FROM FIRST SHRIMP TO FIRST ROASTED STRAWBERRIES

CHRONICLE: NEW YORK CITY c. 1969 TO ALBUQUERQUE, NEW MEXICO, MARCH 2024

Welcome to Lonely Kitchen Chronicles! It means the world to me that you’re here. Today’s post spans more than a few decades, from a childhood recollection about shrimp to a recent foray into roasting strawberries. Enjoy. And remember, feed yourselves well.

This is the story of how I came to eat shrimp for breakfast. None of the names have been changed to protect the innocent. My younger brother and I remember it to this day.

I’ve mentioned before that my grandparents, my mother’s parents, lived in New York City. We visited them regularly, riding the train from Baltimore. Grandma and Grandpa lived in a high rise building with a doorman. Despite residing on an upper floor, Grandma Fannie dyed the living room drapes a deep, charcoal gray. I thought she liked the color gray. Later, I found out she was tired of trying to keep the original ecru clean.

She was a smart cookie.

Grandpa Irving, worked for a time at the Brass Rail Restaurant on 7^th Avenue. The Brass Rail was known for its selection of roasted meats, its varied menu and extensive cocktails. I don’t remember ever eating at the restaurant or what my grandfather’s exact title was. I do know that he was involved in the development of the snack bars the Brass Rail ran during the 1964-1965 World’s Fair.

Sometimes, a special event or important guest meant Grandpa worked late at the restaurant.

My brother and I complained when this happened while we were visiting, even though it didn’t happen often. The truth was, if he’d been at home, we’d have been asleep back in those days when early bedtimes were a part of childhood. But somehow, knowing he was working at night made us feel his absence even more. Grandpa was sensitive to our discontent and did what he could to make it up to us.

He made it up to us by bringing home shrimp from the restaurant.

Grandpa knew how much we loved to eat shrimp.  What he hadn’t counted on was that we’d eat it for breakfast, cocktail sauce and all.

How my brother and I, roughly seven and ten years old at the time, acquired a taste for shrimp is in retrospect unusual. Quite unusual. But we were growing up with parents who allowed us and could afford to order the shrimp cocktail when we went to fancy restaurants for birthday dinners, and a grandfather who worked in the hospitality industry. From a young age, we’d been exposed to dining out.

Courtesy: Adrian Lam.

You’ve got to admit, when you see shrimp perched on the icy rim of an oversized cocktail glass, offset by a glowing wedge of lemon, it’s pretty hard to resist. Ordering a shrimp cocktail made me feel like I was more grown-up than I actually was.

Two days ago, decades later from ordering those first shrimp cocktails, I had shrimp for breakfast.

Here’s a picture in all its early morning glory, a grown-up way of eating shrimp for breakfast. My favorite raspberry jam tops sourdough toast while a poached egg tops the shrimp and greens. I can assure you, there were no greens in sight when my brother and I devoured cocktail shrimp for breakfast as children.

Sauté of shrimp over collard greens with poached egg. Heidi’s Raspberry Jam, a local New Mexico favorite, tops my morning toast.

This breakfast, like many others, is a direct result of my lack of hunger for dinner the night before. I’m one of those people who eats breakfast like a queen and dinner like a pauper. Dinner for me is often made with an intent towards having enough leftovers for the next morning’s breakfast. My family and close friends are used to me eating a piece of roast chicken with potatoes for breakfast. When I’m a house guest, my hosts are usually horrified that I’ve bypassed the cereal and milk for the take-out container with the previous evening’s half-eaten dinner.

They get used to it. Eventually.

I cook not just because I’m hungry, but because I enjoy it. Really. Yes, admittedly there are times when it feels like a chore, when I just want to go out or order-in. But the little miracle that happens when I transform a collection of ingredients into a meal is so damn satisfying. Feeding myself or others, especially when I was a chef and caterer, was and is nothing short of captivating.

Cooking helps me stay connected to my past, especially memories of cooking with my mother. She loved to cook, knew how to transform ingredients into more than meals. Her love of casual entertaining also taught me that food brings people together, creates new memories. From her I learned that food that tastes good, tastes like love.

Food tasting like love brings me to roasted strawberries. Bear with me…this will make sense in a minute.

I bought some strawberries last week, the first of the season. They looked good despite being packaged in a plastic container, a pet-peeve of mine. They looked so good that I was practically salivating in the grocery store, imagining their bright burst of flavor. I washed off a handful when I got home and was sooooo disappointed. There was no burst of berry-flavored goodness. In fact, they had practically no taste at all.

My first ever batch of roasted strawberries.

Inspired by a recent purchase of Dolcezza’s roasted strawberry gelato, I decided to try roasting the remaining strawberries in hopes they might become edible. This was my first attempt at roasting strawberries. I’ll definitely do it again.

All I did was sprinkle the strawberries with 10g, about 1/8 cup, of sugar. This is enough sugar to fit easily in the palm of my hand. As you can see, there’s only 18 strawberries on the sheet pan, so if you decide to try this with a larger number of strawberries, you’ll have to increase the amount of sugar as well.

The next time I roast strawberries, I think I’ll zhuzh them up with a hit of vanilla extract and a splash of balsamic vinegar before they go into the oven. If you happen to have rose or orange water in your pantry, a bit of either would add a lovely floral note.

I ate half of the roasted strawberries with cottage cheese one day (delish) and topped a dish of the roasted strawberry gelato with the remainder the next day.

Roasted strawberries with Dolcezza roasted strawberry gelato

This week, I’m enjoying the feast, decades in the making, from first shrimp to first roasted strawberries.