Acheson, who’s clearly taken with Southern food culture and
lore (he’s devoted his career to it), is not, by blood, a Southerner.
“I grew up in Ottawa, Canada,” he tells me, explaining that he
moved to Georgia after marrying his wife, who was from Athens.
“But being an outsider lets me approach this food from a whole
new angle.”
If Acheson had only set out to dutifully re-create Southern
staples, he might have quickly become discouraged or, worse,
diinterested. “I’m learning every day,” he says. “But we do it our
way. If not, we get bored.”
That notion—avoiding boredom—is one that few of us consider
in the kitchen. But cooking should divert you, it should engage
you, and, at its best, it should enrich you.
For example, Acheson uses classic French techniques to take
his food to a higher level. When he and I sear scallops in a hot pan
with oil, Acheson begins preparations for a classic beurre blanc
sauce. In a small pot, he reduces white wine vinegar and white
wine with a shallot, garlic, bay leaf, and thyme. He strains that
into another pot set over a low flame and then he hands me a small
whisk.
I get to work as he adds small cubes of very cold butter. As the
sauce begins to emulsify, Acheson watches, careful not to add too
much butter at once or the sauce might break. Even though you
would find this technique in stuffy old French cooking textbooks,
this activity is anything but boring. It is, in fact, fun.
At the end we have two composed restaurant dishes—scallops