Photo by Jim Franco
|
The Romance of Food
By Cassandra King, March & April 2009
The author finds true love—and shared passion—over crab cakes
|
Try These Recipes...
Crab Cakes at the Conroys'
The King of Sponge Cakes (online extra)
It was love at first sight, the night Pat Conroy and I met over silver platters of food. For me it was the chocolate-dipped strawberries; his passion was a mound of green olives floating in garlic. I had arrived late at a reception for him, only to be told that Pat—the guest of honor and one of my favorite authors (his works include The Lords of Discipline and The Prince of Tides)—had already gone. Disappointed, I consoled myself with the leftovers of a lavish spread, grateful no one was around to witness my gluttony. No one, that is, but a broad-shouldered, bright-eyed Irishman who munched olives as he chatted with a couple of my friends. I was unable to speak when my friends introduced their companion, Pat Conroy himself. With a knowing twinkle in his eyes, Pat suggested I try the olives. They were not only delicious, he said—they went down easier than a mouthful of chocolate and strawberries.
 
That was 14 years ago. And though Pat and I got to know each other during long, impassioned discussions about writing and literature, it was a mutual passion for food that took our friendship to another level. Pat was as intrigued by my down-home culinary interests as I was by his more knowledgeable and adventuresome palate. Initially I tried to pass myself off as his epicurean equal. Because I was a writer and college instructor who could hold my own in a discussion of Renaissance poetry, Pat assumed I was a sophisticate. It was an assumption I encouraged but not one I pulled off. Not for long, anyway.
Pat was as intrigued by my down-home culinary interests as I was by his more knowledgeable, adventuresome palate.
Two years after we met, Pat proposed we take a trip to New Orleans together. It started out well. After arriving in the legendary French Quarter, we enjoyed the first of many fabulous meals. When Pat offered to share his foie gras, I claimed I was enjoying my shrimp salad too much to mingle the flavors. ("People actually eat goose liver?" is what I was thinking.) At our next dinner I was dismayed when the waiter brought out a gnarled, peculiar-smelling object and proceeded to shave it over our pasta. I'd always wanted to try truffles, but how could I keep up the sophisticated facade if the truffle tasted as bad as it looked? I gamely plunged in the fork and found the flavor so delicious, I ate every bite—and finished off Pat's plate, as well.
The last night of our epicurean tour, I requested a double order of the oysters as an entrée. Pat had enjoyed them the night before as an appetizer, and I'd dreamed of them ever since. I should have paid attention when he raised his eyebrows—but I basked in his admiration instead. Any doubts he might have about my worldliness would now be a thing of the past.
Pat said his crab cakes were so good I would want to marry him after tasting them. They were, and I did.
The waiter brought out a spectacular presentation of raw oysters in the shell, circling an ice sculpture embedded with tiny bottles of vodka. To eat the oysters, which were topped with a ginger-shallot sorbet, you tipped them into your mouth, then washed them down with an icy shot of vodka. Pat watched me savor a dozen, moaning in pleasure. Then dinner was over and I tried to stand up. To this day, I have no idea how he got me out of the dining room, nor do I remember much else of the evening. So much for savoir-faire.
Back home, I knew I would eventually be faced with Pat's signature dish. Since writing about them in Beach Music and preparing them on ABC's Good Morning America, Pat had become renowned for his crab cakes. I had often said I could eat a shrimp the size of a whale or a lobster as big as a moose—but I detested crab cakes. The only ones I'd had were heavily breaded and deep-fried, about as appealing as a shoebox. After the oysters, though, I figured I might as well be upfront about my provincial tastes, and Pat laughed. Trust me, he said. My crab cakes are so good you will want to marry me once you taste one. He was right. They were, and I did.
Bestselling author Cassandra King is currently at work on her fifth novel, Bridal Falls.
Find your next great meal in our recipe database
|
