The sounds of the zydeco band didnt so much drift from the corner of the North Hollywood strip mall as stampede out of it. The good times began to roll at Krimseys Cajun Kitchen in early 2017, with live music, raucous annual Mardi Gras parties, po boys, beads, jambalaya, craft nights, hush puppies, fried okra and other Looziana fare, all of it vegan. But three years later, those good times came to an end.

Chef-owner Krimsey Lilleth (ne Ramsey) closed her namesake spot, canceled a planned second location in Silver Lake, and eventually left Los Angeles due to the pandemic. These days, the Baton Rouge native is more likely to forage for mushrooms in the Snoqualmie Valley than serve anyone a pot of chicory coffee, but you dont need to track her down in the hills of Washington state to learn the secrets of her plant-based restaurant. Shes written them all down for you.

In late November, Lilleth released The Cajun Vegan Cookbook, with more than 130 recipes for sauces, stews, salads, sandwiches, sips, sweets and entres, all pulled from her Louisiana upbringing but made meat- and dairy-free. Vegetables, she says, take to spice and hearty seasoning, and when it comes to the bayous own blend of African, French and Spanish cuisines, the spice flows.

I think with a lot of cooking thats based in some sort of old tradition or culture, we always have some sort of spice base or flavor profile that isnt meat-based. Its what you put on the meat or marinate the meat in, and thats super true for Cajun food, she said. When people think about Cajun food, a lot of times the holy trinity comes up: celery, [bell] pepper and onion. Thats in almost every single classic or Cajun-Creole dish and Cajun spice. I think its a great foundation for whatever you want to do with it.

Lilleth is already writing another plant-based cookbook, one focused on whole foods and simple preparation.

(Jess Joy)

She uses her own Cajun spice blend of white pepper, paprika, chili powder, garlic powder, onion powder, salt and cracked black pepper to bring heat to the Cajun ranch dressing (one of Lilleths most-requested recipes) and to main dishes like the blackened tempeh, and uses the holy trinity to add depth to the nori-tinged touffe and to the green gumbo packed with chard, mustard greens, collards, kale and turnip greens.

Everyone whos gone vegan can point to a deciding moment or era, she says. For some, its a kind of a slow build; for Lilleth, now 34, it was like a switch. At the age of 20, after stumbling upon a YouTube video on the mistreatment of animals in factory farms, her brain looped on the topic; 24 hours later she was heavy into researching and decided to make the change. Now, she says its a little more selfish: She simply likes the way eating vegan makes her feel, and she feels less guilt about her dining choices.

She immediately realized there were no all-plant-based Cajun restaurants nearby, even in Baton Rouge, which meant the petroleum engineer would need to pick up some cooking skill. Her home meals started humbly: Some nights, it meant microwaving a russet potato and topping it with frozen broccoli. Eventually, she began to incorporate familiar spices and draw from Creole inspiration to lay the foundation for what would become Krimseys years later, nearly 2,000 miles away.

I used to joke about opening a Cajun vegan restaurant, and it really was a joke at that time because we were like, No one would eat there, she said. I didnt envision it being anywhere in Louisiana, but of course it worked in L.A. I think it could even work in Louisiana right now. If I had stayed in the game, I think this would be a great time to open a Cajun vegan spot there.

A few years later she would get her chance to open that restaurant in L.A., but not before leaving her career in fossil fuels, divorcing her husband and heading west for a new start in 2015. She found it in food.

I came to L.A. thinking I would probably like to do something in the vegan scene but had no idea it would be food-specific, Lilleth said. I dont know what I imagined but I didnt imagine owning my own restaurant.

To Lilleth, Krimseys Cajun Kitchen felt like building community. She closed the restaurant in summer of 2020.

(Krimsey Lilleth)

She began with a cookbook, writing and developing 50 vegan Cajun recipes; her sister designed it, and they self-published the spiral-bound collection, a sort of precursor to what would be served at Krimseys, though she didnt realize it at the time. Lilleth began packaging her own dry mixes corn breads, jambalayas, brownies and selling them at farmers markets. That evolved into selling hot food at farmers markets, pop-ups and festivals, and amid the constant assembly and teardown of her food stall before and after these events, she realized it could be a restaurant of its own, a home base.

She opened Krimseys Cajun Kitchen in February 2017 for what she believed was an underserved vegan community. She already had a customer base built through pop-ups, but in the first few months, Lilleth was worried about reaching new audiences. Then animal-advocacy nonprofit Mercy for Animals featured the restaurant in a video on social media, and Krimseys exploded almost overnight. Lilleth had to hire more people and, eventually, move from one space in the strip mall to the larger corner spot.

For three years guests passed under the hanging wooden sign that yelled, BONJOUR, VEGANS! for a taste of plant-based bayou specialties. Musicians set up on a small stage area in a corner for live-music nights. Pride specials, Mardi Gras parties, fundraisers and other events kept the crowds coming back for more too. It was, she says, all about building community.

Lilleth was about to begin construction on the new location in Silver Lake when COVID hit. She asked her team to wait a week to see how the pandemic would play out but quickly realized the restaurant industry might never be the same. Already wavering in her role as a restaurateur she was feeling the fatigue of running the day-to-day operations she pulled out of both leases.

In Lilleths green gumbo, Cajun cuisines holy trinity forms the base of the verdant stew to build flavor.

(Krimsey Lilleth)

As remembrances poured in over social media, so did an offer: A publishing company wanted to know if Lilleth might consider writing a cookbook. For several months, Lilleth revisited her Krimseys recipes in Los Angeles, but also in a rented home in Utah with a large test kitchen to focus on writing and photographing the dishes, sometimes for 12 or 14 hours a day.

Every recipe that I went back and perfected for the cookbook or made suitable for the reader, there was always some memory associated with it or a story, she said. Each one along the way was like closing a chapter, one recipe at a time.

Krimseys, she says, might never come back. If it does, or if she takes up selling food again in any form, it might be in the Snoqualmie Valley to serve a smaller and tighter community, which Lilleth admits shes been missing. For now, shes already begun working on another cookbook one more focused on whole foods, packed with legumes and greens and grains, the way she tends to cook at home and rewriting Henry David Thoreaus Walden for the modern era. Shes foraging and hiking, but shes not forgetting Krimseys. Shes hoping that The Cajun Vegan Cookbook will keep those good times rolling.

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The pandemic closed Krimsey's Cajun Kitchen, but its recipes live on in 'The Cajun Vegan Cookbook' - Los Angeles Times