You Should Take Some Notes From A Young Black Chef Named Kwame Onwuachi
A little more than halfway through Notes from a Young Black Chef, a young Kwame Onwuachi constructs a thoughtful and enlightening metaphor while studying at the Culinary Institute of America. As the raft of egg whites float in a stainless steel pot, the albumin captures the unwanted proteins washing away from submerged animal bones rising to the surface. The eggs thusly absorb the impurities and, once strained, creates a consommé, a type of broth that is as clear as water but full of deep and robust flavors.
On the surface, we try to hide our most painful trials and tribulations—our time on this planet is unarguably a test of endurance. But instead of allowing this existential struggle to inhibit and debilitate, we transform it into one utterly complex journey. And so, it is through this process that Mr. Onwuachi realizes: “…I resolved that I would become someone not to be messed with, not through fear but through talent, someone who couldn’t be seen through and dismissed” (172).
Image from Eater D.C.
At Kith/Kin, the metaphor of the consommé is alive and well. It was a hazy summer day in D.C.; the afternoon rainfall had ceased but the humidity hung heavy in the air like one of those gravity blankets. As my 5 o’clock reservation approached, I walked along the water while that blazing orb in the sky lethargically made its move from east to west. I entered the Wharf Hotel and found myself waiting in line to be seated by the hostess (even at 5pm!). When I was taken to my table, I took in the sights of the dining room: a rectangular bar seemed the space’s central focal point, a type of watering hole where businessmen, tourists, and young couples of various shapes, shades, and sizes enjoyed drinks and conversation. Its chic and industrial aesthetic with black and grey décor offered a level of comfort that felt both luxurious and easeful. The restaurant’s huge panel windows facing the water also made for excellent people-watching. The restaurant nimbly struts along the tightrope fastened between a fine-dining establishment and a swanky, local favorite.
It could’ve been the heat or the early seating, but the wait staff seemed lulled into a robotic dinner-prep moving in slow motion. Wine glasses were still being cleaned and placed on tables as I waited for a server to notice me. After 10 minutes, my water was filled. In another 5 the menu was delivered. I cooled off with the Caribbean Belt cocktail…Although I was secretly hoping I would find a Nutcracker on the menu, a concoction of rum and juice Kwame had mentioned in his book. Nonetheless the combination of smoky mezcal with pureed pineapple and ginger tasted as refreshing and intoxicating as I hoped.
After my first read-through of the menu, it was clear I still had a thing or two to learn about Afro-Caribbean cuisine. Uni escovitch, Soft shell crab suya, and monkfish egusi were three dishes that peaked my curiosity but required further clarification. Luckily I did not need to drown myself in anxiety or the suffocate beneath the fear of sounding foolish or uneducated. The staff at Kith/Kin were incredibly knowledgeable and enthusiastic about the aforementioned menu items. Questions were encouraged as my server effortlessly provided answers to my eager inquires.
Escovitch: a traditionally Jamaican sweet and spicy sauce poured over fish or chicken
Suya: a spice mixture from regions of West Africa
Egusi: a bitter fruit (resembling a watermelon) grown and harvested in West Africa primarily for its seeds, which are high in protein and fat.
If you are one of those people that don’t like uni, I beg you, come to Kith/Kin with someone who does. Then order the uni escovitch—a menu MVP. The sometimes overwhelming brine of the creature was subdued by the crispy, edible serving vessel underneath. It was a chip that I have to admit tasted like a Cool Ranch Dorito…in all rich, cheesy and peppery right ways. For the uni-averse, its flavor becomes much more palatable with additions of a creamy avocado mousse and pieces of sweet lobster and crab. That crispy chip, though, brought everything together with crunchy, garlicy goodness. I assure you, haters, you’ll forget that you’re eating urchin innards and just think: damn, that’s good.
I was told the brussels sprouts were also a standout dish. They were served warm and in a bowl with roasted cherry tomatoes, thin layers of onion, and a sauce made with Calabrian chili and honey. There was also a slice of bright green lime partially dipped in suya, that smoky, hot and pepper-infused mixture. I squeezed the liquid from the citrus and watched as it mixed with the spices, a miniscule stream of red and pink coating the burnt, crispy edges of the vegetable. The harsh yet intentional caramelization of the sprouts made them sweet and tender with enough crunch to get me over the feeling of soft, sweetly acidic tomato bubbles bursting in my mouth. Slices of sweet onion and the quieted heat (thanks to the honey) of the Calabrian chili worked together to keep the suya in check while still highlighting its spicier notes. I think I’ll have to add suya to my pantry.
I had high hopes for the eggplant, but it was a dish I could have done without. Its song was neither as harmonious nor as symphonic as the other small plates. It was presented cut in half, roasted until achieving a light brown complexion and soft, creamy interior. Sitting beside it was a smaller, whole eggplant. Cute, I admitted. But I felt that its overall blandness did not tell me anything neither about Kwame as a chef nor Kith/Kin as his restaurant. I think some salt would have helped.
I don’t eat monkfish often, and I had never tasted egusi. Why I waited so long to try it, though, is beyond me. The seeds of the melon—which I assumed were ground to thicken the stew—were reminiscent of pumpkin seeds, but the higher fat content created a mixture that was both rich and mellow with a consistency that held up very well against the flavors and texture of the fish. The greens were wilted but vibrantly green and their stems (still intact) offered a slightly bitter and earthy flavor that only elevated the fantastic comfort level of the stew. The Monkfish was served like a piece of beef—bone-in, thick, and cooked akin to a medium-rare. Its off-white flesh was a beautiful and a highly alluring contrast against the yellow egusi. Unlike a T-bone, though, I didn’t need a knife to cut into my fishy friend. My first forkful was, yes, certainly fishy, but not in an obscenely briny way (uni haters, calm down). I recalled the smell of a fish market in the Caribbean, in the city of Castries on the island of Saint Lucia—it is a musk that “reels” you in (I couldn’t resist), a provoking scent of unknown creatures from the depths of the turquoise and sapphire sea. The monkfish flavor was thus foreign to me; it tasted of lifelong travel and possessed a flakey yet muscular texture of an animal that could have only undulated and moved through the currents of the Atlantic. To be more frank, I’ll tell you I enjoyed it very much.
The fufu, however, I found to be the unsung hero of the dish. A little larger than a golf ball, it waded in the egusi like a precious pearl. Its texture was soft and elastic; biting into it was very similar to eating gnudi minus the richness of ricotta. This dumpling was dense but very chewable—almost gummy. It became slightly sweeter while I ate, bringing out the nuttier components of the egusi while balancing the more robust flavor of the monkfish. Its playful mouthfeel and ability to harness and control the more powerful characteristics of its companion ingredients was utterly impressive.
Although quite full, I knew I had to have dessert. I opted for ice cream topped with small sugar-dusted balls of fried dough. It took longer to arrive than any other dish—about 25 minutes—but maybe that was to make a humble bowl of ice cream and doughnuts seem a little more exciting. The ice cream was very well-executed—smooth, not icy, and in no way over churned. The little warm doughnuts were a nice temperature contrast and fried to a beautiful golden brown. I couldn’t prevent a childlike grin from spreading across my face.
“Kith” is a noun that refers to one’s friends and acquaintances. “Kin,” more directly, is a term that encompasses familial relationships. Rather than “and”, Kwame chooses to utilize a slash for the moniker: Kith/Kin. Its seems to me, then, that Kwame wants to challenge his diners to gather in a space where lines are blurred and we see ourselves and others differently. Our friends are perceived with just as much importance as our family and vice versa. I think this also alludes to the restaurant’s overall narrative as it seeks to tell a more complex story about food being served by a black chef. Kwame Onwuachi is not serving (and was always reluctant to serve) “elevated comfort food”—there is no mac and cheese, collard greens, or fried chicken on the menu. The food of the American south may be a piece of the chef’s culinary past, but it is just that—a piece. From the Bronx, to Nigeria and Jamaica, to New Orleans, to Manhattan, and finally to D.C., chef Onwuachi’s sense of place has stretched for miles. As a result, his food is not made to appease a narrow demographic of restaurant-goers with certain expectations of what his food should or might be. Kith/Kin is Kwame’s food made Kwame’s way, prompting us to ask questions about our own cultural food biases and the racist narratives behind specific cuisines. Psychological discomfort is therefore a critical piece of our experience dining at Kith/Kin. But remember it is not the only piece. I am thankful to have gone to Kith/Kin not only for a meal of gustatory pleasure, but also to more deeply examine food as a method for social and cultural analyses.