My latest column for the Charleston Gazette-Mail:

In Appalachia, we like to make use of every part of an ingredient.

Take a carrot, for example. Chop and roast the root vegetable, then save the tops for a pesto or vegetable stock. Apples? Enjoy the fruit and use the skin and core to make a jelly. For potatoes, cube and boil the spuds to make mashed potatoes, but keep the peels to roast as a crispy topping for a casserole.

And then there’s watermelon.

Yes, watermelon. The pink meat of the fruit is often enjoyed at backyard barbecues or poolside gatherings, and the green rind — not to be tossed aside as waste — can then be pickled.

While not unique to Appalachia, this classic Southern tradition of pickling watermelon rind fits into West Virginia’s food culture.

Resourceful. Creative. Tasty.

Watermelon is thought to have originated in Africa thousands of years ago and spread through China, Europe and America. Now, it can be found at any family reunion, summer party or festival.

And pickling the watermelon rinds is a great way to not only make use of the whole melon, but also enjoy a bit of summer all year long. The pickled rinds are sweet, zesty, and full of vitamins B and C.

Depending on your choice of pickling spices, the rinds can be suited to your tastes. Add them to a summer charcuterie board, top tangy deviled eggs with them or even try them on a hot dog (just don’t tell West Virginia hot dog purists I suggested it).

This perfect Southern- turned-Appalachian snack gets at the heart of summer — and Appalachian values.

Here's my latest column in the Charleston Gazette-Mail:

Those bright pops of yellow that spring up on a summer lawn are more than just weeds indicating that the grass is a day or two past its prime.

Dandelions, named for their sharply toothed leaves (a version of the French phrase “dent de lion,” which means “lion’s tooth”), offer much more in the way of culinary and herbal value.

The flower belongs to the genus Taraxacum, which can be found all over North America. The common dandelion (Taraxacum officinale) was introduced into North America hundreds of years ago from Europe for a variety of reasons: The young greens are delicious and healthy with high amount of Vitamins A, B, C, E and K, in addition to calcium, iron, manganese, magnesium and potassium.

Dandelions play a large role in a number of herbal medicines. The dandelion, which now propagates as a wildflower, also provides a nectar source for a wide variety of pollinators especially early in the season: honeybees, butterflies, moths and nearly 100 more species of insects. Plus, the leaves and seeds feed birds, chipmunks and other wildlife. That’s because dandelions are edible from root to flower.

Dandelions are often described as having an earthy, nutty, and slightly bitter taste. The perennial herb’s root is a relative of chicory and can be dried, roasted and used for coffee. That same root can also be peeled and cooked like a vegetable. The greens are perfect for a salad or for pesto. Roots, leaves and stems can all be brewed to make tea. The blossoms can even be dredged and deep-fried like squash blossoms for a special treat.

So, with all these positive attributes — is the dandelion a weed? Or a flower? It depends on who you ask — and where it’s growing.

A weed is a wild plant growing where it is not wanted and competing with cultivated plants. A flower is the part of the plant often brightly colored at the end of the stem and survives for just a short period of time. While the dandelion doesn’t appear on the USDA’s Federal Noxious Weed List, most people don’t want them in their carefully manicured gardens or competing with surrounding plants that can affect the local ecosystem. The hardy plants grow well in most soil types and have a high tolerance for nutrient-poor soil, as well.

Our ancestors may have seen dandelions as an invaluable flower that could provide food, medicine and help the local honeybees, whereas most people today aren’t foraging for their food and instead find the ferocious grower a pest. The dandelion maintains those steadfast and hardy characteristics that are emblematic of Appalachia. They bloom even when the environment is tough and are resilient even when some may not want them to be so.

Whether you wish for the dandelions to rise to their respected position in the flower chain or to disappear from your lawn altogether, you can do so with a big exhale on a dandelion puffball.

Here's my latest column for the Charleston Gazette-Mail:

You know that magical moment when you approach a clearing in woods? The sun is dripping through tall, overhead trees, and springy green moss covers stones. You see those whimsical ferns popping up from the ground with furled green fronds — seemingly from an enchanting story.

Those are fiddlehead ferns.

Fiddlehead ferns aren’t a particular type of fern; rather, they are a stage of growth. They are harvested early in the season, usually in May, before the coil has a chance to unfurl — creating a delightful and delicious vegetable.

The main species of sought-after fiddlehead fern found in Appalachia is the ostrich fern or Matteuccia struthiopteris. Ostrich ferns can be in the New England area, as well as eastern Canada. Other edible fiddlehead-type ferns can be found in other regions, such as the bracken and lady ferns of the Pacific Northwest.

The vibrant, emerald green ostrich fern fiddleheads, named so because they look like the head of a fiddle curled up, contain a trace amount of toxins, so they must be cooked before being consumed — at least for 5-10 minutes to be safe.

First, remove any of the papery brown skin by rinsing them off. Then, you can steam, braise, sauté, roast or even pickle them — after blanching, of course.

After cooking, the bitter flavor will disappear, revealing a bright, slightly sweet essence. It’s like a mix of asparagus with a grassy and snappy green bean. Because of those light flavors, it’s best to not overdress with heavy sauces or rich dressings. They’re perfect in salads, sides or pasta.

Beginning in early spring, fiddleheads can be found in West Virginia near moist river valleys, roadside patches and other forested areas. West Virginia is graced with this naturally growing delicacy — along with many others in the spring, like ramps and morels.

Using these gifts from the ground are part and parcel of Appalachian cuisine. Not only do Appalachians know how to make use of foraged foods and native plants, they also know how to do it well. That’s just one of the reasons why Appalachian cuisine is so unique — just like the fiddlehead fern itself.

Here's my latest column for the Charleston Gazette-Mail.

West Virginia may not have an official state food, but we do have an official state insect: the honeybee.

In addition to pollinating many of the state’s important fruits, vegetables and grasses, the honeybee produces flavorful honey, which has played a role in many culinary communities — including in Appalachia.

Early European settlers would use honey as a sweetener before commercial sugar was easy to come by, and mountain farmers have continued the long-standing tradition of Appalachian apiculture, crafting delicious varietals like tulip poplar, clover and sourwood.

“Central Appalachia is an ideal location for natural beekeeping. The abundance of diverse forest and undeveloped land in our region helps keep our bees healthy. Our native Appalachian forests host an abundance of nectar-rich species such as tulip poplar, black locust, sourwood, and wildflowers,” according to the Appalachian Bee Collective, a project of the nonprofit Appalachian Headwaters. Headwaters’ primary focus is on ecological restoration and environmental education.

“Most agricultural land is devoted to livestock, meaning that much of the area is covered [in] excellent bee forage, like clover. We have minimal agricultural crops to contribute to the range [of] synthetic chemicals other bees often endure.”

The hospitable environment lends itself to an increasing number of folks keeping bees — many as a second career — to use honey at home, gift it to friends or even sell it locally. This honey can be substituted for sugar in many recipes and the shining star in others, like honey-glazed carrots, spoonbread or apple dumplings.

Though honey has been important in Appalachia for centuries, it’s not the only region where it has played an important role. Honey has been depicted in European cave drawings, appears in the Bible and was even used as currency for ancient Romans.

But, like many other aspects of life, Appalachia remains innovative in its use of ingredients and utilizing what’s available from the land. Or, in this case, what’s available from the hive.

One thing is for sure: It sure makes mountain life a little sweeter.

Here is my latest column fro the WV Gazette-Mail:

West Virginia is often referred to as the northern-most southern state and southern-most northern state. And, it’s smackdab in the middle of Appalachia.

At a cultural crossroads between southern classics like pimento cheese and iconic northern favorites like New York-style pizza, West Virginia straddles the culinary line — and adds an Appalachian twist.

For example, if you’re in West Virginia, you might take a look at the above dishes and decide both pimento cheese and pizza could benefit from the addition of ramps. Or maybe even some morel mushrooms.

Or maybe that’s just me.

This unique geographic location, though, means both foods commonly identified with the northern part of the United States and the southern part of the United States have made their way into the foodways of Appalachia and often improved with a little ingenuity.

Cheese straws are one such food. Some say the savory, cracker-like snack has ties to the British biscuit. Others say it might be related to the biscotti of Italy. In America, they’ve become synonymous with the South.

No matter where they originated, cheese straws have persevered in the region and even migrated a bit north. That may be due in part to the same reason that many other foods have stood the test of time in Appalachia: they’re made with what’s available and they’re made to last.

Making cheese into straws or other crackers was once a way of preserving cheese in the South, which can be hot and humid and not the most welcoming environment for fresh cheese.

The flaky and firm snacks were popular during the ’50s and early ’60s as a canape when paired with a cocktail.

Now, you may see them as a snack on a charcuterie board or at a family reunion.

Wherever you may find them, cheese straws have that Appalachian quality of having been created out of necessity, and that’s always special to me.

Here is my latest column for the Charleston Gazette-Mail:

You know how they say “as American as apple pie”?

Pie makes up a huge slice of American cuisine. Think apple pie during the Fourth of July. Pumpkin pie during Thanksgiving. Summer pies with fresh fruit.

In particular, a whole slate of pies became popular during times of hardship like the Great Depression and World War II.

“Depression pies” were made from what staple ingredients were available: butter, sugar, eggs, flour, etc. These pies were created from sheer practicality, a virtue ingrained in the Appalachian culture.

Because of those similarities, many of these pies have remained popular in our region. Let’s talk about five of the most popular ones:

Buttermilk Pie

Made with sugar, butter, eggs, buttermilk and wheat flour, buttermilk pie is associated with Southern cuisine. It often includes lemon juice and zest for a little extra zing. The creamy filling is often thickened with flour and it’s all housed in a buttery pastry crust. The now-shuttered Bluegrass Kitchen in Charleston served my favorite version of this pie: blueberry buttermilk pie. If you need to try it, you can still order it at Starlings Coffee & Provisions. You won’t regret it.

Chess Pie

Similar to buttermilk pie, chess pie makes use of sugar, butter and eggs. But it uses cornmeal, rather than flour. The creamy, pale yellow filling is gooey and sweet and dense. The origin of its name is unclear, but some say it’s because the pie used to be stored in a pie chest, or “chess,” while others say that the name is derived from it being simple — “it’s ches’ pie.”

Vinegar Pie

If you have sugar, butter, flour and vinegar, you can make this sweet and tangy pie. Vinegar was added to pies in lieu of elusive and expensive fresh apples or lemons. The vinegar creates a tart flavor that pairs perfectly with the sweet sugar base.

Sugar Cream Pie

Likely originating with Shaker communities in Indiana or Pennsylvania, Sugar Cream Pie usually consists of sugar, cream, vanilla and flour all set in a pie shell. And, it’s even Indiana’s official state pie.

Water Pie

Water, flour, sugar, vanilla and butter are combined in a pie crust to create a delicious dessert that can be made when fresh fruit is unavailable or too expensive.

There are many more “make-do” pies, including shoo fly, mock apple and mincemeat. The ingredients all differ slightly, but what connects them all together is that they were developed from available ingredients. Whether that’s a lack of refrigeration, seasonal fruits or cash, those ingredient shortcomings made way for ingenuity and creativity in the form of pie.

Eggs, flour, sugar, grains and dried fruits were more accessible than high commodity items and made their way into pies with the resourcefulness of housewives. And they’ve persevered throughout Appalachia due to those same qualities that made them popular in the first place.

So if you value resourcefulness, I think that’s as good an excuse as any to enjoy a slice of pie. Or five.

Here's my latest column in the Charleston Gazette-Mail:

One hallmark of Appalachian cuisine is the innovative use of the food available from the land and rivers — and the celebration of it.

But Appalachians weren’t the first group of people to employ this strategy. Rather, we have the Native Americans to thank for many growing techniques (among other things, like land, etc.) that have served as the basis for a number of meals.

Staples like corn, beans and squash — known as the Three Sisters — not only grow well together, but they also thrive. Native Americans had been growing this vegetable trio for centuries before folks like Appalachians began to integrate the sisters into dishes like soups, stews and succotash.

“Native Americans here knew this from the start, growing corn, beans, and squash — the ‘three sisters’ — together because of their symbiotic relationship. Corn removes nitrogen from the soil, and beans replace it. Cornstalks provide a natural trellis for the bean plants to climb on. Low-growing squash plants create shade and hold in moisture,” according to Fred Sauceman’s essay, “What Exactly is Appalachian Cuisine?”

The small ecosystem exists in a mound, with the three plants working together to deter weeds and pests, enrich the soil and support one another.

Here is how it all comes together:

The cornstalks in the center offer necessary support to the pole beans, which climb toward the sun.

The pole beans pull nitrogen from the air and return it to the soil via their web-like bean roots.

The large, broad leaves of sprawling squash provide shade for the soil to keep it cool and moist by slowing evaporation and prevent weeds.

The prickly hairs on the squash leaves also deter pests, like raccoons.

The pole beans grow up through the squash vines and around the cornstalks to hold all Three Sisters together.

In companion planting, each element — or plant — contributes to create a nutritionally balanced harvest, while helping the others succeed. Together, they produce a whole that is greater than the sum of their parts.

I think that could be symbolic of many things — not only Appalachian food and these important vegetables that provide a framework for so many of our meals, but also our communities, our state and our culture. It’s a time where we, like the Three Sisters, are meant to unite and work toward a better outcome — together.

Here's my latest column for the Charleston Gazette-Mail:

For many in Appalachia, Christmas Eve consists of light snacks in anticipation of the next day’s baked ham with brown sugar glaze, mashed potatoes and gravy, green bean casserole and lots of cookies.

But if you’re of Italian heritage, the day before Christmas may consist of deep-fried calamari, octopus salad, clams, fried smelts, scallops, shrimp cocktail, oyster shooters, scungilli (sea snail) and baccala (salt cod).

The Feast of the Seven Fishes, held on Christmas Eve, is an Italian-American celebration that features fish and other seafood dishes and is rooted in the ancient tradition of Roman Catholics abstaining from meat and dairy products before holidays, according to Saveur, the gourmet food and travel magazine.

“It’s unclear where the fixation on seven types of seafood came from in the America meal — some say it represents the seven sacraments, seven cardinal virtues, or seven days of the week. Some Italian-Americans set a different number all together, like 12 (guessed by some to represent the 12 apostles),” reads an article by Saveur’s Stacy Adimando.

While the features of the meal are rooted in Italian traditions, the Feast of the Seven Fishes is an Italian-American creation. It’s likely Southern Italian immigrants brought the concept with them to America, and it has developed over time into the official “Feast of the Seven Fishes” meal that celebrates history, family and food.

Communities all across America now host the feast on Christmas Eve, specifically in areas with large Italian populations — including Appalachia.

Many Italians from the Calabria region of Italy made their way to North Central West Virginia to work in the coal mines in the early 1900s. In 1910, more than 17,000 Italians were living in West Virginia, making up 30 percent of the entire foreign-born population of the state, according to the West Virginia Encyclopedia.

Robert Tinnell, a Marion County native with Italian heritage, wanted to document the Feast of the Seven Fishes Christmas Eve tradition he grew up with by creating a graphic novel in 2005.

The graphic novel spurred Fairmont’s “Feast of the Seven Fishes” festival the following year, which was filled with street vendors, a cooking school, entertainment and music. Thousands attend the festival each year, and it has been named a Top 20 Event for December by the Southeast Tourism Society.

Most recently, the book has been adapted into a film and was shot in North Central West Virginia — cementing the region’s status as the capital of the beloved feast.

Like many events, the Feast of the Seven Fishes Festival will look a bit different this year, with drive-thru menu options and televised programming in lieu of a street festival.

But the sentiment of the holiday remains. West Virginians can continue to celebrate the heritage of West Virginia and the patchwork of various cultures that make Appalachia unique during these uncertain times.

The Feast of the Seven Fishes is one example of honoring our roots while maintaining an Appalachian spirit. Now, I think more than ever, it’s important to keep our neighbors and community in mind as we weather challenges ahead during this different holiday.

So, maybe add a fish dish to your upcoming holiday in honor of this tradition, celebrate Appalachian heritage and stay healthy, friends.


Stuffed Squid or Stuffed Calamari

From Shannon Colaianni Tinnell. Originally presented by Robert Tinnell.

Marion County native Robert Tinnell celebrated the Feast of the Seven Fishes with his family every Christmas Eve growing up, and in 2006 partnered with Main Street Fairmont to host a festival in its honor. One key part of the festival is the “Festival Cucina” kickoff, an evening cooking school where his wife, Shannon, also shares some classic seafood recipes and dishes. The tradition has gained popularity in Appalachia not only through the festival, but also through the couple’s graphic novel and, most recently, a film. The festival will look a bit different this year, with a televised cooking school airing on WDTV on Friday, Dec. 11, a pop-up shop downtown and drive-thru feast option. If you’d like to get started early, check out this recipe from the Tinnells for a true, authentic taste of one of seven fishes.

2 to 3 pounds calamari

2 tablespoons olive oil

1 bunch finely chopped parsley

1 head finely garlic

1 whole egg

2-3 cups freshly grated Parmesan cheese

1 large can fine dry unflavored breadcrumbs

½ to 1 cup milk

1 teaspoon salt and pepper

Tomato Sauce:

2 large cans tomato puree

1 small can tomato paste

5 cloves minced garlic

1/4 cup olive oil

1 small white onion, chopped fine

fresh basil to taste

salt, pepper, and red pepper flakes to taste

First prepare the sauce. Saute the garlic and onion in olive oil over medium heat being careful not to burn the garlic. Add the tomato products and seasonings. Simmer on low heat. Add the fresh basil at the end of the cooking time.

Clean and prepare the squid by removing the tentacles and leaving only the body cavity. Chop the squid tentacles very fine. In a bowl mix them with the stuffing ingredients. Mix by hand, slowly adding the milk until a thick moist mixture is achieved.

Stuff the calamari being careful not to overstuff because they will shrink during the cooking process and burst. Drizzle the baking dish with olive oil. In the baking dish, lay the stuffed calamari in rows and cover with tomato sauce. Drizzle the baking dish with olive oil. Sprinkle with grated cheese and fresh basil.

Cover tightly with foil and cook in a 450-degree oven for 45-60 minutes. The squid is done when it feels tender at the pricking of a fork.

Here's my latest column for the Charleston Gazette-Mail:

The fall ushering in cooler temperatures signals that it is time to make the final harvest of the garden by gathering up the wayward zucchini, corn, cabbage and peppers.

These leftover veggies are typically not enough to put up, in and of themselves, but combined, they can create the Appalachian specialty known as “chow chow.”

Chow chow is a condiment made up of those end-of-the-season garden vegetables, combined with vinegar, turmeric and other spices, and then canned. The result is a tangy — and sometimes sweet or spicy — mixed vegetable relish that can add some twang to hot dogs, beans and cornbread or any other dish that could benefit from an acidic kick.

“Evidence suggests that Chinese laborers introduced it into this country about 1850 when they worked on the railroads. Its Chinese origin is evident, not only in its name, but also in the seasonings that include a mixture of turmeric and various mustards,” according to Mark Sohn in “Appalachian Home Cooking: History, Culture and Recipes.”

“Late in the nineteenth century, this odd mixture of fall garden produce became popular among mountain families, and it has remained a favorite. Today, those who travel find chow chow sold up and down the Appalachian Mountains, but less frequently to the east of west.”

Because of the nature of this relish, the recipe is highly variable. One season, there may be a ton of cabbage left over, while the next year, it may be more pepper heavy.

Typically, a chow chow recipe calls for five to 12 vegetables. That can include celery, hot peppers, green beans, lima beans, tomatoes, apples, corn and more.

That’s the beauty of chow chow. The recipe can range from spicy to mild, sweet to savory, thin sauce or thick, chunky relish — all dependent on the preferences of the family.

Chow chow preserves those fresh veggie flavors and memories from summer — perfect for when there’s a foot of snow outside and the cornbread you made needs an extra kick.

Like many other Appalachian foods, chow chow is a resourceful way to not only make sure every vegetable in the garden is put to use and but also bring some fresh flavors to the table during months when they aren’t plentiful.

This table staple goes well with so many Appalachian dishes and brings that vinegar-based flavor that punches dishes up. Whether it’s a homemade recipe or a gourmet version bought off the shelves of a grocery store, chow chow embodies a piece of Appalachian foodways and carries on those food traditions. How do you take your chow chow?

My latest column for the Charleston Gazette Mail:

Bologna for me growing up meant three things: Kraft American singles, white bread and mayo.

 If you’ve been “bologna sandwich broke,” you are probably also all too familiar with this combo and may have since phased it out of your lunch repertoire. Many can’t get over the smooth, floppy texture. Or, the sandwich may simply be reminiscent of tougher economic times.

But as an adult, I’m rediscovering this pink lunchmeat in the form of fried bologna, hot bologna sandwiches, pickled bologna and maybe even risotto. And, I’m not alone. New York City-based Momofuku founder David Chang has said bologna could be the next big “thing.”

“It’s a blank canvas of pureed meat, ready for inspiration to take hold. You can make it from duck, veal, chicken, pork, beef, and a variety of game. You can smoke it, use different spices, change just about anything about it,” he wrote in GQ Magazine.

“The problem right now is that there is no such thing as artisanal bologna. This blows my mind — we have craft doughnuts, beet pickles, beef jerky ... but no bologna? This needs to change. ... And the next time you visit your favorite restaurant, tell the chef to stop making tiny batches of that Italian stuff and start experimenting with great American bologna. Do that and it’s only a matter of time till bologna starts bumping pork belly off menus all over town.”

Bologna, like many beloved foods in Appalachia, is a product of immigration. It is derived from the Italian sausage mortadella, a fatty pork sausage, which has popular in the city of Bologna since the 15th century. It likely made its way to North America via German immigrants in areas like the Midwest, Pennsylvania and Appalachia, according to Eater.com.

Bologna is made from discarded or fatty parts of meat that are ground into sausages and cured like mortadella. It can contain garlic or other spices. It is cheap, keeps well and is easily produced — which made it readily accessible to those across the country.

Those characteristics allowed bologna to become a mainstay throughout Appalachia. But in true Appalachian fashion, there’s a twist — whether that is the toppings, how the bologna itself is prepared or traditions involving the lunchmeat.

You’ll find bologna on biscuit sandwiches at Tudor’s Biscuit World. You’ll find fried bologna sandwiches topped with a spicy BBQ sauce at bars. You’ll find it in pickled ropes in local country store jars.

These takes on American bologna showcase the resourcefulness and ingenuity of Appalachians. With some culinary magic, bologna is delicious — and can even last much longer with pickling. So if you’ve strayed from the quintessential American lunchmeat, it may be time to reunite. Just try it in one of the classic Appalachian ways.

 How do you like your bologna?

Here's my latest column in the Charleston Gazette-Mail:

The quintessential Appalachian fall day includes rainbow-hued leaves falling to the ground, cool breezes whipping through trees and a giant copper kettle.

That giant copper kettle is, of course, filled to the brim with apple butter.

A thick spread made by cooking apples with sugar and spices, apple butter is a fall delicacy in Appalachia, with many families and communities crafting their own homemade versions to last through the winter months.

It’s perfect on biscuits, toast, oatmeal, and just about anything that needs a little extra sweet and lightly spicy kick.

Creating a large copper kettle’s worth of apple butter takes time, patience and lots of apples.

It most often involves peeling, coring and chopping local apples; dumping them, along with cinnamon and other spices, into the copper kettle over fire; and stirring the mixture with a wooden paddle for hours.

This labor of love has persevered through the years — with festivals throughout the state celebrating the tradition. You’ll find apple butter festivals in Berkeley Springs, Salem and Chapmanville annually. Often, there are pageants, live music and contests to accompany the celebration of the fall staple.

Like many Appalachian foodways, the art of making apple butter was created to fill a need. Apples, which are plentiful in our mountainous region, can be preserved in the form of apple butter to last throughout cold winters.

Communities would often come together to make quick work of the task while also enjoying each other’s company. Those gatherings evolved into the festivals we know today.

While the festivals may be taking 2020 off, you’ll still find folks making smaller batches of this iconic fall treat at their homes. The community gathering aspect is an important piece of what makes apple butter so special — the memories, the hard work, the fun.

Fortunately, you can find solace in the rich, complex flavor of apple butter, knowing its long history and role in Appalachian food culture. The sweet, thick spread is deliciously steeped in resourcefulness and ingenuity.

Each bite is a taste of fall, with a touch of tradition.

Here's my latest column (yay, it's back!) for the Charleston Gazette Mail:
Let’s talk about Appalachia’s chicken of the sea: Trout.

When populations emigrated to West Virginia, they often brought with them dishes from their home countries and infused an Appalachian flair. In lieu of beef, a dish might incorporate venison. No fresh vegetables? Try pickled ones. And what used to be scallops and shrimp now calls for trout.

Trout is plentiful in rivers and streams throughout the state — specifically hidden in the nooks and crannies of flowing water. Brown, Rainbow and Brook Trout can be found wild throughout the region. The brook trout, West Virginia’s official state fish, is the only native trout.

If you’re lucky, you may have even caught a glimpse of a golden rainbow trout, which was selectively bred by West Virginia Division of Natural Resources biologists over several years and is now stocked in lakes and streams each spring.

While abundant in the wild, trout is the standout star when plated. It typically has a mild flavor and delicate, flaky texture. Trout is often baked or pan-seared — maybe with a little butter, lemon and parsley to accentuate the light flavors.

At The Restaurant at Elk River in Slatyfork, farm-raised rainbow trout is prepared with local herbs, baked and filleted table-side. Bluegrass Kitchen in Charleston has served it pan-seared with organic grits and braised kale with a bourbon mustard-dill sauce. And Tamarack in Beckley serves a local rainbow trout pan-seared in a simple lemon butter in their food court.

However the preparation, trout has become an integral part of our foodways in Appalachia — from high-end restaurants to families living off the land over many years.

Utilizing this native fish illustrates the rugged determination of Appalachians to not only create meals with what’s available but also elevate it using local, seasonal herbs and flavors.

Marion Ohlinger, chef and owner of Hill & Hollow Restaurant in Morgantown, keeps a trout option on his ever-changing, seasonal menu. Sometimes it’s smoked trout fondue with pan-fried flatbread. Other times, it may be an entrée with “chuno.”

“Several years ago, I was backpacking in the Andes along the Peru/Bolivia border, and I took a little boat out to the island of Taquile, in Lake Titicaca — the world’s highest navigable body of water and one of the purest on the planet,” Ohlinger said.

“There were no roads or electric on Taquile back then; I hope there still aren’t. I ate at a little home kitchen cafe by the water where they served fish caught right where you sat and cooked right in front of you over an open fire. There, I had the best trout I ever ate in my life. It was pan-fried in chuno, which is crushed, dried potato, and topped with sautéed local berries and spicy peppers.”

When he returned to West Virginia, he replicated the meal with Appalachian ingredients for his previous restaurant, Richwood Grill. He sun-dried local potatoes from the farmers’ market, then ground them in a grain mill for what he dubbed “hillbilly chuno.”

How do you prefer your trout?

Chuno

You can make your own chuno by simply buying instant potato flakes at the grocery store, then grinding them in a blender, adding salt and white pepper to taste. Be sure to buy the quality flake; no preservatives, just dried potato.

The berries and pepper topping is easy: blackberries and jalapenos from the garden, quick-seared in a cast-iron skillet for 30 seconds with a pinch of salt. I’ve always meant to try it with elderberries, but haven't gotten around to it yet.

For less spice, you can use bell peppers, and for more spice, any pepper that suits your Scoville jones. Dredge the trout in the potato mix, and pan-fry in bacon fat (of course) on medium heat for about three minutes flesh side down, then flip it over to the skin side, turn off the heat, and let it rest in the pan five minutes before topping with the berry mix and serving.

Plan on one trout per person, and about a half cup of berries/peppers per person.