Crab Cakes —rsquo; The Kitchen That Still Smells Like Her

The third week after Mama's death, and the household has entered the particular rhythm of early grief — the rhythm that is not a rhythm but an arrhythmia, the irregular beating of a house that has lost its drummer. Ruth no longer comes (no one to care for), and the absence of Ruth is the second loss, because Ruth was not just Mama's caregiver but Mama's companion and Naomi's partner and the household's heart, and the heart has stopped, and the stopping is the silence that is different from Mama's silence: Ruth's silence is the silence of a woman who has been released from a job she loved and who is, somewhere in North Charleston, carrying her own grief for Mrs. Simmons who liked tea with two sugars and hymns in Gullah and the particular respect of being called by her name.

Gloria is gone too. The evening shift has been disbanded. The household is two: Robert and Naomi. The two-ness is both liberating and devastating — liberating because the twenty-four-hour caregiving is over and the over-ness is the relief I am not allowed to feel but that I feel anyway, devastating because the over-ness means the person who required the caring is gone, and the gone-ness is the cause of the relief, and the cause is the grief, and the grief and the relief are the same coin, and the coin is in my pocket, and I carry it everywhere.

I have been writing in the journal again — not the cookbook (the cookbook is with the publisher) but the journal, the weekly entries that I have written for seven years and that I will continue writing because the continuation is the promise and the promise is the showing up and the showing up is what Simmons women do: we show up. At the stove. At the desk. At the table. We show up.

I made Hoppin' John — not for New Year's, not for luck, but because the peas were in the pantry and the making of a dish that has been in the family for generations felt like the right response to the death of the woman who brought the dish from Beaufort. The peas simmered. The rice steamed. And the kitchen smelled like the parsonage, and the smell was Mama, and Mama was the smell, and the smell was alive even though the woman was not.

The Hoppin’ John was for her — to bring her back through smell, through the peas she carried north from Beaufort. The crab cakes are for me, for the version of Mama that lives in the coastal flavors she never stopped cooking: the Old Bay measured in memory, not in spoons, the way she pressed the patties with the heel of her hand. I made them because showing up at the stove is the only thing I know how to do right now, and because the kitchen smelled like her long after the Hoppin’ John was gone, and I needed it to smell like her again.

Crab Cakes

Prep Time: 20 minutes | Cook Time: 12 minutes | Total Time: 32 minutes (plus 30 minutes chilling) | Servings: 4

Ingredients

• 1 lb lump crab meat, picked over for shells
• 1/4 cup mayonnaise
• 1 large egg, lightly beaten
• 1 tablespoon Dijon mustard
• 1 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce
• 1 1/2 teaspoons Old Bay seasoning
• 1/4 cup plain breadcrumbs, plus more if needed
• 2 tablespoons fresh flat-leaf parsley, finely chopped
• 1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
• 1/4 teaspoon kosher salt
• 1/4 teaspoon black pepper
• 2 tablespoons unsalted butter
• 1 tablespoon neutral oil (such as canola)
• Lemon wedges, for serving

Instructions

1. Combine the filling. In a large bowl, whisk together the mayonnaise, egg, Dijon mustard, Worcestershire sauce, Old Bay, lemon juice, salt, and pepper until smooth.
2. Fold in the crab. Add the crab meat, breadcrumbs, and parsley. Fold gently with a rubber spatula — keep the lumps intact as much as possible. If the mixture feels too loose to hold a patty, add breadcrumbs one tablespoon at a time.
3. Form and chill. Divide the mixture into 8 equal portions (about 1/3 cup each) and press gently into patties roughly 3/4-inch thick. Place on a parchment-lined plate, cover, and refrigerate for at least 30 minutes. This step keeps them from falling apart in the pan.
4. Heat the pan. In a large skillet over medium-high heat, melt the butter with the oil. When the butter foams and the foam begins to subside, the pan is ready.
5. Cook the crab cakes. Working in batches if needed, add the crab cakes and cook undisturbed for 4–5 minutes, until a deep golden crust forms on the bottom. Flip carefully and cook 3–4 minutes more on the second side. Do not crowd the pan.
6. Rest and serve. Transfer to a wire rack and let rest 2 minutes before plating. Serve with lemon wedges and, if you like, a simple remoulade or hot sauce on the side.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 295 | Protein: 24g | Fat: 18g | Carbs: 8g | Fiber: 0g | Sodium: 680mg