Chef Alison Roman's Brooklyn Kitchen Is Just As Cool As You Imagined It
The first thing Alison Roman says when she opens the door to her Brooklyn third-floor walk-up is: "I'll warn you, I haven't prepared for this at all." What she means is there's a pot of stew—not #thestew, it should be noted—simmering on the stovetop. (Two of her friends just had babies, and she's planning to bring big quarts of it to them later in the day.) There are dishes stacked high in the sink, too, and the big utility cart that doubles as a kitchen island has a smattering of half-drunk beverages sitting on top of it. Coffee, kombucha, and water are the trifecta, in Alison's opinion.
This is kind of Alison's M.O., though. Her latest cookbook, which dropped on October 22, is called Nothing Fancy, after all. But even what she deems a little messy looks pretty chic—in a frames leaning against the wall, plants crowding every window kind of way. Alison moved to this apartment a little over a year ago, meaning she's seen the space through every season. The winter, when the trees lose their leaves and the light's able to shine through the windows, is her favorite.
Last year, #thestew—a chickpea-coconut milk concoction—was invented in this very kitchen. It's one in a growing cache of recipes that goes viral the minute the internet sees it. The hashtag for #thestew has more than 5,000 Instagram posts attached to it. Before that, there were #thecookies (also upwards of 5,000 posts on Instagram), a shortbread chocolate chip cookie that helped put Alison's name on the map.
The space that's borne these and many other obsessed-over dishes is nothing fancy, to quite literally steal a phrase from Alison's book, but that's what the chef thinks appeals so wildly to her audience. "I think the reason my recipes resonate with people is I am kind of just working with bare bones stuff, in a pretty tiny space, with not much storage," she explains. "I'm taking that into consideration. I feel like a lot of people also live that way."
That's not to say the space is completely devoid of anything fun—it's the opposite, actually. Bright, poppy cookware lines the lower shelves of the utility cart ("These I probably never really use, but aren't they beautiful?") and the fridge is covered with photo strips and cheeky prints. Other charming touches you should steal: Empty wine bottles with beautiful labels can live second lives as water carafes. A notebook (or three, as is the case at Alison's place) is nice to have on hand for when recipe inspiration strikes. Your plates don't all have to match—as long as you have enough to serve an impromptu group of guests.
As for what's buried deep inside Alison's fridge and generous pantry space (for New York, at least)—it's more of a what's not buried deep inside situation. There are things you'll never find, sure, like avocados, but on any given day, the rest is a crapshoot. It depends who's visiting (recently, it was her mom), what videos she's shooting (the holiday rush has already begun), and what she's in the mood for. Chickpeas and canned anchovies are always in stock, as are at least four types of chili pepper and preserved lemons—either homemade or from Brooklyn's cult-favorite Middle Eastern grocer, Sahadi's. Open either of her cookbooks, and you'll see all of these ingredients featured prominently on those pages.
If it seems like Alison's pretty chill, the poster child of nonplussed 30-something Brooklynites, it's because...she really is, at least from what she shares of her time in the kitchen. As she ends a story about the biggest disaster she's had in this space (an unfortunate oven collision involving a plank of salmon and an under-baked lemon tea cake at the end of a long shoot day), she deadpans: "We laughed. We laughed so hard because that was really all we could do."
It's a good lesson for her gaggle of followers, who range from experienced chefs to Instagrammers who just like to double tap pretty photos of food. At the end of the day, Nothing Fancy is about trying your best and doing what feels right and easy. As the cookbook description reads, it's "the permission to be imperfect."
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