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CHEF JOHN BESH

(with more planned), and his foundation work, and his family duties and the never ending requests for his time for speaking engagements, charity events and, of course, media interviews — where in God’s name does he even find time to fish? That question, he immediately responds, is non-negotiable. “That’s easy,” he says. “You’ve got to make time for that sort of thing. The swamps and the salt marshes — that’s my sanctuary. I’ve got to hunt, I’ve got to fish; that’s what keeps all of this real. We all need something that keeps us grounded and keeps us stable — and for me it was hunting and fishing. And I haven’t evolved much. I still live literally right down the bayou from where I started.” Indeed, Besh today fishes the same waters he did when he was a kid, on Bayou Liberty right outside of Slidell. It’s where he was born and where he still lives today. There’s a familiarity and nostalgia there, a strong sense of place and an unbreakable bond to the earth and the water that allows him to breathe the sweet air of comfort and contentment. “There’s something that really ties me to this place and ties me to what it is that we do,” he says. “I’d go out and fish (as a kid) and I’d come home with speckled trout. Mom would always turn it into trout meuniére. But if she had some almonds then we’d have some trout almondine. If we had some leftover crabmeat, that would go on top of it.We’d go from trout to redfish to croaker, depending on the season. Nobody eats croaker anymore, but I grew up eating big bull fried croaker. We’d fry it whole.” It was through fishing as a child that Besh got his first taste — and love — for cooking. When he or any of his five siblings would return from a day of fishing on the bayou, the kitchen in the Besh home would turn into a flurry of activity, a cupboard of ingredients and a den of aroma. “With redfish, mom would always want a certain size that could fit into the pan,” Besh recalls. “She would smother it whole with a little white wine and lots of onions and garlic and celery — no bell pepper! — but lots of garlic and celery. And that’s how she’d make her courtbouillon. And redfish weren’t blackened back then; you’d turn them into a stew. There was a repertoire that she would do. And it was all of this that taught me: okay, this is who we are. I fish, we cook, happiness happens.” That there should be the Louisiana state motto. “And so that was just part of growing up,” he says. “Catching fish, bringing them home, cooking them. And that’s what excited me about cooking in the first place.The same thing with hunting. You go out and you shoot some ducks and bring them back and make oyster andouille pintail gumbo — and there’s nothing better than that.” It all sounds idyllic, and in Besh’s eyes, it was. Some of us played baseball in the summers of our youth. Some were on the local swim team. Some went to sleep-away camp. Some played video games. John Besh roamed the backwaters of south Louisiana learning the wonders of the life and ecology of the world around him.The world of south Louisiana and the extended gulf coast. It’s a love affair that began for him as a child and continues to this day. • • •

To suggest that John Besh is passionate about fishing is like saying Nick Saban enjoys football. Which is kind of strange, given his blatantly downbeat, preppy ensemble and decidedly low-key presentation. One would be hard pressed to picture him with a fly rod or a shotgun in his nimble hands, but he is, indeed, one of the region’s great outdoorsmen. As keen with a rod and reel as he is with a chef ’s knife and a skillet, Besh is knowledgeable, protective and committed to the recreational land and waterscapes of his home state and the surrounding region. But the most remarkable aspect of this is — with an interest in 11 restaurants stretching from San Antonio to Baltimore (with more planned), and four hefty coffee table cookbooks under his belt (with more planned), and a rigorous filming schedule for his TV shows

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