It's a long commute from the city, by taxi or train or whatever you choose, a highway followed by winding roads that weave into progressively greener pastures.
We are unceremoniously deposited at Blue Hill over an hour early, thanks to my fear of traffic following the monumental ticker tape parade for the Knicks.
Our arrival throws off the staff, as they fall all over themselves to give us the attention they assume we want and the service they think we need, reassessing every five minutes when we are just happy to crash on the couch.
They serve us cold Knotweed Soda, a lightly carbonated concoction with a bit of citrus, served in hollowed-out knotweed shot and repeatedly suggest we explore the property in the stifling heat. We leave to check out the cherry trees, covered in gauzy bird-proof nets, walking amongst the wafting scent of compost, just to escape their watchful eyes.
It does give us time to take a gander at the greenhouse, which is full of interesting plants, from peas to an actual banana tree. The tour doesn’t cover this so I'm not sorry I got to see it.
The tour meanders through lush fields that soak up the summer sun, full of propagating peapods climbing where they can, leafy lettuce in full bloom.
It's an oasis within an oasis, impossibly greener than green, sprawling fields full of life and flowers. It seems every patch of usable land is an opportunity, with flavor as the focus, and their journey to selecting their carefully-curated crops is saturated with scintillating stories. There’s a seed supplier who mediates on mutant lettuce, purple peas with a purpose, plants cultivated in symbiotic threes. I could listen to this all day.
Backstage at the bakery, we’re treated to the heavenly smell of bread as they slice us a seedy sample.
There’s an enthusiastic talk about this grill, from which I glean that it is hot as hell and fun as f*. It grills this seedy sausage good, and the texture is interestingly dotted with mildly nutty bits of barley.
The walk whets the appetite as we slide into soft seats at a standard two-top set with white linen, and service immediately starts.
Cucumber cuts through the humidity as it is dragged through a cool cuke yogurt.
Put out your hand for a stalk of fresh Fennel, gnaw whenever you get the urge. Get a cascading crunch between courses with a lick of licorice that intensifies as you move up the stalk.
Spinach Lettuce is served in a vase of water. Accept a pair of garden shears to "snip and dip" into a cream of pickled ramps.
Peas prove plentiful, the first of which are tiny tarts.
Baby Squash gives the best of both worlds, sweet and sunny on the one end, fragrant floral on the other, almond augments a nutty nuance.
Foraging for your food is part of the package, as we espy two spears of White Apparatus amongst the hay.
It all comes together with a crisp white wine
which plays off the umami-butter of Nectarine Olives
and intensifies savory Shiitake.
Paper-thin Bresaola brings on the beef playing off the less lean Lonza.
Chrysanthemum Blossoms are a dish most clever, where tempura batter buffers the bitter bite. There's a reason this stuff is made into tea.
Spinach lettuce reappears in chilled green Soup, after which there is a shift to more substantial stuff.
There's a handout illustrating the happy family of buckwheat, the most memorable of which is a silky custard of “horseradish tofu”.
Buckwheat dumplings in dashi are deeply soothing, a "soba precursor" in a soba soup with a supple texture and roasty-toasty notes.
Here we have them all; knotweed, buckwheat, sorrel and rhubarb, biology-book illustrations framing a plate so beautiful you can't help but catch your breath. A lot of different textures play on the palate, and the tangy rhubarb acts as a sauce for the salad greens.
Every fruit starts as a flower, and here we have Daylilies, perfect petals in varying vibrant hues. Drag through turbid tarragon to temper the sweet cream of white asparagus soubise.
Purple Passion Asparagus are a highlight of the night. These tender stalks have just been harvested, never having seen a fridge. The flavor seems impossibly sweet, the texture seamlessly smooth with not a thread of sinew.
A slurry of Peas and strawberries, a punch of green-grass and sweet n' tangy.
The meaty mound of Montauk Bluefish is an abrupt departure from the dirt, a fishy steak with a bit of rhubarb and asparagus.
Next is a trio of warm Potato: New potatoes, storage potatoes, gnocchi so-soft, framed by a cheddar cheese foam.
Meat and potatoes are followed by buttery Fava Beans and cubes of Andouille so savory they finish like lardons with a smidgen of spice.
One of the sights on our earlier tour was this distant coop, which houses the chickens that deliver these eggs. Fed an experimental diet of waste products, these guys eat anything from grassroots to lobster shells.
I think they've gotten as high as 90% waste feed on their chickens, though the Waste Fed Egg they serve us is "only" 50%. This beautiful egg breaks open to yield a runny yellow yolk, that makes a gooey gel for
buttery bites of whole wheat Brioche.
Walk off what you've eaten on a trek to the kitchen where you enjoy some snacks seated amongst the buzz and bustle of the working kitchen.
They show off their soft Cheese aged in bone charcoal
and a sweet rainbow beet, still on the stalk.
Catch a few glimpses of Dan Barber, snap as many pictures as you can.
Waltz back to your own table on cloud nine...
and sit down for a rude awakening. I hope it’s just this batch because boy, this Bread is bad! Burnt on the bottom is the dominant flavor, and there's something about badly charred sourdough that is particularly off-putting.
It's meant to be the vehicle for sampling two single-udder butters from very different cows; one more grassy and sweet, the other more rich and thick, but the bread is too bad for me to care about the butter.
The next bit is rare beef from a retired dairy cow accompanied by yet another veggie plate. Every bite is beautiful, but I really wanted to try their signature veal AND I have to watch the next table bite into their bone marrow. It's rare for steak to feel like a settle, but they didn't do the best job setting this up.
Nice pairing with this red.
There's a little post-main snack, a Taco with green corn tortilla filled with fried chicken feet. The kumquat juice makes an excellent garnish, though I think the tortilla takes over the more delicate flavors of the chicken skin.
A palate-cleansing plate of Pea and Pistachio is pleasing
under the arching arbor of Tricolor Cherries. I love unclipping them, but they taste like mostly water.
"Face bacon that wants to be a cinnamon roll" is a savory swirl served upon a skull. Conceptually cute but with too much cinnamon sugar to fully appreciate the fat.
Pudding with purple tiara rice might be my favorite dish; creamy, almost custardy, though not too sweet.
Milk Seven Ways: gastrique, crumble, foam, ice cream, tuille, cake, caramel-like thing. Great balance and a fascinating finish,
especially with roast Strawberries to add some sweet n' sour.
Fried Elderflower is sweetened with a bit of honey, and I do love this crunchy honey-harvest.
Next is the Chocolate Acorn,
followed by Rhubarb from a haystack, which tastes like a hawthorn-flavored sour punch straw.
Peas in a pod are the cutest, each ball with filling so different I can't find a fave. There's sour lemon jelly, nutty buckwheat praline, and a lovely yogurt cream.
I have never sat down to dinner at 5 PM and not left the table until 11. We have done nothing but eat for almost six hours, and it seems crazy but the time flew by. The pacing is perfect, just the right flurry of food so you're always entertained but never frantic.
It is a lot of food, but I’ve never eaten so much and felt so good. The focus on freshness seems almost counterintuitive to fine dining, as they often alter the food as little as they can. Still, they incorporate classic techniques, with sauces and soups that take the precision of a seasoned chef, and the ability to craft what you're given into something delicious is no small skill.
The downside to this is that although every menu being different enables them to serve the best bits without worrying about having enough for everyone, missing out on bone marrow is all too maddening for a person with the world's worst FOMO.
The service is impeccable but sometimes stifling as it is subject to the stuffiness of the well-heeled crowd in suburban New York. Still, I am grateful for the effort, even if it is not my scene.
We see at least five deer on the way back, roadside eyes like glowing orbs illuminated by the headlights, as the evening replays in my mind, already a marvelous memory. Although I didn't like everything about my experience at Blue Hill Stone Barns, I did love it all anyway. It is so incredibly unique, and I would absolutely come back again and hopefully get some bone marrow.
