birth, a death, a spiritual rite of passage, and even a viral pandemic. These moments define our lives because they test our emotional constitution. I’ve experienced such moments through this quarantine period, as countless others have. During this time, with the need to ‘social distance’ and ‘shelter in place,’ we all have returned to basics of connection. For me and for many of us, this basic lifeline of connection has come in the form of sharing delicious food with loved ones.
Before COVID-19’s apocalyptic upheaval of society, I always associated take-out with fast-food: burger/fries, pizza, Chinese, deli, or the like. I could never have imagined that take-out could transcend fast-food into slow food. Case in point, my take-out meal from one of Los Angeles’ most avant-garde restaurants, Vespertine, unearthed a culinary inspiration and journey through Chef Jordan Kahn’s years growing up in the Lowcountry of the American South, specifically, a region of coastal Georgia, South Carolina, and the Sea Islands.
Chef Kahn curated the meal through written cards that described his Southern experience with each tasting course. First, he described his ventures in Georgia, picking up boiled peanuts in paper bags prepared by farmers’ children on the side of the road. Oh, how sweet was the peanut shell liquor spilling from the cracked shells in my mouth!
Before COVID-19’s apocalyptic upheaval of society, I always associated take-out with fast-food: burger/fries, pizza, Chinese, deli, or the like. I could never have imagined that take-out could transcend fast-food into slow food. Case in point, my take-out meal from one of Los Angeles’ most avant-garde restaurants, Vespertine, unearthed a culinary inspiration and journey through Chef Jordan Kahn’s years growing up in the Lowcountry of the American South, specifically, a region of coastal Georgia, South Carolina, and the Sea Islands.
Chef Kahn curated the meal through written cards that described his Southern experience with each tasting course. First, he described his ventures in Georgia, picking up boiled peanuts in paper bags prepared by farmers’ children on the side of the road. Oh, how sweet was the peanut shell liquor spilling from the cracked shells in my mouth!
In Chef Kahn’s glorious chef form, he conjured up a very accessible dip, Pimento Cheese, into a layer of love on his benne wafers. Made of Hook’s aged cheddar, Japanese mayonnaise, grilled pimentos and burnt onion over charcoal, Chef Kahn complemented it with his historically referenced vehicle of the benne wafer made with what was a subsistence crop—an essential medicinal and kitchen garden plant from the Colonial and Antebellum Era. Chef Kahn accented these palate teasers with his house-made, farmers market bread-and-butter pickles of Japanese cucumbers, baby opinions and green tomatoes. Who is not addicted to bread-and-butter pickles?
Chef Kahn then introduced us to the garden box, in which most Southern meals include vegetables as the basic nourishment. Our garden box included a selection of raw, Springtime vegetables from the farmers market…summer squash, radishes and Persian cucumbers, alongside grilled okra and black-eyed peas, with a simple buttermilk dressing containing homemade buttermilk and Carolina gold rice.
Our next Southern stop was a non-traditional Sweet Potato Pone, made with baby jewel sweet potatoes and glazed with blackstrap molasses, mixed with Townsend cane sorghum and caramelized shallots. The sweetness of the potatoes and shallots balanced with the rich bitter smokiness of the blackstrap molasses indulged my sixth sense.
Our next Southern stop was a non-traditional Sweet Potato Pone, made with baby jewel sweet potatoes and glazed with blackstrap molasses, mixed with Townsend cane sorghum and caramelized shallots. The sweetness of the potatoes and shallots balanced with the rich bitter smokiness of the blackstrap molasses indulged my sixth sense.
Chef Kahn guided us through the depths of the Lowcountry by re-introducing us to the plants grown by the Gullah people, in hidden gardens tucked away in the estuaries of the coast. One of the most common of these plants was collard greens from Africa. Here, Chef Kahn stewed these greens all day with vinegar, smoky bacon and a little brown sugar.
Nothing compares to great grits. I’ve enjoyed them at Sean Brock’s restaurant, Husk, in Nashville, Tennessee, and hope to enjoy them at The Waffle House one of these days, as I heard from my dearest friend that they are pretty damn delicious. In the meantime, I dived into Chef Kahn’s version of Antebellum white grits with smoked tomato and onion gravy. These grits were made from South’s original grains, resurrected by Glenn Roberts of Anson Mills. These were a far cry from the store-bought cream of wheat that I ate as a child growing up in Los Angeles.
Nothing compares to great grits. I’ve enjoyed them at Sean Brock’s restaurant, Husk, in Nashville, Tennessee, and hope to enjoy them at The Waffle House one of these days, as I heard from my dearest friend that they are pretty damn delicious. In the meantime, I dived into Chef Kahn’s version of Antebellum white grits with smoked tomato and onion gravy. These grits were made from South’s original grains, resurrected by Glenn Roberts of Anson Mills. These were a far cry from the store-bought cream of wheat that I ate as a child growing up in Los Angeles.
The next course was one of first impression, called Awendaw Spoonbread, made with eggs and cornmeal. As I read from Chef Kahn’s educational cards, the Spoonbread is called Awendaw in Charleston, after the Awendaw Indians, who lent their name to the river and the area 15 miles up the coast, where some of the best native corn was grown.
The culinary trip through the South heightened all of my senses when we arrived at the Lowcountry boil, a.k.a. “Frogmore Stew.” Apparently, every coastal town in the South has its version of the seafood boil, and it always includes shrimp and freshly shucked yellow corn.
The only other time I felt as much at home was when I cherished the moments of my childhood, when my mother made homemade Matzo Ball soup. For the world to know, her secret ingredient was chicken fat in the Matzo Balls, otherwise known as “schmaltz,” in Yiddish. That blissful memory once more existed outside of my childhood dining room, tasting Chef Kahn’s Frogmore Stew, as I melted into a nostalgic, almost ecstatic moment.
Chef Kahn’s version of this stew included: yellow sweet corn; fingerling potatoes, cippolini onions; fennel; spring onions; gulf coast shrimp; Edwards smokehouse sausage; and Jonah crab claws. Chef Kahn did not skip a beat when he added a melodic twist to this stew with his homemade hot sauce and brown butter, infused with lemony herbs and wild bay leaves.
Although I don’t particularly lean into the sweet side of eating, the final chapter of this culinary autobiography - Pecan Pralines, a Savannah delicacy, and Buttermilk Pudding Cake, a sugar pie in its own right with a creamy center and topped with whipped buttermilk, along with stewed blackberries - sated my craving for a sweet subtlety.
These humble, or, perhaps, not so humble, offerings from Chef Kahn’s upbringing remind me how essential it is to feel grateful for the simple, slow food moments of joy, and of being together with those who matter, despite the extreme circumstances of illness, death, economic devastation, and isolation that surround us. For being together is a life worth living.
The only other time I felt as much at home was when I cherished the moments of my childhood, when my mother made homemade Matzo Ball soup. For the world to know, her secret ingredient was chicken fat in the Matzo Balls, otherwise known as “schmaltz,” in Yiddish. That blissful memory once more existed outside of my childhood dining room, tasting Chef Kahn’s Frogmore Stew, as I melted into a nostalgic, almost ecstatic moment.
Chef Kahn’s version of this stew included: yellow sweet corn; fingerling potatoes, cippolini onions; fennel; spring onions; gulf coast shrimp; Edwards smokehouse sausage; and Jonah crab claws. Chef Kahn did not skip a beat when he added a melodic twist to this stew with his homemade hot sauce and brown butter, infused with lemony herbs and wild bay leaves.
Although I don’t particularly lean into the sweet side of eating, the final chapter of this culinary autobiography - Pecan Pralines, a Savannah delicacy, and Buttermilk Pudding Cake, a sugar pie in its own right with a creamy center and topped with whipped buttermilk, along with stewed blackberries - sated my craving for a sweet subtlety.
These humble, or, perhaps, not so humble, offerings from Chef Kahn’s upbringing remind me how essential it is to feel grateful for the simple, slow food moments of joy, and of being together with those who matter, despite the extreme circumstances of illness, death, economic devastation, and isolation that surround us. For being together is a life worth living.