Today would have been my Dad’s 78th birthday. I miss him all the time, especially when there’s something funny or exciting I really want to tell him about, and I have that split second impulse to shoot him an email or pick up the phone…and then I realize with a pit in my stomach that I can’t. If he were still alive I would tell him about an article that I just had published, which happens to be about his own mother—my Mimi—who was a food writer from 1946-1976. It’s also about all the women who came before, who helped build food writing back when it was seen as “just women’s work.” Please have a read. I’m thrilled to be featured in Comestible Journal and am a fierce advocate for small, independent publications.
Also: Dad was a huge influence on my love for food, cooking, and writing about it. He was always a great supporter and teacher. In honor of his birthday I’m including a version of a piece that I wrote in 2017 for The Virginia Sportsman magazine.
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Hunter, Fisherman, and Chef
Fall 2017
This May marked the passing of my father, Andy Williams, who was a longtime reader of this magazine; he also served as an inspiration and a tremendous resource for the recipes and stories I’ve put down here. Many who knew him would agree that he was not only passionate about hunting and fishing—as he was about his many chosen pursuits—but he was also an accomplished cook of wild-caught foods. He was generous with his talents and over the years came to be known as the chef-in-residence during the many hunting and fishing expeditions he enjoyed with friends. In many respects, these occasions became happenings around food, as well as celebrations of the bounty that nature had provided.
Back when I was a young child, I cringed at the bundles of bird carcasses he hauled home along with muddy boots and bloodied hunting gear, and I’m sure I pleaded with him tearfully to stop killing the creatures I saw as friends. I hadn’t yet made the connection between the hamburgers and chicken nuggets I enjoyed and the animals they had previously been, nor did I think about the quality of those animals’ lives. What I eventually learned, by watching his rituals, was a natural completeness and circularity of tracking and taking wild animals, preparing them, using every possible part of them, and crafting a beautiful meal that could be shared among friends. This knowledge was a gift—so many children now are disconnected from the origins of their food, and I got to understand and appreciate this ancient cycle from an early age.
I also got to learn a trick or two, as Dad was constantly refining his repertoire of recipes and adding new ones to it—whether taking courses at Le Cordon Bleu in Paris, or experimenting with a new-to-him ingredient such as harissa or quatres épices, or tinkering with a recipe he had somehow cajoled a famous restaurant chef into sharing with him.
One constant was his stock-making routine, which took place every year once the air became crisp, and he’d amassed enough game bird frames and cast-off bits to fill the basement freezer. Then, he lugged down his tallest stockpot, which took its place on the rear right quadrant of the stove, beside the small wooden barrel into which he poured leftover wine to make his own vinegar. The first day, the pot sat tranquilly as delicate currents circulated around the jumble of bones, vegetables, and bundled herbs inside. Once the liquid went to gold and had drunk all the essence of the solids, he ran the whole mess through a fine, cone-shaped strainer into a smaller pot, where the clear stock concentrated further, overnight and into the next day, darkening from wheat-colored to ochre, and finally deepening to a rich umber emulsion through which bubbles rose thickly. You could chart the progress of the stock’s reduction by the strata of skin deposited around the inside of the pot, ruffling in the rising steam.
My love of cooking was born and grew in that kitchen, as I assisted or sometimes just watched, listened, and smelled. Even during the vegetarian years of my teens, I was attuned to what was going on at the stove and had a solid respect (if not appetite) for hunting and the reverence and resourcefulness that can and should go along with it. Later, with genuine interest, I spent many afternoons beside him at the counter, learning the components of classic cuisine, as well as how to clean and prepare wild birds and fish. By the time I was enrolled in cooking school in my 20’s, I was already conversant in the vocabulary of the kitchen and comfortable with the more visceral aspects of working with food.
Dad and I cooked many meals together over the years and enjoyed even more that we didn’t prepare; food was one thing we could always agree on and look forward to during visits. I will miss those times with him in the kitchen or at the table, and I treasure the recipes he so enthusiastically shared with me, usually in the form of rambling emails with meandering asides and silly puns. Below are two of his beloved fall classics, in time for dove season—one of his favorite times of year.
Andy’s Grilled Dove in Red Wine Marinade
Serves four as an appetizer, or as part of a dinner buffet
Ingredients:
1 cup red wine
1 shot of gin
1/2 cup olive oil
3 TBS. soy sauce
3 TBS. balsamic vinegar
1 dried bay leaf
2 sprigs fresh thyme (or 1 TBS dried thyme)
1 tsp. ground black pepper
1 tsp. salt
8 whole dove breasts, split, on the bone (16 halves)
Directions:
Whisk together all ingredients except dove breasts. Lay breasts in a casserole dish or in a zip-lok bag, and pour marinade over them. Marinate for approximately two hours, making sure the meat is uniformly covered with the marinade.
Preheat grill to medium-high flame. When the grill is hot, lightly oil grates and grill dove 3-4 minutes each side, or until medium rare. Do not overcook. Dove breasts can be eaten straight off the grill or served with collard greens, or with sautéed cabbage and caraway seeds.
Dove Breasts with Jalapeños and Bacon
Serves 4 as an appetizer
Ingredients:
8 whole dove breasts, split, on the bone (16 halves)
8 small jalapeño peppers, halved and seeded or 16 rounds of jarred jalapeño slices
8 slices bacon, cut in half
toothpicks or small bamboo skewers
Instructions:
Preheat grill to medium-high. Lightly oil grates. Lay dove breasts bone side up on a flat surface, and place a piece of jalapeño in the center of each piece. Wrap a piece of bacon snugly around each breast, crossing ends on top of jalapeño, and secure with a toothpick or skewer.
Grill breasts 4-5 minutes on each side, or until dove meat is medium rare and bacon is crisp. Enjoy!