Lemon Garlic Shrimp

Spring has arrived in Charleston with its usual extravagance — azaleas blooming in every garden, wisteria draped over iron gates like purple invitations, the air thick with the sweet, almost narcotic scent of Confederate jasmine. I walked to work three mornings this week, taking the long route through the historic district, past the churches and the single houses with their piazzas, and I thought about how this city holds its beauty and its history in the same hand, never quite letting go of either.

At the library, we are preparing for the summer reading program. This is my favorite administrative task — choosing the books, designing the challenges, creating the incentive structure that will convince seven-year-olds that reading is a worthwhile use of their summer. I have been doing this for over two decades, and every year I am astonished by the same miracle: a child walks in who does not like reading, and by August, that child is asking me what to read next. This is why I became a librarian. Not for the quiet — though I do love the quiet — but for that moment when the right book finds the right reader and something shifts.

Robert and I had a good week. I am learning to say this without qualification, without the silent "but" that has haunted every positive statement about my marriage for the past year. We went to dinner Saturday night at a restaurant on King Street — just the two of us, which used to be romantic and then became fraught and is slowly becoming something in between. He talked about a property dispute he's handling, and I talked about the summer reading program, and we were two people having dinner, which is either unremarkable or miraculous depending on how you count.

I made shrimp and grits twice this week — once for the family, with Anson Mills stone-ground grits and shrimp from Shem Creek, and once for myself on a Thursday lunch when the house was empty and I wanted something that tasted like exactly where I am. Mama's shrimp and grits are the benchmark. Hers have a warmth to them that I have never quite replicated, and I suspect the missing ingredient is the Beaufort kitchen itself — the light coming through the window above the sink, the hymn she hummed while she cooked, the particular geography of home that flavors everything made within it.

James won his first debate tournament this weekend. He called me from the bus on the way back, trying to sound casual, failing entirely. "I just kept talking," he said, "and then they stopped and I realized I'd won." I told him that was how his grandfather preached — he just kept talking until the truth arrived. James got quiet after that. He never met Reverend James — my father died when James was twelve — but he carries him in his name and, increasingly, in his voice.

I am reading Elizabeth Strout's "My Name Is Lucy Barton," which is about a woman talking to her mother in a hospital room, and I cannot get through a chapter without thinking of Mama and the parsonage kitchen and the way love and food are the same language in our family, spoken fluently by the women and understood, if imperfectly, by the men.

After James called from that bus, still riding the high of his first tournament win, I hung up the phone and stood in my kitchen thinking about my father—about inheritance and voice and the things we pass down without meaning to. Mama’s celebratory meals were never fussy; they were fast and bright, built on the faith that good ingredients don’t need much convincing. I reached for shrimp, a lemon, and a head of garlic, and in ten minutes I had something sizzling in the skillet that smelled like every good thing I’ve ever wanted to hand my son. Here’s how I make it.

Prep Time: 5 min | Cook Time: 5 min | Total Time: 10 min | Servings: 4

Ingredients

1 pound medium shrimp, deveined (tail on or peeled)*
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
Fresh ground black pepper
1 1/2 tablespoons olive oil
4 garlic cloves, finely minced
1 1/2 tablespoons salted butter
2 tablespoons lemon juice and zest of 1 lemon
Finely chopped fresh parsley, for garnish

Instructions

Season the shrimp. Pat the shrimp dry. Place it in a bowl and sprinkle it with the kosher salt and a few grinds of fresh ground black pepper. Stir to combine.
Prep your ingredients. Prepare all the remaining ingredients as noted above.
Sear the first side. In a very large aluminum or cast iron skillet, heat the olive oil over medium high heat. Add the shrimp in a single layer (without stacking it) and cook for about 1 to 1 1/2 minutes, until cooked on one side.
Flip and add butter, garlic, and zest. Flip the shrimp with tongs. Add the salted butter and allow it to melt. Add the minced garlic and lemon zest. Cook for another 1 to 1 1/2 minutes until the shrimp is opaque and just cooked through. Remove shrimp to a bowl.
Make the pan sauce. Add the lemon juice to the pan and cook on low heat for 1 minute, scraping the brown bits from the bottom of the pan to pick up flavor. Pour sauce over shrimp and serve immediately. Leftovers store well for up to 2 days.

Nutrition (per serving)

Lemon Garlic Shrimp — On Inheritance, Voice, and the Dishes That Bring Us Home