I moved to New York five years ago this month. I can hardly believe how quickly the time has passed -- I feel like I'm still unpacking my bags, and I only moved up here with one suitcase. But I can see how the five years have washed over my face, leaving little lines near my eyes where there were none before. There was my first year here, feeling my way around a strange, fascinating city from a sanctuary of a room in Brooklyn; there were the second and third, finally used to the jang-bangling of the A train, going home to my very own tiny studio with the crazy neighbor and Pepto-pink bathroom. The fourth was more complicated, full of difficult days that toughened my skin and opened my heart. It's fitting that a fifth-anniversary wedding gift should be a timepiece. I feel as though for the first time in my life, I know that time is ticking away, and the hands on the clock are moving ever faster.
My first real home here was the front room in a Brooklyn fourth-floor walkup with two other girls. I remember the first time I walked into 469. The apple-red hallway stretched all the way to the back of the house, where the door to the sunny back bedroom was open, and my roommate's clothes were tumbled all over the floor. Next door, I could hear our 2-year-old neighbor running back and forth, dragging something heavy and disinclined to be pulled. In the front room -- my room -- the April afternoon light burst through the two windows facing the blooming street, and the inlaid floors shone with a hundred waxings. The shelf in the bathroom held a cacophony of nail polish and tweezers and ten types of bath salts. The dishwasher hummed in the kitchen.
I thought, my goodness: I am here, where I should be.
The apartment came with several lovely women -- roommates, friends of roommates, or ex-roommates, and who all felt that 469 was, in some way, their home too. They brought with them recipes, laughing on the couch, hours of sitting on the kitchen floor and playing dress-up in the living room, lots of cheap red wine and bad television. We dragged a free couch off the street at 2 a.m.; had dinner parties up on the roof, Manhattan flickering in the distance like a jeweled crown; ate Indian takeout and dribbled it all over the living room floor. We danced at weddings, made guacamole like it was going out of style, and kept each other's counsel. We were a joyful coven of cackling women, happy to be in each other's company.
Four years later, it is much harder to get us all in the same room. School, work, dates, boyfriends, husbands and life pull at us. But good things have happened for the girls of 469; the apartment seems to hold some witchery for those who have sojourned there. And every once in a while, with some Herculian planning and aligning of stars, we do manage to get together. So on Saturday night, with men banished down the street, we convened in my apartment for good food and a movie that never fails to open the waterworks. We drank more cheap red wine, dug into some cheese, and piled into the kitchen to make one of the greatest dishes of all time, all of us together.
If you can figure out what this thing is, you'll know what movie we watched.
Years ago, a man named Bill Neal opened Crook's Corner, a restaurant in Chapel Hill. He was not just any man, and Crook's is not just any restaurant, just as, I believe, Chapel Hill is not just any town. We lost Bill in 1995, but we still have his shrimp and grits. And while those who understand his culinary legacy still shake their heads at his demise, they'll never shake their heads at another plate of shrimp and grits. When I was in college, Crook's was too expensive for my burritos budget, and I didn't care for grits anyway. I didn't realize what I had been missing until a few years ago, when I dragged Michael to Crook's to give him the proper Chapel Hill education, never mind that my own had a few holes in it. I took a deep breath and ordered the shrimp and grits, wondering if I could stomach a whole plate of mushified, pasty grits. But when the steaming platter of perfectly curled shrimp and pale brown gravy landed in front of me, I thought: what in the hell has been wrong with me?
I cleaned my plate -- I won't say I didn't lick it -- and ever since that meal, I make sure to bring a bag of Crook's grits back to New York with me. It's caused some trouble with the T.S.A. people at Raleigh-Durham International Airport, but no matter. This stuff doesn't just show up at Fairway, you know.
So last night, we made Bill Neal's shrimp and grits. I turned the bacon, Stacey stirred the grits, Laura grated the cheese, Sarah Jane sliced the mushrooms and scallions, and Johanna put out the bowls and kept everyone's glasses filled. It was home. We were home.
Bill Neal's Shrimp and Grits
adapted from the Crook's Corner grits bag
1 pound shrimp, peeled and cleaned
6 slices bacon
2 cups sliced fresh mushrooms
1 cup sliced scallions
1 or 2 large cloves of garlic, depends on your taste
juice of one whole lemon
hot sauce (Tabasco and Texas Pete are good; do steer away from the Sriracha variety)
chopped fresh parsley
salt and pepper
1 recipe of cheese grits (below)
Clean the shrimp, wash them and pat them dry.
Cook the bacon over medium heat until crispy. Drain the bacon on a paper towel, and leave the grease in the pan -- you'll need it.
If there's not enough bacon grease in the skillet to cover it, add a little peanut or canola oil and turn the heat back up to medium. When it's hot again, add the shrimp and stir around. As the shrimp starts to turn pink, add the mushrooms and stir for a few minutes. Add the scallions and garlic, and cook until the whole thing is done, but not overcooked. Season to taste with the lemon juice, hot sauce, parsley and salt and pepper. Spoon it all over the cheese grits (it's easiest to do it in individual bowls), crumble the bacon over it and serve immediately.
(A note for those avoiding meat: we cooked a portion of the shrimp mixture in oil instead of bacon grease, and I can say with confidence that they're good either way. Just depends on your preference.)
for the grits:
4 cups water
1 cup grits, not quick-cooking
1/2 tsp. salt
4 tbsp. unsalted butter (not margarine. Butter.)
1 cup grated sharp Cheddar cheese
1/2 cup grated Parmesan
1/4 tsp. cayenne, or to taste
a few grates of fresh nutmeg (please avoid the already grated stuff. It tastes like licking the floor.)
Bring the water to a boil. Stir the grits in slowly, and reduce the heat and cook for about 20 minutes, or until the grits are thickened and cooked all the way through. Stir frequently, making sure to get rid of any lumps. Stir in the butter, cheeses and spices, until all are melted into the grits. Keep warm and put aside.
Serves four.
