Some people just don’t like okra.
OK — let’s be more precise. A solid majority of Americans compare the small green pod unfavorably with the contents of a used tissue. Even Nancy Young, owner of Blue Moon Café in Kelseyville’s Clear Lake Riviera, recoils at the thought of the scorned vegetable.
“I’m not a big fan of okra,” she admitted.
But Young includes okra on her menu — twice. Perhaps she recognizes that it responds to technique. Cook them without care and the pods release a mild flavored slime. Treat it well, on the other hand, and that character thickens gumbo into a hearty favorite or disappears almost entirely under a quick fried cornmeal crunch.
And Blue Moon chef Amelia Rojas knows her way around okra.
Fried okra is a southern staple. The plant was introduced to this county by slaves torn from their African homes to toil in plantation fields. Like other scorned greens — collards, poke and the like — okra found its way into the kitchens of poor white farmers, as well.
Blue Moon’s fried okra would be familiar to anyone brought up on catfish and hushpuppies. Rojas highlights the pod’s unique texture and subtle, grassy funk. Surrounded by a comforting, crispy shell touched with a little salt, pepper and — perhaps — a few grains of dried cumin (for there is a faint earthy bite), the combination beckons you.
Yet the comfortable café is rarely content to stick with status quo tradition. They pair the okra with a sharp balsamic dipping sauce, livened even more by a mix of herbs. It slices into the okra, finding kinship with the earthy pop of the seeds while adding a sweet, tangy finish.
Yes, the sauce is intended to take some of the perceived weight off the fried dish. But the okra is content either way — homey on its own, compelling with a dip.
“You have to admit, if you don’t like okra you might like it fried,” Young said. “It has that nice crunch.”
In Rojas’ take on the classic Creole dish, the okra provides a rich and earthy base. In parts of west Africa, the pods are known as “gumbo.” European settlers adopted the name when they begin to refine culinary traditions from France, Spain and Africa with flavors of the Louisiana delta.
Blue Moon’s gumbo provides intense flavor and hearty sentiment. Deep in the broth, a dark roux forms the foundation. A trinity of onion, celery and bell peppers could be called the soul — an elusive character that becomes obvious only in its absence. Okra adds heft and ground sassafras, known as file, finishes the broth with added body and that inscrutable grassy, loamy savor.
In between there is a wealth of garlic, vegetables, sausage and shrimp — or chicken, if you wish — surrounding a mound of rice. Perhaps it’s not “authentic” old school Creole, but gumbo is an accommodating dish.
And if the chef can to play upon tradition with this much ingenuity, guests leave with satisfied smiles, no matter their expectations.
“She only knows how to make things from scratch,” Young said of Rojas.
Clearly she understands how to bring out the best in okra. Yeah, people unfamiliar with the southern, soul food favorite may dismiss okra as slimy and disturbing. But one trip to the Blue Moon Café will transform them into avid fans.
Dave Faries can be reached at 900-2016
