Rematch: Recreating the St. John’s Dining Hall’s Peanut Stew

I wasn’t a big fan of the dining hall at St. John’s College, where I went for undergrad. Or, I should say, I wasn’t a big fan of the food there. The dining hall itself was probably my favorite place on campus and it’s where some of my fondest memories of college unfolded. The large room with two walls of high windows reminded me of the Great Hall in Hogwarts, but with an airy, southern inflection.

And the magic of getting to talk and eat with my closest friends three times a day is something I dearly miss. When I was eating with them, conversation ranged from the absurd to the abstruse, and the pressures of a rigorous liberal arts education dissolved in delight and camaraderie. But what I was eating with them, that I do not miss.

It feels like punching down to detail the inadequacies of a college dining hall—I suppose the chefs tried their best—so I’ll just mention the amusing ones: There was the pasta coated in so much oil that I’d cover them with a paper napkin and pull it away after a minute soaked in grease; there were the mixed vegetables that were always either under- or over-cooked from one day to the next; and there were the pizzas, topped with an inch of congealed cheese, that I cite whenever I hear someone say, “there is no such thing as bad pizza.”

HOWEVER. That dining hall did a few things not just competently but marvelously, magically well. One of these was what they called West African Peanut Stew. I only had their cozy, deep orange concoction, at once savory and slightly sweet, a handful of times, but it made a big impression.

About a year ago, I decided to try for a rematch: Could I replicate the dining hall’s success? Could I create a peanut stew that was delicious in the same surprising way?

First came the research phase. I looked at a handful of recipes, including the one Mark Bittman has in his terrific Dinner for Everyone, for Senegalese Peanut Soup. (Mark Bittman, who wrote a Times column under the name The Minimalist, has always been an inspiration to me.)

Then came the tinkering. The result was a dish of my own. The first meal I would cook without a recipe and nail every time.

The stew only takes one pot to make, but it has four layers:

The spices: cumin, coriander, red pepper flakes, garlic, and ginger—bloomed in olive oil

The building blocks: sliced onion and diced sweet potato, and chickpeas

The sauce: peanut butter, tomato paste, vegetable stock, and a little brown sugar are the fundamentals, and soy sauce, fish sauce and canned chipotles in adobo add complexity

The garnishes: roasted peanuts for crunch, cilantro for brightness, and most important, a film of lime juice squeezed on top, reapplied as you eat, never stirred in so it always stands out