most sought-after fishing spots and unknown gems.
HERE, THEN, is a firsthand and rare glimpse into their private fishing respites, rituals, and reflections. Part field guide, part cookbook, this sporting story is warm and potent, a familiar and soulful pull on the memory of that first fish, cherished recipes and a sport that provides no end of keen pleasure.
From their earliest recollections of youthful adventures and boyhood schemes to their grown-up versions of camaraderie, competition, and renewal, catching fish is the lure. Also passionate about the preservation of fishing for future generations and the requisite replenishment of nature and ecosystems, their collective voice imparts deep and lasting values way beyond a limit.
Stewards of the land and the water, these chefs work to make a difference. They support local farmers, sustainable conservation and fisheries, train rising chefs, and fight childhood illness. They are culinary entrepreneurs and philanthropic innovators that give back in a multitude of ways.
They are the real masters!
Lisa Buser’s artful eye, with photographic genius and grit, captures the essence of the bounty and spirit of bayous, backwaters, and bays, as well as the celebration of culinary culture and the sporting life. Undaunted in her pursuit of magical moments, Lisa floats seamlessly from 10-hour cobia hunts atop a three-tiered roiling tower, through the perfect storm as it looms over a deadline, to assorted late-night, deliciously un-styled food shots.
This vivid combination of images and stories embody affection, anticipation, and gracious sharing of this thoroughly rewarding sport. Chances are that each of us would describe our days spent fishing with a similar voice.
Peter Kaminsky, author of our Foreword, offers that such portrayals, “…always come out sounding like poetry, or phrases from a holy trance.” That depiction enchanted me upon first reading and remains one of my favorite phrases in his evocative and powerful essay.
You, too, will read the narrative and borrow nuggets that beg for savoring and sharing. Like a purposeful cast with rod and reel, I wasn’t quite sure where Peter was leading me, but I sure was excited when I got there. How fitting for his story of “yesterday, now, and next time.”
I CAN’T BE AWAY from the water for very long. It was where I found my first sense of freedom as a teenager. I connected it to adventure, and it was just my place. It has always been where I have felt most comfortable, and it’s where I return when I need to find peace and balance.
JEREMIAH BACON
CHARLESTON, SC
Bacon, a native of John’s Island, S.C., is the executive chef and partner of The Oak Steakhouse and The Macintosh, which in 2012 was a semifinalist for Best New Restaurant by the James Beard Foundation, awarded best new restaurant in Bon Appetit’s annual 50 Best New Restaurants, and named Best New Restaurant by Esquire. Bacon is a five-time James Beard Foundation semifinalist for Best Chef Southeast, most recently in 2016. After culinary school at the Culinary Institute of America in Hyde Park, New York, Bacon lived in New York City, where he honed his skills in the kitchens of some of the city’s most legendary restaurants, including River Café, Le Bernardin, and Per Se.
MY FIRST MEMORY of eating what I caught was with my grandmother when I was 7 or 8 years old. She would take us to a little dock on the Folly River, and we would catch blue crabs and shrimp on 3-foot lift nets. Then we would go to her house and cook them “big pot” style with corn and sausage and eat them right on her back porch with tea so sweet you could stand a spoon in it.
In the mid-80’s, my family got a small jon boat with a 25-horsepower stick engine, and I was allowed to take it out by myself. It’s like growing up on a farm, where kids start driving the family pickup when they are 13- or 14-years-old: you can’t go too fast and there is not much to run into. It was like that with a jon boat, too, especially scooting around the barrier islands. I was a strong surfer and swimmer, and my parents felt comfortable with my friends and me heading out on our own.
We stayed pretty much on the back end of Kiawah Island and Johns Island, exploring the three rivers: Kiawah, Stone, and Folly. There was plenty of time spent in and around the creeks and throwing the cast net and fishing pole around. We would often bring back a nice cache of shrimp to the house, and watch my mom prepare and cook them — the true beginnings of my interest in learning how to cook.
There is no better way for a kid to grow up than with exposure to the outdoors, whether it’s inland in the woods and fields or out on the water. It helps build awareness of the wonders of life, and it also helps build respect and regard for the dangers found in nature, especially on the open water. You have to pay attention to your surroundings and yourself. For me, those summers helped forge a lifetime of wonderment and admiration of the water.
“There is no better way for a kid to grow up than with exposure to the outdoors, whether it’s inland in the woods and fields or out on the water. It helps build awareness of the wonders of life, and it also helps build respect and regard for the dangers found in nature, especially on the open water.”
“Just rocking on the boat, sitting still and listening to the sound of the waves hitting the sides. It’s a place that forces me to listen, watch, feel the water, and have patience. It’s about what’s going on in a whole other world—the one on the water and the one under it.”
After graduating from the College of Charleston, I enrolled at the Culinary Institute of America, which is perched high on a cliff over the Hudson River in Hyde Park, New York. The campus was vast and beautiful. It was bitterly cold, too, especially for a kid who grew up in Charleston. I started in January and the temperature was in the 20s with a fierce wind coming off the river. I pushed myself pretty hard at school, and I would find myself looking out on the river for a few moments every day for inspiration and sometimes consolation. It was fascinating to watch such a big river push huge amounts of water and ice up and down, all day long.
I did my externship at The River Cafe, located directly beneath the Brooklyn Bridge on the East River. The restaurant was fastened to a barge, and water in the river was extremely fast-moving as it squeezed into the narrow mouth from the bay. For me, it was the perfect metaphor for the hectic pace of New York City.
I went on to work in the kitchens of Ilo, Le Bernardin, and Per Se. They were intense, high-paced environments that put out very complex dishes in a highly orchestrated setting. My winddown would involve running and the water. I began to do a lot of long distance running, and I would always plan routes near the water. I lived just a few blocks south of the George Washington Bridge, and I loved to jog across the bridge into Fort Lee, New Jersey, and down the footpath of Fort Washington Park. The immensity of the bridge and river would merge, at some points even rivaling the high energy of living in such a dynamic city.
After New York, I spent two years working