The coincidences mount. Yesterday I attended another Outstanding in the Field farm dinner—my thirtieth! We had the pleasure of going out to Live Earth Farm, surely one of the most beautiful farms on the planet, to meet up with old friends and new, all gathered to tour the farm and enjoy the food of chef Justin Severino. By the end of the meal, everyone I talked to who had attended multiple farm dinners agreed: this was by far the best farm dinner any of us had ever had. I say that somewhat reluctantly, since prior to this, there were only six that I would consider absolutely perfect in every regard. And reluctance because it's not a competition, and I don't want to take away anything from the chefs whose food has been so spectacular in the past.
What made it so special, you wonder? First of all, Justin had taken one of the pigs that Jim Dunlop is raising out at TLC Ranch. So you're starting with the cleanest, healthiest pork you can get. Secondly, it was Justin's desire to use every inch of that pig, to honor it fully, in a menu so comprehensive and inventive, that manifested in course after course of delicious food. I knew it would be great, but had no idea how great. It would be impossible to improve upon the food or the company, or the feeling at the dinner.
We arrived a little after four o'clock, and found Justin serving his salumi with Kat Schimmel next to him: she was making focaccia in the wood-fired oven that farmer Thom Broz had built. Justin talked a steady stream to people filing past him and helping themselves to the spread, pictured at left. Here you see pate campagnola, ciccioli, mortadella, coppa di testa, and rillettes with golden raspberry-chardonnay mostarda, pickled carrots, fennel, radishes, beets, and Swiss chard stems. The mortadella (with pistachios) and rillettes with the mostarda (in the jar at far right) were stunning. Bob loved the head cheese and pate the most. Surprisingly, people were very civil in their behavior, and I saw little of the greedy behavior that characterizes, for example, the buffet table at TGI Fridays that I used to have to restock every happy hour when I was twenty or so.
Another happy coincidence: wines were provided by Richard Alfaro, who lives just a half mile from the farm, and whose son goes to school with Thom (pictured at right) and Constance Broz's son. People arrived at the farm to be given a glass of 2004 Martin Alfaro Santa Cruz Mountains Chardonnay, which we sipped while mingling and noshing. This pleasant business lasted about a half an hour, and I was happy when Jim and Becky arrived with little Miss Fiona, who just started walking on Friday.
Another coincidence (there's that word again). I have to sidetrack here.
• • • • • • • • • •
On Thursday night this past week, I was part of a presentation at the Capitola Book Café. Author Jenny Kurzweil had e-mailed me a few weeks ago, saying she had written a book about farms and farmers in Seattle, and was giving a reading in July. (I believe I've mentioned the book before: it's called Fields that Dream: A Journey to the Roots of Our Food.)
She wondered if I wanted to be part of it, as she is a big fan of my work. We met soon thereafter, and I volunteered to do a slideshow of my photographs. One night, while dining at Gabriella Cafe with the owner, Paul Cocking, I told him about the evening. He volunteered focaccia (stale, heh), and then I got the idea that we might actually be able to get some farmers to donate stuff and have a little party. Well, the bookstore loved that idea, and somehow, I thought I might rope a couple of farmers into talking, as well. Since many of the people Jenny interviewed had no idea they would wind up farming, that seemed like a good criterion to pick speakers.
Originally, Jasmine Roohani and Thom Broz agreed to speak, but Thom had to cancel. I asked Jean Harrah and Bob Thorson at Deep Roots Ranch if they would be willing, and our panel was formed. The sous chef at Gabriella, Ben Howard, volunteered to produce a buffet of finger foods, and soon we had a plan. Jenny and I distributed flyers to the better markets (Saturday at Cabrillo and on the west side, and the Sunday Live Oak market), and the bookstore ran ads in the paper and on the radio.
On Thursday, about seventy people showed up, and the place was packed. In front of me, the right side of the room held 24 chairs: all but four were filled with my friends and family, and more were standing. Felt like a wedding. Everyone had a wonderful time, and nearly everyone came up to thank me for the slideshow. A woman said, "Do you remember me?" and I did. I had lived briefly with her and her husband and their little girl, who is the same age as my daughter, when I had separated from my ex-husband in 1991. I hadn't seen her in close to fifteen years: they had moved to Florida and had a second child.
Her husband, Rob, somehow brought up the farm dinners, and told me he's been working with the farmers and chefs in his area (Sarasota), hoping to get a farm dinner in Florida. He mentioned his "best friends," Rick and Kristie Knoll (! another coicidence—I have photographed two farm dinners at their place in Brentwood). He said the Knolls were hoping to have a farm dinner while they were visiting, but it was not to be.
"Rob, there is a dinner on Saturday. You can come to that!"
(Pictured above: mini-BLT made of Little Gem lettuce holding aïoli, half an heirloom cherry tomato, and TLC Ranch bacon; devilled eggs from Deep Roots Ranch.)
• • • • • • • • • •
And so it was that Rob came to Live Earth Farm, and took lots of pictures and asked questions. And ate! Thom led people to every corner of the farm, and slowly people arrived at the dinner table, which was set for seventy or so people. (Just a guess.)
I had saved seats for Jim and Becky, and Richard Alfaro thoughtfully obtained two seats in the shade for his parents, directly across from Bob and me. On the other side of Jim and Becky were two of his "best customers" (or as he laughingly put it, "people I like to talk to, even if they don't buy anything"), Bill and Monika, with whom I have attended many pleasant meals and parties in the past. They knew Justin's sausage well, and told me that, if I hadn't supplied Amy at River Cafe and Cheese Shop with some, they'd have done it themselves. (Everybody knows everybody here.)
Here are Jim and Becky and Fiona, enjoying the day.
Before the food started arriving, I walked around and tried to get a read on the energy in the kitchen. Some farm dinners are relaxed and relaxing, and others...well, let's just say some chefs are hot shots with tempers and ego problems. This is not news to anyone, is it? I'm only talking about a handful of chefs over the years, and am certainly not saying if you're a chef, you're an asshole. (And I'm not naming names, or implicating anyone.)
And let's go one step further and say that, if Bobby Flay ever does a farm dinner, I'll sit that one out. I have no use for chestbeaters. There is a section in Michael Ruhlman's newest book that talks about chefs that run their kitchens with fear, and ones who are less, shall we say, intense. I'll be examining that when I do a write-up about the book: it's an interesting thing to consider.
There has been a wide range of temperament and personality in these outdoor "kitchens" at the farm dinners, and prior to this event, I have said many times that the nicest chef was Justine Miner, of RNM in San Francisco. She was so humble and calm that Bob had assumed she was working for someone else, and so young he had no idea she actually owned her own restaurant. (That dinner, Ms. Miner, remains perfection in my memories.)
I wandered over to the grill, where Jim Dunlop was standing next to Justin, "giving him sh-t" (Jim's words) and teasing him about burning the food. I stood there long enough to take in how much Justin was enjoying himself, while calmly guiding the actions of everyone around him. I noticed that everyone was smiling, and I noticed how beautiful the colors were in a giant bowl of sugar snap peas and squash blossoms, which were part of the first course to arrive at our table. There was absolutely no tension. If people got in his way, Justin politely asked them to scoot over.
One reason for his happiness, besides being completely awash in praise for the food at the reception area, might have been the surprise Justin's wife, Hillary, had managed to pull off. On Friday night, she said, "Your mom sent some money so we could go out to dinner. Let's go to Bernadus." Once they arrived, Hillary suggested sitting on the patio. When Justin went out the doors, there sat his mother, who'd flown in from Cleveland to attend the dinner. "The best surprise of my life," he crowed. And oh, is his mama proud of her son, who not only is following in his grandfather-the-butcher's footsteps, but who resembles him, as well.
The food started coming, and by the gods of Mount Olympus, the tables were groaning. Witness this course: chardonnay-braised pig’s feet manicotti with calamari, soffrito, squash blossoms, and sugar snap peas. The manicotti were about three inches in diameter, and I didn't flinch one bit at eating pig's feet. After two bites of the half-cup or so I had served little Logan, he squealed, "Me needs more of dat, Nana. YOTS more!" (The wine with this dish was 2004 Alfaro Family Vineyards Estate Chardonnay.)
Following this (I don't have a photo of it, as it wasn't placed on our table but served by the waitstaff—check out these happy women), Justin pulled a surprise course, one that wasn't on the menu. The sausages he'd been grilling were being served with a very mild kohlrabi sauerkraut, and honestly it was the only sauerkraut I've ever enjoyed—vinegar and meat together is a combination I can barely abide.
The next course was pinot noir and fennel porchetta with braised Swiss chard and mustard greens (paired with 2004 Alfaro “A” Pinot Noir). Justin described how this dish was prepared, but much of it went over my head, as I was having to deal with Logan at the moment. By this point, Jim Dunlop was just over the moon: as every farmer and rancher who has hosted a farm dinner knows, when a knowledgeable chef takes your hard work and makes it taste this good, you get inspired in a way that is rare indeed.
This was a bad day to be a vegetarian at a farm dinner. I think everything but the wine had lard in it.
When I tasted the meat, I said, 'This food is to die for." Jim said, "Yeah, especially if you're the pig," and everyone laughed. (Thanks for the title of my post, Jim.)
Speaking of wine, Richard Alfaro strolled down the long table, pouring his wines and answering questions. The day got more pleasant by the minute. Bob and I took turns holding Fiona, so her parents could eat and chat. Fiona and Logan played kissy-face: she adores him and he is very gentle with her. The Alfaros suggested starting a piggybank for their wedding, but that might be a teeny bit premature. (Except, Jim suggested, in Utah.)
The cheese course arrived: along with raisin-walnut bread that Richard pronounced most excellent, we had Bravo Farms Silver Mountain white cheddar, served with ruby beet-raspberry marmalade, and a very jammy (so good with the marmalade) 2004 Alfaro Family Vineyards Estate Pinot Noir.
And finally, the perfect strawberries that Thom Broz grows went, unadorned with anything else, into a strawberry soup, which was ladled over a single purse with herbed goat cheese.
Jim Dunlop got up to talk about his relationship with Justin, and the work
they're doing together. He cracked everyone up when he said, "Man, the
first time I tasted his sausage, I was like, 'I can't believe I blew
this guy's phone calls off three times!' "
I believe that the energy you bring to planning and preparing for an event—be it a wedding, a farm dinner, a party, whatever—will manifest at the event itself. The ease and confidence with which Justin brought out his courses, and the delight of the staff (one of whom pronounced him "our new favorite chef"), and the humor and heart that Justin, Jim, and Mike Moran (Justin's sous chef) brought "to the table," so to speak, created the perfect experience.
We lingered after the sun set and the nearly full moon rose in the sky to the east. The air had cooled a little, and you could smell not only food, but the things that were growing, which would be food. Nobody seemed to want to leave—but a little before nine o'clock, we got into our car. Logan fell asleep instantly, and Bob said, "Well, we're not stopping for pizza on the way home from
this farm dinner, I'm telling you that."
• • • • • • • • • • •
Big thanks to Thom Broz for growing such amazing fruit and vegetables, Richard Alfaro for the divine wines, and Jim Dunlop, whose pig was the star of the show.
THOUGHT FOR THE DAY: "The air soft as that of Seville in April, and so fragrant that it was delicious to breathe it." — Christopher Columbus
Thanks for visiting.
EDIT to add a link to something relevant, and tasty. Michael Ruhlman has more to say: dairy farmer Diane St. Clair weighs in on eating meat that is, or is not, raised humanely. Two things strike me about her. First of all, she lives in Orwell, Vermont. Secondly, her place is called Animal Farm.
Get funnier than that. I dare you. Hmmm, I bet she'd laugh at Jim and Becky's TLC (Tastes Like Chicken) Ranch name.
Go to her website: you can learn more about the art of making butter.
Again, thanks for visiting.
And do not miss the news piece on Diane St. Clair.
I had the pleasure of meeting Diane at her farm a few years ago, when I was working with a writer trying to pull together an article on eating locally. The writer and I were doing a whirlwind tour of Vermont, gathering foodstuffs generously donated by their producers. Animal Farm was to be our last stop, and we got held up at every other stop we made that day, so that we called Diane no less than 4 times to say we were running late. The last time, I suggested that maybe we should skip the visit, out of kindness to her – it was closing in on dinnertime on a Friday night, and I felt pretty embarassed. But Diane insisted that we come, and when we arrived, she sat us at the dinner table with her and her husband, offered us beer and wine and even some of the pizza she'd made for their dinner. We accepted the drinks, declined the pizza, and were then dazzled by samples of her butter and her buttermillk (which is the best I've ever tasted, but alas, she's not licensed to sell it...the world's loss). And we talked a lot about local food production issues and then politics and and and. Very bright and engaging people, and gracious beyond belief. We were sent away with a precious pound of her butter.
The project entailed my feeding my family of four for a week using only food grown/produced in Vermont (with a few exceptions). The writer would sit in on meals, then write/sell the article. This was almost three years ago, before the Eat Local movement had gained the momentum it has now. But the writer failed to follow through, and I'm left with a lot of guilt about disappointing all the folks who so generously offered their stuff. At some point, I'd like to make amends to each of them.
Diane, if you're reading this: I owe one (or two).
Posted by: George Mora | 10 July 2006 at 10:30 AM
Which were the six perfect dinners? I'm dying to know!
Posted by: Malika Henderson | 10 July 2006 at 11:11 AM
GG, what a wonderful thing to share...thank you. If I am able to get there this summer, we can visit her together.
Malika, I am reluctant to name the dinners, because I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings. My opinions are SO subjective—it would be silly for me to say that my list would be more valid than someone else who's attended a lot of the dinners. (But I will send you my secret list. Heh.)
Posted by: Tana | 10 July 2006 at 03:32 PM