A Nantucket Pot of Gold
It’s no secret that Nantucket’s summer dining scene is world-class. Caviar tops everything from lobster rolls to onion rings, and Wagyu beef has found its way into our hot dogs, but what might surprise is the bounty of farm-grown produce, fresh seafood, and wild-foraged delicacies that grace our seasonal tables long after the tourists have departed. While we’ve grown accustomed to (or perhaps spoiled by) Nantucket’s palette of fantastic dining options shared over wine and candlelight, the chemistry of a great potluck is like nothing else. There is no menu, no price tag, that can deliver the memorable experience of fresh ingredients from our farms, fields, and harbors, catalyzed by the creativity of each participating cook – and with the season’s harvest safely tucked in the chest freezer, there’s plenty to create.
Locals like to joke that Nantucket’s location is akin to being in the “tropics of New England.” Our shoreline hugs the Gulf Stream, insulating the island from early fall weather and frost. This temperate weather pattern each fall provides islanders with an extended harvest season, allowing for late yields of root vegetables, cold-hardy greens, passing schools of striper, hand-raked treasures like scallops and clams, wild mushrooms, and so much more. As a partner of a commercial fisherman, it’s not uncommon for me to arrive home to find a mini-Igloo cooler in the driveway stuffed with fresh fish like bigeye tuna, swordfish, and yellowfin, or to open the shanty freezer to a surprise few vacuum bags of local venison from our hunter friends.
It’s no wonder then, with this seemingly endless bounty of native delights, that so many islanders I know are great cooks, and thankfully, they love to feast with as much gusto as I do. After all, it was at a potluck in my late teens that not only introduced me to lifelong friends but also ignited a passion for wine, food, and cooking that changed the trajectory of my life – a passion that eventually led to culinary school to pursue the joy of food full time. Back then, I didn’t know the first thing about cooking, but I was so enamored with the whole experience of communal cooking and eating that I’d pour over Food & Wine and Gourmet magazines, tearing out recipes to impress at the next dinner party.
Now, twenty years later, sharing meals is still how we come together, but when the calendar begins to repeat months ending in ‘R’, potlucks go from being a loose, fair-weather gathering to a winter tradition rooted in necessity.
Despite restaurant closures, wet and windy weather, and questionable ferry schedules conspiring against us, winter here can be very grounding (pun intended). We are, somewhat forcefully, made to embrace a more intentional, slow pace of life. Nightfall comes early, and our cooking transforms from the light, bright salads of summer to steaming chowder filled with Nantucket quahogs, bacon, and Bartlett’s sweet corn (one of the easiest to preserve and the most satisfying to pull from the freezer in winter). Evenings once filled with beach sunsets and swims have now shifted to notepads and paper at Tuesday night trivia, fires in the wood stove, and sanity-saving potlucks. I used to obsess over what to bring to these gatherings (yes, I was that annoying overachiever), but as work hours, daily tasks, and errand lists grew longer over the years, a rotating cast of friends and I started a Friday night tradition of the “Iron Chef” potluck.
Our motivation was to be together, to leave the house, and to enjoy a delicious dinner. We would load the dog and still-warm Dutch ovens, carefully nestled in kitchen towels, into the car, filling tote bags with craft beer, bread, and other odds and ends from the fridge – market veggies, freshly-shucked scallops, a hunk of cheese, homemade pickles, and fancy crackers (you can never have too many) before heading out into the chilly darkness to my girlfriend’s for dinner. Those evenings were so memorable: jostling for space in her small kitchen; elbow to elbow, we’d mix up dressings for salads, roast vegetables, and plate up a smorgasbord of cheese and snacks. Everyone played bartender as jelly jars of Manhattans, beers, and pét-nat bubbles were mysteriously filled and refilled (never quite knowing whose belonged to whom) as a panoply of sounds and aromas loaded our senses. With the buffet served, we would crowd around the table, plates and glasses clinking, making space for more diners than chairs could accommodate. The temperature rose and cheeks would flush as spirited conversation and laughter on topics varied and broad would continue well into the night, until the group and candlelight dwindled. Those left sipped amaro, listening to records in wool socks on facing couches, lulled into a state of cozy comfort... startled back to reality only by the stubborn longcase clock in the corner whose dawdling hands refused to acknowledge the late hour.
It was wonderful to discover, while writing this piece, that this kind of potlucking was knitted into the fabric of our culture long ago and is wittingly reminiscent of its namesake: The 16th-century word is said to have originated from guests who were left to rely on whatever the host had on the fire – the luck of the pot.
It’s here, with close friends, sharing dishes made with love, a glass of wine, and a great playlist, where winter’s chill thaws just enough to reconnect to each other. Nantucket’s culinary abundance takes center stage as we happily relish in the age-old tradition and sharing food by embracing the luck of the pot. Cheers!
Leah Mojer, classically trained in culinary arts, is dedicated to promoting biodiversity in the food and wine industries through education, food production, and retail sectors. She’s recognized for her expertise in Charcuterie, featured in Edward Behr’s “The Art of Eating,” and has published food and wine articles in island newsletters from Yesterday’s Island and Bartlett’s Farm. Leah was a founding member of 100 Mile Makers, an active member of the Nantucket Lights Steering Committee, and serves on the Nantucket Land and Water Council Associates. She also founded the Nantucket Litter Derby, which has removed 32 tons of litter from Nantucket’s environment since 2019. Leah resides on Nantucket.
