Recipe: Victory Garden

Makes one cocktail

For those who want to make a high-proof tomato libation themselves, this recipe comes from Nat Harry, a fixture of the Bay Area bar scene for over 15 years at spots like Revival and Cask. Currently they are working on their first book, “Distilled: A Guide to the Ingredients Behind a Better Bottle” (Westwood Press), set to publish in 2023. The book focuses on agriculture and sustainability, making a case for why you should buy your favorite liquors with the same mindfulness and intention as shopping for locally grown tomatoes at a farmers’ market.

3 cherry tomatoes

A few leaves of fresh cilantro

½ ounce cilantro syrup (see note)

2 ounces reposado Tequila

¾ ounce Meyer lemon juice or ½ ounce lemon juice

Muddle 2 tomatoes, cilantro and cilantro syrup with Tequila in a cocktail shaker, being mindful that the tomatoes may burst. Add lemon juice, shake and double strain once through the shaker and a second time through a fine-mesh sieve. Garnish with the final tomato, whole, on a skewer.

To make the cilantro syrup, add ¼ cup of washed, coarsely chopped cilantro to room-temperature or cold simple syrup. Cover and let sit at least 4 hours or up to overnight in the fridge.

Instructions:

Note:

Holder’s House is a secret; a blessing; a refuge. A passion project by a chef who fully intends to leave the Bay Area in the next few years, the pop-up shimmers with an anxious sense of ephemerality. While basking in the sunshine on the patio, gulping sharp rushes of ginger limeade, you might wonder with a touch of sadness, will I ever be able to have fried chicken this good again? Well, you still have some time.

Despite the many accolades to their name, Oakland chef and restaurateur Sarah Kirnon’s latest project is extremely under-the-radar — and that’s by design. Kirnon is best known for opening Miss Ollie’s, a critically acclaimed Afro-Caribbean restaurant that was also a fixture for Black and brown queer people in Old Oakland. Since the 10-year-old restaurant closed earlier this year, Kirnon has split their time between short-term gigs, like a guest chef residency at cocktail bar Elda, and working with Sanctuary, the nonprofit they founded. This pop-up, hosted at Oakland’s Forage Kitchen event space, has no phone number and loose hours, with the final shoe dropping in that vague timespace when food runs out.

Caribbean by way of California, the daily menu is limited to eight or fewer items and is fairly ad hoc, determined by farmers’ market bounties and how much Kirnon feels they can handle that day. Kirnon exclusively uses Instagram to announce menus and specials, usually around 4:30 p.m. the day of. One day there might be a cow heel soup, rich with gelatin, okra ooze and the life essence of bone marrow; on another, steamy sweet potatoes, split open and filled with braised red beans and powerfully garlicky tofu. It’s improvisational, stripped-down and highly personal — and, importantly, the food is exceptional.

Skillet-fried chicken ($21), modeled

after Kirnon’s grandmother’s recipe, carried Miss Ollie’s, and it continues to be a headliner at Holder’s House. The tantalizingly bronze and crisp coating conceals a secret garden of greenery: a ground-up blend of herbs and vinegar tucked under the skin to perfume the succulent flesh. Peak-of-summer watermelon, cut into nostalgic, rind-on wedges, might tag along on the side, if it’s available. Served in a small metal sheet tray lined with red-checked paper, the pieces of chicken look like they’re lounging on a picnic blanket, enjoying the sun as much as you are.

Ordering is simple: Do it at the counter, then relax on the patio. Listen to the radio static hiss of your chicken sizzling as it slinks into a hot pan of grease. Because of the open layout of the space, it’s impossible to ignore that Kirnon is the only human in the kitchen; the other folks, Forage Kitchen staff, run the food and serve drinks, but Kirnon’s the only one cooking. Naturally, the food comes out as it’s ready, and it can take a while.

On one visit, I kept my order to side dishes and got the first volley within 20 minutes. There was a pair of starchy smashed plantains ($8), wide as kidsize flip-flops, topped with a nest of vinegary and hot pikliz. Then came the carbs, a small bowl of brown rice and peas ($8) and a casserole dish of baked macaroni and cheese ($11). The former was well-seasoned and saucy with rouge-colored pot liquor, the red beans perfectly tender, with a depth of flavor earned from a long, gentle braise.

The macaroni, made with short round noodles, was so indulgent, supple and creamy that it would have been too easy to fill up on that before the rest of the food came. Bits of caramelized cheese, scooped from the top of the larger dish, were thoughtfully mixed in throughout the portion: I could feel the affection in that gesture, not unlike that act of a parent who cuts the crust from a child’s sandwich.

Kirnon’s seasonal approach is strongest in their saltfish and ackee ($24), a classic of Caribbean cuisine which they enhance with farmers’ market produce. Ackee, a West African fruit exported to the Caribbean in the days of the transAtlantic slave trade, is creamy, like egg yolks cooked over medium. In a way, the dish reminds me of Vietnamesestyle stir-fried eggs, laced with justwilted shallots and whipped with a few dashes of fish sauce. In Kirnon’s hands, the dish also winks in the direction of shakshuka, with chunks of eggplant, halved cherry tomatoes and clusters of fresh basil adding plenty of acid and body.

In all my visits, only one dish didn’t work for me: a top sirloin gravy ($12.50), made with shredded beef in a dense, Worcestershire-dominant braise. The salt level was so high, you could probably float in a pool of it. I could see how it would work as something to eat with white rice, but you’d need an incredible amount of starch to avoid blowing out your tastebuds. But all in all, it was a blip in an otherwise excellent series of experiences.

Besides the fried chicken, another