A big bowl of Southern comfort
in this wonderful seafood stew

Without a doubt, one of my favorite foods from the Roadhouse—and I get to eat a lot of good food—is the Creole Potlikker Fish Stew. We’ve been serving it for nearly a decade now, and with each passing week, I think it accumulates even more loyal fans. In the spirit of Natural Law #10, since no one else (to my knowledge) makes this dish anywhere in the country, Potlikker Fish Stew is wholly unfamiliar to most new customers. Its strength? It’s well on its way to becoming a signature dish, worthy, I believe, of national attention.

While hardly any of us up here in the north have ever heard of it, down South, potlikker is pretty much an iconic culinary staple. For those who are just now learning of it, potlikker is the broth from the long-cooked, loaded up with bacon, and collard greens we make every day at the Roadhouse. It’s basically a bacon-spiked, slightly spicy, vegetable broth. In the South, potlikker is powerful stuff—the Southern equivalent of chicken soup, the way I see it.

Aside from its socio-culinary context, potlikker has an important role to play in American history. Culinary historian, accomplished author, and friend, John T. Edge explains its significance in American political history:

The Potlikker and Cornpone Debate of 1931 began when Julian Harris, an editor of the Atlanta Constitution, verbally assailed Huey Long, governor of Louisiana and United States senator-elect, over the question of whether cornbread should be dunked or crumbled into potlikker. The debate quickly escalated, and, for approximately twenty-three days, between February 13 and March 8 of 1931, engaged most of the South and much of the nation. Extensive newspaper accounts and correspondence from the time illuminate the primary themes of gender, race, class, and regional chauvinism that inform this debate.

To make this special Creole Fish Stew, we use the potlikker to poach some seafood—selections vary daily, and you’re welcome to ask. Usually, it’s three or four fish, and often some of those amazing day boat scallops we get in from the East Coast. The whole dish comes together beautifully, all poured and bubbling hot over the amazing traditionally-grown and stone-ground grits we get from Anson Mills. Dishes like this have West African roots—a fish stew served over a starch; lots of fish, lots of leafy greens. Swing by the Roadhouse, order a bowl, breathe in the restorative aromas, and enjoy a moment of quiet, comfort, and calm while you eat.

P.S. If you come late afternoon, the Roadhouse Happy Hour runs from 2 to 6 pm, Monday through Friday. A host of drink deals, special Texas tacos, fried pickles, and more!

P.P.S. Here’s a longer piece I wrote about potlikker about 15 years ago.

A beautiful bit of British comfort food
to cook up at home!

I learned about this wonderful bit of British comfort food from David Lockwood, one-time Deli staff member, now long-time partner at Neal’s Yard Dairy (NYD) in London—through whom we get these wondrous wheels—selected specifically for us. David was so enthused that I couldn’t ignore his advice, and, as usual, he was right on. This combination is terrific!

This simple but delicious dish all begins with the exceptionally excellent Appleby’s Farmhouse Cheshire. The Deli just cut into a particularly tasty new wheel, specially selected for us by David and the NYD crew—which is why it’s been on my mind of late. It’s been nearly three decades now that we’ve been selling the Appleby family’s very fine farmhouse Cheshire cheese at the Deli. I first visited Abbey Farm at Hawkstone—about halfway between Birmingham and Liverpool—where Lucy Appleby was making her now-famous raw milk, traditional Cheshire, sometime in the late ’80s.

Best I can remember, I kind of just showed up at their centuries-old farmhouse. Remember back then there was no email, no cell phones, no websites. Just books, paper maps, and word of mouth! I had read about them in the writings of artisan cheese supporter Major Patrick Rance and was eager to experience the Cheshire in its home. Mrs. Appleby, already in her late ’60s at the time, invited me in to watch the cheesemaking, and then later that day to sit in the kitchen for tea, a bit of talking, and of course, some cheese tasting. The Cheshire she was making—true to what had been crafted in the county for so many centuries—was exceptional. It was then, and remains now, one of a kind, little known or understood outside of a handful of folks in the know.

For context, at the time I knocked on the Appleby’s door, there was almost no British farmhouse cheese available in the U.S. And, in fact, truly traditional cheese was on the verge of going extinct in the U.K. Cheshire had once been the most popular cheese in England—150 years ago there were thousands of makers in the area. Sadly, though, as our friends at Neal’s Yard Dairy share: “By the end of the war, only 44 farmhouse Cheshire cheesemakers remained. In view of such challenging market conditions, the story of the Appleby family is quite remarkable.”

In the context of what I wrote above, it’s clear that the Appleby family have repeatedly chosen hope, countless times, over all the many years they’ve been doing this. I can only imagine how difficult it was to continue to do the hard work to craft a difficult-to-make artisan cheese when literally everyone else was going in the opposite direction—it was nearly impossible to find retailers who would stock it or places and people who were willing to pay much more to get this handcrafted traditional version of one of Britain’s oldest cheeses. Every time I eat a bit I’m deeply grateful that they did.

The quote above from Historian Yuval Noah Harari’s statement, “Choices change history” is just as true in the cheese world as anywhere else. In this case, one person’s decision to choose hope, at a time when the artisan food world was at a historical low point, played an important part in helping the Appleby’s to do what they have done. Major Patrick Rance ran a small cheese shop in Streatley-on-Thames and became a passionate campaigner for the cause of traditional British cheese. Rance’s Great British Cheese Book came out the year we opened, 1982, and it served as a sign of hope for frustrated cheesemakers like the Applebys. Years later, Christine Appleby, Lancy and Lucy’s daughter, declared, “If it hadn’t been for him, we’d have given up years ago. He was the flagship of British cheese.”

Thanks to all of the decisions to opt for hope, we all have the chance to enjoy this tasty treat! To make this little combo, it only takes a couple of minutes. Cook a couple slices of bacon per person—Nueske’s Applewood Smoked Bacon is always awesome. When the bacon is cooked but not crispy, crumble on a bit of the Appleby’s Farmhouse Cheshire. Cover it for a minute or so, until the cheese softens but doesn’t totally melt. Take out with a spatula and eat!

I like to also put it on a toasted Bakehouse brioche roll to make my own version of a British BLT. You can also add a fried egg, and a bit of lettuce, tomato, and mayo! As per what I wrote about extensively in “A Taste of Zingerman’s Food Philosophy,” it’s the coming together of simple, super quality, traditionally made ingredients to make for one impressively tasty treat.

A perfect pairing comes together

One of my big learnings in my study of the subject was that creativity is mostly about connections. Not necessarily who you know, but about putting things together in ways that they haven’t otherwise been combined. In my love for simple models that help me—and maybe you—get my mind around complex concepts without dishonoring the natural complexity of the world around us, I started to look at three kinds of creativity:

1. “Creativity Forward” – The easiest example to share might be high-tech innovation. Back in 1982, Open Book Management would have an example as well.
2. “Creativity Back” – We do a lot of this here in the ZCoB. It would include finding old, unused, or under-used ideas and putting them back to work. The Bakehouse’s fresh milling and the Creamery’s handmade Cream Cheese are two easy examples.
3. “Creativity Sideways” – Here’s what I wrote about it in the essay:

   [Creativity sideways] generally seems to come in two forms. Often, it’s merely finding something that’s commonplace within its own culture but, when introduced into unfamiliar territory, is transformed into an attention-getting, creative act. … We do a lot of this sideways creative work at Zingerman’s. … The Hungarian foods we’re working on at the Bakehouse would certainly fit.

   The other sort of sideways shift of creativity comes when two already well-accepted ideas or ways of working are put together in a totally new way, resulting in an innovative approach or product. … The classic historical example is of Gutenberg using wine press technology to print books … using Emma Goldman’s ideas to help run a progressive 21st-century business.

It’s this last kind of creativity that I’m thinking about here. The story goes back about 15 years now. In one of those unintended moments of connection, I was standing by the buffet table at ZingTrain after folks had happily consumed a lunch catered by the Roadhouse. I can’t recall which seminar I was teaching that day, but I do remember that down near the far end of the table were two of those big foil pans used to hold hot food. One had held a whole bunch of the Roadhouse’s really well-known Mac & Cheese (made with the marvelous Mancini maccheroni and that Vermont-cheddar-based bechamel sauce). By the time I got there, the pan was pretty much empty—only a few lonely noodles and a little cheese were left around the edges.

The other pan, to its left, had held fried chicken. That was pretty much gone, too. All that was left were a bunch of those itty-bitty little crumbs of crust that fall off when the actual pieces of chicken have been consumed. Looking down at the almost-empty pans, I suddenly had this thought that the two—Mac & Cheese and fried chicken bits—would be a beautiful thing if you put them together. I tried a few bites right then and there by putting together the small bit of each that was left. It was terrific. It went on as a special the next day and we sold 20 orders in two hours. It hasn’t come off the menu since.

If you’ve never had Fried Chicken Mac & Cheese, let’s just say it’s pretty marvelous. Little bits of fried chicken cooked into, and sprinkled on top of, a plate of creamy Roadhouse Mac & Cheese. The pepperiness of the fried chicken bits—we use that wonderful, small-farmTellicherry black pepper we get through Épices de Cru—serves as the counterpoint to the creamy Mac & Cheese.  And it all melds marvelously with the moist bits of fried chicken. (I like the dish for breakfast, topped with an over-easy egg!) Fried Chicken Mac & Cheese may not be as monumental a connection as the printing press, but I have a feeling this one is here to stay!

The Fried Chicken Mac & Cheese was the long-time favorite (always with a side of hot sauce) of Roadhouse server Danny Patterson. Danny moved away at the start of the pandemic and sadly, passed away earlier this year. His loss is felt by many. I’ve chosen to remember him by his big smile, his laughter, and his joy every time a serving of this super tasty dish went out into the dining room!

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