The South seems to deliberately slow down on a certain type of Saturday in May. It takes longer than usual for people to select their hats. Bottles of bourbon emerge from cabinets where they had been stored since Christmas. There’s a roast in the oven somewhere, and someone’s spouse keeps asking if the mint is fresh enough for the juleps. The first Saturday in May has always felt more like a minor national holiday, mostly observed by visitors from outside of Kentucky, than a sporting event.
The food is more important than you might think if you’re hosting this year. The standard fare is pimento cheese and fried chicken, both of which are perfectly acceptable. However, observing how hosts have changed over the last few seasons gives the impression that seafood has subtly emerged as the better option. It feels a bit dressier than the typical spread without becoming overly formal, lighter, and more spring-appropriate. People take notice.
The natural opener—and perhaps the most underappreciated—is shrimp cocktail. The shrimp, which are available at Aldi and Trader Joe’s in perfectly good varieties, isn’t the trick. The chill is the trick. Put them in a real ice bath, quickly boil them in salted water, and don’t cut corners when it comes to the horseradish. The cocktail sauce tastes like a kid’s pasta dinner with just a spoonful of horseradish. Additionally, the shrimp itself doesn’t have to be enormous; medium-sized shrimp typically plate more gracefully than the bodybuilder variety that everyone reaches for.
Most hosts are hesitant when it comes to crab cakes, and usually for the wrong reason. Yes, lump crab is pricey, but the majority of the flavor in a crab cake comes from the bread crumbs, mayonnaise, egg, and Old Bay. Crab in a can works. Finely chopped imitation crab is even useful in an emergency. Make small, slider-sized patties rather than entrée-sized ones, bind everything loosely, and pan-fry in butter until the edges crisp into a golden, slightly dramatic appearance. They quickly vanish.
The dish that people don’t anticipate and then return to three times is Cajun crab dip. Cream cheese, mayonnaise, canned crab, a handful of cheddar, and a generous shake of Cajun seasoning. Bake until bubbles form. Place it next to Ritz crackers; the less expensive the better. No fancy water cracker can quite match the saltiness of a Ritz. This dip might be taking the place of the other three appetizers on the table.
Scallops wrapped in bacon seem like a tiny luxury, and they really are. However, farm-raised scallops have consistently improved, and the bacon covers up small transgressions. Wrap the scallops, brush with butter, and roast at 400°F until the bacon crisps. This is the first step that most people overlook and regret. To prevent the entire arrangement from unraveling on someone’s napkin, use a toothpick.
The menu then begins to write itself. Cucumber rounds with smoked salmon, horseradish cream, and dill. If you live close to someone who shucks, a basic oyster platter. Crisp, lime-bright, and barely dressed tuna tartare on a wonton. A tower of shrimp in a chilled glass bowl, reminiscent of Bloody Mary. A tray of crab-stuffed deviled eggs, the kind of dish that makes someone’s grandmother lean in and whisper, “Who made these?” is also served for the sit-down moment.
The final one is a small platter of marinated mussels with a single sliced shallot, lemon, parsley, and olive oil. This is the cheat code. They seem aspirational. It takes eight minutes.
The hats, the juleps in their silver cups, and the strangers wagering twenty dollars on a horse named after someone’s aunt make it difficult to ignore how much Derby Day is theatrical. You wouldn’t believe how well seafood fits into that theater. The race itself practically becomes the side dish with a few nice platters and a good bottle of bourbon.
