Frogmore Stew (a.k.a. Low Country Boil)
My Mom and Grandma Volberg (Nonnie) made us a dollhouse using carpet and wallpaper samples from Nonnie’s decorating business. It was the best dollhouse in town with art on the walls, appliances, bathroom fixtures, and a poseable family! Our cat, Rosie, used to love to climb into that kitchen, knock over all of the furniture, and take a cozy nap.
When Mom had granddaughters she gave the dollhouse a sprucing up with a new paint job, patio furniture, and fancy new bedding (made with batiks brought back from Indonesia and beautiful, hand crocheted linens).
It’s all in the details. Whether it was the tiny coffee table with real, readable magazines she made for our dollhouse or her remarkably weedless native wildflower garden, Mom cared about the little things. My sister and I spent our childhood in a “Metallic Camel” colored Chevy Citation careening around the backroads of North Carolina. Mom always had a few hefty bags and a trowel in the trunk so that if she saw a rogue plant for her garden, she could pull over and dig it up. Elisabeth and I used to crack ourselves up imitating her, shrieking, “Look, John! Joe Pye Weed!”.
However these plants ended up in our lives, nefariously or not, they were well-tended by Mom. During summer break when I was sleeping in, Mom was out there pulling weeds. We had a compost pile before every hipster was composting. There was a raspberry patch in our backyard. Can you imagine that? It seems like a dream now, but my sister and I hated it. We were required to pick something like a quart of raspberries a day and Dad kept threatening to march us down to La Residence (the fancy French restaurant in town) to sell them. Mortifying! Some summers Mom and Dad, aided by enthusiastic grad students, would rototill and plant a real garden. I remember growing corn, which was amazing when freshly picked for dinner.
Mom’s parents had a house on Fripp Island in the South Carolina Low Country, a part of of the world that is still special to me. It’s a magical place of moving tides and marshes, changing light and wildlife. My grandmother was a painter and had a wall of windows that looked out over this natural spectacle. It’s Pat Conroy territory. In fact, my family knew Pat. He lived on Fripp and had a bit of a crush on my grandmother (who didn’t?) and would swing by with his favorite tomatoes and other such gifts. His brother bought my grandparents house when they sold it.
(How’s that for Low Country street cred? The Fresh Prince of Tides?! Sorry, I had to.)
To get to our Grandparents’ house you would leave the mainland at Beaufort and then cross four islands (Lady’s, Dataw, St. Helena, and Hunting) before arriving at the last, most remote, Fripp. We used to count the islands and hold our breath on bridges. There’s a little town called Frogmore on St. Helena Island. It has an airport, at the time called the Frogmore International Airport. They have since rebranded (I guess Frogmore doesn’t scream jet set) and I’m not sure what international destination they support, but I’m buying what they’re selling. A Low Country Boil is a traditional meal down there, basically everything in one pot. The one my family makes is called Frogmore Stew, named after this little town. It’s so simple and so delicious. You just need to get the timing down once and then you can easily repeat it, even after a long day in the sun when you’ve had a few pops! Here’s the recipe. (Freshly picked corn from your own garden makes it even better. Yes, I’m being smug.)
FROGMORE STEW
Serves 4
2 Tablespoons Old Bay Seasoning per gallon of water
several lemons
1 lb smoked sausage (like kielbasa)
Sarah’s note: I’ve done this with veggie sausage, which I saute separately and then add at the end
6 ears of corn (cut into thirds)
2 lbs shrimp
8 or more new potatoes (cut in halves or quarters depending on size) or smaller fingerlings
Fill large pot halfway with water or beer. Add crab boil and halved lemons. Put in potatoes. When it boils, add 1" slices sausage and cook 5 min, then add corn. Cook 5 minutes, add shrimp and cook 3 more minutes. Drain and serve in a big bowl.
Serve with tartare sauce or aioli, cocktail sauce, melted butter, and lots of beer and bread. Maybe coleslaw.
Sarah’s note: I serve with a simple cocktail sauce: ketchup, prepared horseradish (as hot as you like it), a splash of Worcestershire sauce, and a squeeze of lemon or lime.
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