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My very last day on the farm ended with a group lunch at Tsang’s. Wholesale and the crew… suits and boots… all noshing away on General Gau’s and pork spareribs.

While I have plenty to share about my last week on the farm, I’m about to hop on a plane to Portland, Oregon for a week of road tripping up the Pacific Northwest. So, I’ll leave you, for now, with some of my favorite Duxbury eateries.


…for the Old Italian…


…for the mac n cheese (and usually a Twix and some cookie samples)…

Gunther Tootie's

…for a bagel and the best coffee in town…

The Winsor House

…for an IPA, a warm fire, and some laughs…

Snug Harbor

…for the crabcake sandwich…

French Memories

…for ham and cheese croissants…

Yo Taco

…for the chicken verde burrito…

True Blue BBQ

…for the pulled pork sammy…


… and a fried chicken box lunch.

There will be one more meal to enjoy, just not in Duxbury. The Island Creek Oyster Bar opens for business tonight… around the same time we hop on the plane. My best of luck to everyone who worked their tails off to get that place running. You guys are going to rock. We’ll be there as soon as we get back…


In classic Island Creek fashion, my last few weeks on the farm have been packed with some incredible memories. That’s right. One week and counting.

I don’t think I’ve made any official announcements on this site, so here goes: This spring, I got a book deal with St. Martin’s Press. The book, titled SHUCKED, will be a memoir about my time at Island Creek, about leaving the real world to get my hands dirty on an oyster farm, and about my relationship with a farm, a town, and its people. Sadly, my time is almost up but the good news is that I get to take a few months off to write before my deadline in February. If all goes as planned, the book will be out next fall… just in time for peak oyster season.

I won’t dwell on how weepy I’ve been or how I can’t imagine a day without a high five from Skip, a smile from Shore, or a hug from CJ. Because while it’s way too sad for me to put into words just yet, it’s a happy reality for me to face. Not to mention, I don’t have time to be sad what with the way I’ve been spending my days and nights.

This week, the insanity started at the Chefs Collaborative National Summit. I spent Monday sitting in on panels listening to some pretty incredible voices weigh in on the current state of our seafood supply. Chefs Jasper White and Ana Sortun were part of the introductory session and gave some entertaining commentary on how they got connected with local, sustainable cooking. A few of their comments:

Jasper: I was frustrated with the seafood supply so I started my own wholesale company. It was so much red tape, that was five years ago, but I did it so I could get control of my supply. I tell every chef, “you have the right to see what we’re doing. Get up at 4 a.m., and come see what we do. Come to the auction, come see what it means to get 6,000 pounds of local swordfish in and what we do with it.”

Ana: I think culinary schools should get back in touch with the seasons. At the school I went to [La Varenne Ecole de Cuisine], they had us rip up recipes that weren’t in season. We cooked from what was available.

Jasper: [On sustainability lists] The focal point should be on environment instead of a single species. Keep the oceans clean. We’ll figure out how to grow it. And we promise, we’ll make it taste good.

My next stop was a panel called The Gulf Oil Disaster: What Will Become of our Domestic Seafood Supply? where the discussion was heated. Margaret Curole, an advocate for Louisiana fishermen, was hoarse from all of the speaking she’s done since the spill, and was the loudest dissenter of the group. She was frustrated that certain fishing areas had been opened prematurely and even more frustrated with the promotions boards which are pushing for people to eat Gulf seafood. She argued that they are putting pressure on those fishermen to fish when the fishermen themselves are still seeing oil in the water. Chef Stephen Stryjewski, co-owner of Cochon (who, like a true New Orleanian, referred to my favorite bivalves as “ersters”) explained that oystermen were losing most of their crop not from oil, but from the fresh water diversion the government approved back in May — it was meant to save the oyster beds but all of that fresh water has done more harm than good.

Curole and Stryjewski

After lunch, I checked in on a panel called Is Local Sustainable? A Look at New England Fisheries, where chef Michael Leviton sat down with three fishermen to discuss their reasoning for supporting local fisheries. Two of the fishermen have started community supported fisheries, one from Port Clyde, ME, the other down in Barnstable while Adam Fuller, a former chef talked about becoming a lobsterman with Snappy Lobster in order to open up the supply chain. Their message was: Get to know your local fisherman, learn what’s in season, and buy local when you can. Leviton took it one step further, from the chef’s perspective: Support local…at the highest quality.

A final panel of the current state of food writing had me intrigued as Tom Philpott of, Corby Kummer of The Atlantic, Jane Black of the Washington Post (and soon to be author), Corie Brown of, and Francis Lam of, hashed out what changes they’ve observed in the world of food journalism. Despite the massive shift of media from print to online, each sounded optimistic about coverage as a whole. We’re getting more news, more stories, and more politics… and seeing less of the fluffy, recipe-driven, cooking content (though, there’s still room for that too). What I enjoyed hearing was Philpott’s theory that the elite, holier-than-thou gourmands of the past have become story savvy (I’m paraphrasing). They want to soak in their foie gras… but not before finding out who raised it, packaged it, shipped it, and prepared it.

All encouraging news for someone who writes about food online and in print. Especially considering the project ahead of me.

Tuesday, Skip sat on a panel with fellow oyster folks Jon Rowley and Poppy Tooker. Our friend, author Rowan Jacobsen moderated the discussion, which ended with a tasting of east coast, gulf, and west coast oysters. Chris, Shore and I shucked for the group while Skip encouraged the audience to get to know its purveyors and buy from reputable sources.

Chef Leviton and the Bunker Hill C.C. culinary team

Tuesday night, we put together a pretty epic oyster table at Eastern Standard: John Finger of Hog Island Oysters was in town so Chris, Shore and I sat down with he and Rowan, as well as ES proprietor Garrett Harker for one of the most luxurious wine dinners I’ve ever experienced. ES wine director Colleen Hein opened some insane bottles, including a mindblowingly rich H. Billiot brut reserve grand cru… an absolute stunner with our selection of oysters.

And, it was a perfect way to celebrate Bug’s 26th birthday, which we did more of on Wednesday. Jeremy Sewall (chef at the new restaurant) very thoughtfully offered to cook for Shore’s entire group of friends…inside the almost-ready Island Creek Oyster Bar space. It was the perfect ICO meal: sharing plates, standing at the table, dunking chunks of lobster into butter, passing the wine, and putting down piles of beer. I share these photos reluctantly — and only because they take place in the kitchen.

Bug and J

a sneak peek at J Sewall's lobster roll

Hog Island's John Finger and Skip Bennett

Asia & Corydon

Gardner breaking down a 2.5 pounder

Just wait until you see the space. Any day now… I promise.

It begins on Nantucket.

We’re still a few weeks away from the official summer equinox but at Island Creek, the season is well underway. And it started, as always, at the Nantucket Wine Fest.

The weekend was packed with shucking, wine tasting, eating and islanding. For Skip, Shore, and the tag along crew, it’s become an unforgettable tradition (from what we can remember, anyway).

The weekend started at the White Elephant where Skip did a demo with Angela and Seth Raynor (The Pearl, Boarding House and Corazon del Mar are all theirs — a common theme through this year’s trip) and Jasper White from the Summer Shack. Our oysters kicked things off but the demo was all about seafood. Seth made a ceviche while Jasper shucked an in-shell scallop on stage. We also got an introduction to Abraxas, Robert Sinskey‘s incredible seafood wine.

The rest of Friday was restful with a leisurely lunch at Corazon where we got to try Seth’s tacos (the al pastor was a true gem, bringing me right back to my Mexico City days) and hang out at the bar with Ming and Polly Tsai. After lunch and a few naps, we reconvened on the roof of Skip’s condo, another legendary tradition that this year, was quickly put to rest when the cops told us to come down. We blame our neighbors for the tip off.

From there, we scurried over to Straight Wharf Restaurant to help Chef Gabriel Frasca and his crew open their bar for the season. It was insanity from the start with free oysters and wine but we all crunched in behind the raw bar and kept the oyster loving people happy.

Saturday was our first day at the tents where we once again set up shop on the lawn. We were blessed with three perfect Nantucket days — sunny skies and warmer than average temps — as well as a fun crowd of fans dressed, naturally, in their Nantucket finest.

During our lunch break (a quick Lola burger and fries), we started a new tradition by powering up the tandem bike. It went with us everywhere, from the lawn to the Pearl and back again.

After another respite, it was over to The Pearl where Shore booked the private dining room for our crew. Big bottles of wine and shenanigans ensued but as usual, the meal was an incredible display. And, as you can tell, the scallop ceviche won my heart.

Angela and the Oyster Dude

We somehow made our way downstairs after dinner to shuck for yet another restaurant party, wrapping things up sometime after 1 a.m. Sunday, of course, was a tough morning to tackle but we started off on the right foot with brunch at the BoHo Patio. (crumbed eggs! frites! the most amazing yogurt with Nantucket honey on the planet!)

That was, of course, followed by the final day at the tent where we were joined by Dave who arrived in time for the first glass of wine.

With hugs, we said goodbye to our weekend friends like Nicole Kanner and Lisa Baker but carried on with our final raw bar stop back at the BoHo Patio where Angela broke out the L.P.

And that, my friends, is Nantucket in a nutshell. Whew.

Of course, I came back, regrouped and got myself together because this was my first week back on the farm. The crew is back (Maggie! Pops! Quinn!). The farm is back to life (we’re hand picking, putting in big hauls, and culling in the sunshine). And yes, it truly is summertime again since yesterday, we put our first seed into the upwellers (cue my summertime stress) just as the Opening of the Bay tall ship came into the harbor.

Berg securing the silos into the upweller

this year's crop of babies!

back in my comfort zone: tightening bolts

Skip got his seed from Maine in the afternoon which went right into a few silos. It’s much bigger this year so we were able to put some of it onto window screen which will give it more water flow to start.

Vodpod videos no longer available.

After this weekend, we’ll have one upweller completely full (Skip’s filling the rest of the silos today) and another one fired up by Tuesday. As Skip and I finished up, we looked at one another shaking our heads. Just like that, we’re at it again. “Ok,” he said grinning. “Day One is behind us.”

Looks to be yet another crazy summer of seed. You ready?

Yes, it’s cold out there (still). But there are some mighty wonderful perks to working on an oyster farm in the winter. One being that you’re allowed to trade one beach for another.

Trading a Duxbury winter...

...for Miami Beach

During the insanity of the summer, it was hard to believe we’d ever get a break or that I’d ever recover from the physical (and, um, mental) exhaustion. But as with the tide and the cycle of farming, there are ebbs and flows. Now, it’s clear to me why things just have to slow down in the winter. Your body — and mind — need a break.

After 2 months in the office, it seemed that break would never come. Sure, I’m now sitting behind a desk instead of laboring under crates and freezing temps on the farm. But that means very little in terms of the amount of work I’ve accomplished since Jan 1. There was the madness of the Stout launch as well as a series of back-to-back shucking events. At at the tail end of it came the South Beach Wine & Food Festival, which we made our way home from late last night.

The Festival served a few purposes for Island Creek: to get the brand in front of some well-known chefs and to introduce food lovers to the convenience of our online store (ahem: you can order our oysters direct to your door). As the temporary marketing chica, I went down to show off all the things I’d learned (and love) about ICO.

The dynamic, I have to admit, was a little weird for me. In the past, I’ve attended these events as a member of the press, or in some cases just for fun. I would go to eat and drink, to pick up story ideas, and of course, to shmooze. I never pictured myself on the other side of it working the events as a part of the staff and dealing with the logistics of moving to and fro while catering to a crowd.

But after shucking at three events in a whirlwind 28-hour period, I’m satisfied to say, I prefer being on the other side.

A quick rundown on why:

— Watching The Ace of Cakes cast fall in love with our oysters and our tshirts.

Shore and Mary Alice

— Shucking side by side with Chefs Daniel Boulud and Ken Oringer.

— Slurping oysters with chefs Ming Tsai (Blue Ginger), John Besh (Restaurant August), and Ryan Hardy (Montagna at the Little Nell).

— Marching the raw bar down Collins Ave at 3 a.m. behind a pair of 3-inch heels (and then sitting down to a late-late-late night dinner of pizza, hummus, and brie).

— Setting up at The Delano (sadly, without being able to take home a Tiffany’s box)

Chasing rainbows.

— Doing the YMCA at Disco and Dim Sum with Ming, The Cushmans (O Ya), chef Tim Love (Lonesome Dove), and (a very hungry) Eric Ripert (Le Bernadin).

— And if all that weren’t enough, enjoying a million laughs with my animated, industrious crew. (Thank you thank you thank you CJ, Shore, Asia & Nicole!)

There are details I’m leaving out but for good reason.
A) My wrists are tired.
B) The pictures tell the best parts of the story.
C) You can find some of the rest on the Island Creek website. (Pssst: We have a news blog. Guess who’s writing it?)

I woke up with butterflies in my stomach on brew day. After months of planning, contemplating, and strategizing, we were finally going to Harpoon to shuck oysters for the Island Creek Oyster Stout.

After a quick stop at Lucky’s Lounge (we’re planning a stout party there in late February), Shore and I made it over to Harpoon where 6 bags of oysters awaited. Dave Grossman had been at the brewery snapping photos all day and when we got there, a reporter and photographer from the Herald were capturing the event for a piece that ran in the next day’s paper.

Inside the cavernous brewery, we got to work counting out and shucking oysters for the brew itself. Brewer Katie Tame had tested various recipes for the stout and her final version required exactly 180 per batch. Katie does a nice job explaining what exactly the oysters are doing inside the stout for the Herald piece:

Not to worry, drinking the beer won’t be like downing an oyster shooter, nor will there be an intense oyster flavor, according to brewer Katie Tame. The oysters are poached in the heat of the liquid during the brewing process and disintegrated.

“All those proteins boost up the body of the beer, and an increased protein content adds head retention, which is great for the stout,” said Tame, the first female brewer for the 100 Barrel series that started in 2003.

“A lot of the oyster quality – be it the brine or actually the oyster itself – will blend with the darker malts,” she said.

The expected result is what Tame describes as a full-bodied beer that’ll be a bit sweet, with lots of roasted flavor, “bready, biscuity” flavors from the malt and a little dryness at the finish.

Along with Harpooners Bill Leahy and Liz Melby, Katie grabbed a shucking knife and got busy helping Shore and I shuck. We collected the meats into a huge stock pot which Katie dropped into the boil later that afternoon.

Katie & Bill

pot 'o 'sters

By the time Skip and his daughter Maya showed up, we were feeling a little like zoo creatures — we’d attracted quite a crowd of onlookers (the tasting room was in full swing by that point) and there were cameras everywhere.

Skip shows Maya how to shuck

But we muscled through and got all 540 oysters opened (180 per batch/3 batches) with a little fortification from a couple pints of Munich Dark and Ginger Wheat – always helpful when shucking bare-handed.

So now what? We wait two weeks for the brew to ferment and then we’ll head back to the brewery for Bottling Day on February 5th. Personally, I can’t wait to crack one of these heady brews and taste it alongside a couple of freshly shucked oysters. Once it’s bottled, we’re on a whirlwind schedule of tasting events and activities. Part of my fun new office gig is helping the guys plan and put on events and we’ve got a ton planned around the launch of the beer. While I’ve never been that interested in marketing, this is a part of the job I can get into (I think I can add event planner to my resume now).

Meanwhile, back on the farm…

Yes, we’re still harvesting oysters. Despite all this business with beer and parties, the guys are out on the water every day, pulling up our now-dormant oysters. It’s been a weird winter, though. We’re starting to see growth on our seed which is not supposed to happen when the water temps are in the high 20s. Might be the January thaw? It’s hard to say but we’re keeping an eye on it.

The farmers are also putting in orders for new batches of seed. Believe it or not, the cycle starts up again in just a few short months. Both Skip and John Brawley have put in orders and are starting to strategize for the season. Hard to believe we’re talking about upwellers and river trays already. Must mean spring is right around the corner.

snowy January sunrise

There’s a reason they call it The Clubhouse.

The office is a revolving door. Characters come and go, news filters in and out, and the day is peppered with fun, crazy, and sometimes unbelievable events. The growers are in and out, we’re on the phone taking orders all morning, Corydon and CJ spend a lot of time leaning on furniture while waiting for orders, and to my happy surprise, there are plenty of snacks. Aside from having to adjust to a constant seated position (I miss being on my feet… I’m antsy) and being able to see, smell, and feel the oysters all day, it’s really not so bad.

There are, of course, more visitors than there were on the float. Some are unexpected (like a friend from the Division of Fisheries and Wildlife who stopped by yesterday) while others are a pleasant surprise. Last week, it was Per Se Chef Jonathan Benno, his wife Liz and their daughter Lucy who stopped by to tour the farm and spend the night in Duxbury.

They were in town for quick getaway while the restaurant was closed. (Jonathan said having the doors closed gave him his only opportunity to relax.) After arriving on a hectic, chilly afternoon, the whole family went down to the water with Skip and Shore for a tour of the float and the waterfront. Skip’s parents, Nancy and Billy, had offered them a place to stay for the night so they decamped for the afternoon before leaving Lucy with Shore’s sister Hadley (a first-class babysitter) to join us back at Skip’s house for dinner.

I’d seen Skip cook feasts on the float but had yet to enjoy a meal at his house. That afternoon we sat down to hash out the menu, which he pulled together on the spot (clearly he’s done this before) and then broke off to run errands. Back at his place, I worked on some easy prep while Shore helped Skip put together a new bench for the table. My mom called as we were prepping and asked who was handling presentation (it was, after all, the chef from Per Se). But Skip was all over it. We would feast at an oyster farmer’s house in the oyster farmer manner: family style.

We started with a platter of Billy’s shrimp, a plate of oysters (Liz had her first Patriot Oyster), some fresh clams, cheeses, and prosciutto. Plus, Don Merry had called. He’d shot a duck that morning. Could he swing by with his son Ben and bring us a little? Jonathan was psyched. Don showed up with a plate of roasted duck breast which we ate with our fingers, dipping them into a raspberry jam he’d made from raspberries off of our friend Myrna’s farm. CJ was the last to arrive carrying in a pizza box. We gathered around him in the kitchen as he opened it slowly. Inside was an incredible spread of charcuterie made by our friend Jamie Bissonnette at his new restaurant Coppa as well as a rich and creamy washed-rind cheese from Formaggio Kitchen. Billy was a huge fan of the tongue pastrami.

We set the table with mismatched cups and silver (Skip and I called it ‘farmer chic’) and sat down to platters of Caesar salad (the dressing was Skip’s made with fresh anchovies), garlicky spaghettini with littleneck clams and lobsters steamed by Skip’s neighbor Peter. We passed around a bottle of Au Bon Climat and later opened a dust-covered 1988 Australian Cabernet that Peter had been saving for 18 years.

Skip doled out heaping plates of pasta and we all got to work. At one end of the table, Nancy described her favorite way to catch eels (bobbing for them, of course) and (reluctantly) shared her secret ingredient for lobster rolls (I’m saving that one for myself). At the other end, Skip told Jonathan and Liz stories about the farm and Peter’s wife Ligaya explained how she’d had to toss out her clothes just so Peter could carry that bottle of Cabernet back in their suitcase all those years ago.

As we finished up with a French Memories meringue tart, Jonathan and Liz let us weigh in on naming his new, upcoming restaurant (he’s leaving Per Se at the end of this month to start the next chapter — an Italian concept near Lincoln Center). While I’m certain he already has the name picked out, we tossed around a few ideas for fun.

I loved watching Jonathan’s face throughout the meal. He sat there smiling, almost in childlike awe, at the sight in front of him. I don’t imagine he gets many invites from people anxious to cook for him considering his role at Per Se — let alone take the time to sit down and enjoy a long meal with friends. But watching he and Skip, the farmer and the chef, sharing food that had come off the water that day and stories about their worlds was an unforgettable experience. I’m guessing it was for him, too.

So I take back what I said there not being anything exciting going on at the office. Clearly, it’s nonstop action. In fact, we’ve got a busy couple weeks coming up and I already have a full plate.

Now, if I can just get used to sitting down all day…

Our dinner reservation was for 8 pm so after a quick costume change, I met Skip and Shore back at the Time Warner Center. Walking through the restaurant’s sliding glass doors felt completely surreal – I’d spent the day working behind the scenes, watching the kitchen hustle before and during service. Now, I had the rare opportunity to admire the hard work from the other side.

Skip and Shore had given the front-of-house staff a quick presentation about Island Creek earlier in the afternoon at a pre-service meeting. Benno ribbed the guys about being Red Sox fans but then offered them the floor where Skip spoke about our oysters as well as the Nantucket Bay scallops and razor clams we sell. The staff fired a few questions at Skip (how did he prefer to eat his own oysters; who caught our scallops) before he handed things over to chef David who went over the menu for the day. Again, there was a round of insightful questions: Was there lobster in the mousseline? Where was the sea bream from? Was there bacon in the lentils? How long had the beef been braised? They weren’t just prepping for their customers. They were genuinely curious about the food itself. (I sat next to a friend of mine, Andrew Newlin, a captain who’s been at Per Se for three years; Andy and I went to high school together but I didn’t realize he worked there until I saw his smiling face when I accidentally walked through the front door instead of the service entrance for my stage. Though it was brief, I really enjoyed catching up with him for the day.)

Maitre’d Chloe Genovart then went through that night’s seating chart. Skip, Shore and I sat in amazement as they listed the parties that would be dining alongside us. Many were regulars (the servers had long memories, pointing out how many times guests had been to the restaurant) and even more seemed to be VIPs (doctors, a baroness, magazine editors). The fact that everyone on staff was clued into who would be dining that evening made our arrival seem even more official – they knew our moves before we could even make them.

We sat down to glasses of champagne and the restaurant’s signature salmon cornets and Gruyere gougeres. Our captain, Antonio Begonja, arrived with menus that turned out to be more fun than for real – inside, the guys found photos from this year’s NY Yankees World Series win. We weren’t going to need menus. The chefs had already created an incredible 23-course journey that would take us almost 5 hours to finish. And while I could wax for hours about every course, I’ll spare you the gut-busting details and hit you with the highlights.

Course 1 (after the two amuse, of course):
The Patriot Oyster
This was Skip’s favorite way to eat an oyster with a slight modification: Raw, splash of vodka and a slice of jalapeno (he usually takes his with green Tabasco – the jalapeno was a nice touch)

Course 3
Oysters and Pearls
I relished every bite knowing how hard Kenny worked on each element of the dish. The texture blew me away – rounded pearl after rounded pearl, the dish is about layers and levels of firmness. The caviar explodes while the oysters and tapioca practically melt together. You can taste the oyster in the tapioca base but just slightly – it’s the sauce (Kenny kept bringing up the sauce) that pulled it all together. Vermouth, a hit of vinegar, and all that rich and wonderful butter. Twelve outstanding bites.

Course 5
Nantucket Bay Scallops
This dish haunted both Skip and I all night. A small mound of Pacific sea urchin sat atop our scallops and a tiny bit of pickled ginger and a thinly curling paper-thin slice of crispy rice paper. The sea urchin was gentle and addictive but never masked the sweetness of the scallops. Skip called it the best dish he’s ever eaten.

Course 6
Duxbury Razor Clam
The clam meat was just barely cooked through and served on the shell in three small segments with broccolini leaves a hint of Meyer lemon and Spanish capers. Shore was a huge fan.

Course 7
Abalone “Rockefeller”
I’d never tried abalone before – the meat was firmer than I thought it would be and it was covered with a jolt of mousseline hollandaise and bits of bacon and spinach. I spent several minutes examining the shell, trying to figure out how abalone are harvested. Picking up on my fascination, our waitstaff cleaned out and boxed up our abalone shells, offering them to us as parting gifts.

Course 8
White Truffle Oil-Infused Custard
This has been called a TK signature and will be a personal lifelong memory. Served inside a hollowed out egg, the truffle-oil infused custard is topped with a black winter truffle and veal reduction “ragout.” The display itself makes the dish – only about half of the eggs they cut are usable. And it was paired with a stunning wine called Radikon, which thrilled me for it’s odd resemblance to an unfiltered cider or even a pale ale. I could not get enough.

(One dish later, as they were clearing the table, our team of servers asked if we were ready to get started. The meal had really just begun.)

Course 11
Terrine of Hudson Valley Moulard Duck Foie Gras
The presentation here included a set up of six salts from around the world (Himalayan, Hawaiian, French) This would be one of my “last meal” dishes – toasted, crumbly slabs of brioche, perfectly placed celery branch “ribbons,” slivered breakfast radishes, and of course, the impossibly rich slice of foie gras. Luxury on a plate.


Course 13
Butter-poached Nova Scotia Lobster Mitt
The mitt is really more of a knuckle and was placed alongside tender tortellini filled with forest mushrooms. My shredded black trumpets made an appearance, as did the slivers of young French leeks I helped prep. Skip appreciated the lobster meat, calling it his new favorite lobster dish.

Course 14
Carnaroli Risotto Biologico
Along with the lobster, this was the one-two punch of the night. The creamy risotto was really just a blank canvas for what was to come. Chloe presented us with an ornamental wooden box which housed a massive, overwhelmingly fragrant white truffle. She held it in a piece of cloth and shaved slivers of it onto the risotto directly under my nose before another server drizzled a spoonful of melted brown butter over top, blowing the aroma into the depths of my skull. It was the most seductive dish any of us had ever experienced. Watching the deliberately intrusive shaving ritual, inhaling the aroma, tasting the subtle, earthy flakes… a blog post isn’t the venue to tell you how it really made me feel. But damn, was it memorable.

Course 16
Rib-eye of Marcho Farms’ Veal Roti a la Broche
They presented the rib eye before slicing and serving it – it was skewered on a medieval-looking sword which then showed up on Skip’s plate. A few bites of sweetbreads and squash puree, layers of salt, meat, and dripping juice – this dish could have been a meal on its own.

Course 19
Coffee and Doughnuts
One of three desserts, this one was about as complex as coffee and doughnuts could be. The cappuccino was actually a semifreddo served beside a couple of deliciusly cakey house-made pastries. I had just about hit my max but managed to put the whole thing down.

The chocolate presentation would have to be boxed up. By this point, it was well past midnight and the dining room was empty. But as we stumbled into our coats and out into the night, the staff waved us off sending us out with goodie bags and enormous, unbelieving smiles.

I’ve never had an experience like that before, but would no doubt welcome it again (though only at Per Se; by the end of the night, the dining room with its glowing fireplace felt more like the living room of a friend’s apartment than a four-star restaurant).

It’s clear after my time there, both in the kitchen and the dining room, that Per Se is not meant to be a mere restaurant where one can eat, linger, and remember. It’s designed for everyone involved: the diner, the line cook, the back server, the chef de cuisine. It’s a place to learn about, immerse oneself in, and idolize the entire art of gastronomy.

It is a temple to dining.

And an experience I’ll never forget.

“Sense of Urgency”

There are a million tiny details about Per Se that I could bore you with (how I shredded black trumpet mushrooms into a million pieces, pitted 180 olives, or lined up dozens of tiny baby leeks to cut into perfect one-inch slivers). These details, while fascinating to me (Dave said I sounded like a kid on Christmas as I recounted them all to him), will most likely not have the same effect on you. Instead, I’ll tell you that the phrase above is placed strategically around the kitchen (above doorways, mostly) and that because of it (and the fact that they’re working for chef Thomas Keller) everyone there either runs or scurries. At all times.

Oysters and Pearls at the pass

At Per Se, Oysters & Pearls goes by OandP (from server to the pass, those letters rang out all day during my stage, or kitchen trail). Chef Keller came up with the idea in 1995 – he was inspired by the word “pearls” written on a box of tapioca and decided to pair them with their source of origin, the oyster. Today his tapioca/oyster/caviar dish is served daily at both Per Se and The French Laundry.

While the point of my visit was to watch the dish prepared from beginning to end, I picked up more than a few basics. I got to glimpse of the inner workings of a perfectly engineered machine.

I arrived at the restaurant (on the 4th floor of the Time Warner Center) at noon and was promptly taken on a kitchen tour by Gerald San Jose, the restaurant’s culinary liaison. The 5,300 square foot kitchen (the whole restaurant is 12,500 sqft), he explained is broken down into pastry, storage, prep, private dining, and the line (there are also offices, more storage, 18 reach-in refrigerators and a temperature-controlled chocolate room). We walked through dry storage where they keep the very few canned items they use as well as their cooking vinegars and oils. (“The finishing vinegars are kept under lock and key,” he said with a short laugh.)

From there, it was on to the line where I met chef David Breeden, the intricately tatooed sous chef who took me through the paces. The line, or main kitchen, is small for what it produces, but every section is strategically placed. The pass, where dishes are expedited to servers during service, is actually a stainless steel island in the center of the kitchen that acts as a prep station during the day but is transformed before service into a paper-covered counter – the chefs stand on one side, the servers approach from the other. It’s also covered with every menu for the night; there are several prix fixe menus plus the salon’s a la carte menu along with that day’s menu from The French Laundry. The famous closed-circuit flatscreen TV system which connects the two kitchens by a webcam is perched directly overhead so the two staffs can watch each other work.

Chef David introduced me to Kenny Cuomo, canape chef de partie, who I’ll get back to in a minute. Following our oysters, I spent an hour with seafood butcher, Santiago Jimenez, a friendly, towering guy from the Dominican Republic who’s worked there since the restaurant opened in 2004. He had a plastic bin of Island Creeks at his station and was quickly opening and separating them. (He shucks around 1200 oysters per week which puts him at about 300,000 over the course of his career.) As he shucked, he told me how he’d just broken his favorite shucking knife (it was 7 years old) and showed me his other butcher knives which had been sharpened and sheered down to practically nothing. With each oyster, he was careful not to puncture the belly but slid the knife gingerly between the top muscle and the shell before scooping the meat and all of the oyster juice into a plastic deli container. He then trimmed the bellies by holding the oyster meat flat against the top of his palm snipping away the outer meat with a pair of needle-nosed scissors. In three quick snips he had a perfect almond-shaped nugget (the trimmings were also reserved). He handed me the scissors to try a few, then put me to work trimming the rest. (Careful not to trim too much, I got the hang of it after about 30 but once Santiago started snipping beside me I realized what a snail I was – he finished 4 in the time it took me to do one. Practice.)

So, the oysters are separated: bellies, juice, trimmings. The three containers are sent to Chef Kenny at the canape station. Kenny was a whirling dervish, kind and funny but always moving, always gliding through projects and his work. Each day, Kenny prepares O&P and each day, he strives for absolute perfection. “There are variables, always variables, that can change or adjust the dish. But my job is to make it perfect regardless,” he told me quietly as he worked.

We started with the tapioca, which had been soaked in milk for 8 hours. In a pot, he heated milk and cream, then added a deli container of oyster trimmings (from about 170 oysters). While they steeped, he got his sabayon mise en place ready: 14 egg yolks, 170 ml of oyster juice, and a bain marie (hot water bath).

Thomas Keller has been making this dish since he opened the French Laundry, Kenny explained. “That’s 15 years of perfection every day,” he said a little wide-eyed. He showed me the dishware that was specifically designed for O&P by Raynaud (the flat, round dish has a 2-inch round cup in the center and a subtle, white-on-white houndstooth check around the trim).

the dishware

Back at his station, he whipped heavy cream in a mixer and set it aside. He strained the oyster trimmings from the cream infusion, then added the tapioca pearls and the infusion to the same pot and returned it to a low heat. He started his sabayon, whisking the egg yolks and oyster juice together.

“Both have to come together at the same moment for this whole thing to work,” he said as he stirred both seemingly at once. He handed me the tapioca spoon.

I stirred and watched him whisk until the tapioca became firmer — then suddenly Kenny declared, “We’re ready.” He folded the sabayon gently into the tapioca and handed me a black pepper grinder. “100 cracks, please, chef,” he said as I got busy counting to 100 (something I’m used to on the farm). He folded the whole mixture together and then quickly moved us over to the patisserie station where he had room to set up his dishware.

Taking a little of that reserved whipped cream, he folded some into the tapioca to keep it from firming up (which it would do as the mixture cooled). Using a large spoon, he doled perfect portions into each of the dishes (90 covers for the night; he got 89 servings out of his batch) before setting them aside on trays to chill until service.

In the meantime, he pulled together the poaching liquid: 1.8 pounds butter, 125 ml oyster juice, 125 ml champagne vinegar, 250 ml Noilly Prat vermouth.

At that point, Kenny was off to work on other dishes and I got busy helping with some other prep work. As I was slicing olives later on, Kenny leaned over and whispered: “Look at you, Chef. You’re cooking at Per Se.” Ha! I laughed a little. Actually, I was chopping at Per Se. But it certainly felt grander than any other chopping I’d done in my life.

Chef de Cuisine Jonathan Benno introduced himself in the middle of the day and while I didn’t get to spend much time with him he was helpful and accommodating. Skip, Shore, and Matthew love Benno, or JB as they call him. And he, in return, gives them an incredibly hard time about the Red Sox (during a pre-meal staff meeting, he presented them with “I heart NY” t-shirts and a couple jabs about the World Series win).

I was invited to stay for a small part of dinner service and watched as the kitchen transformed into its “hectic” pace. The energy shifted ever so slightly; folks moved a little faster and heads were buried together at the pass while finishing touches were put on a dish. Nothing seemed frantic or harried, it just moved, rhythmically and in sync, like a well-rehearsed dance. (Though at one point, the phone rang and the whole kitchen stopped and held its breath. All eyes went towards the television and then to the phone’s caller ID. JB picked it up, spoke quietly, hung up, and went over to whisper something to Chef David. Later, I asked JB if that was Chef Keller on the phone. “No,” he said. “But when the kitchen phone rings during service, it’s only one of two people. Chef Thomas or someone at the French Laundry.”)

I stood beside Kenny as he plated a few O&P’s. The dish moved quickly: the order came in (the sous chef calls out the ticket and the whole kitchen repeats the order in unison, then by station – “table 26!”– “table 26 CHEF!”), Kenny pulled a prepared dish off a prep tray. It went into a warming oven while he put two perfect oyster bellies into a small pot along with a ladle of poaching liquid and some fresh chives. The pudding came out, Kenny spooned the sauce and oysters over top of the pudding, filling the cup almost to the brim.

Kenny pulled out Ossetra or sturgeon caviar and carefully draped it atop the dish, which was then sent to the pass and given a swipe with a towel. Chefs Jonathan and David examined the plate, which was then carried out of the kitchen by one of the waitstaff.

Oysters & Pearls: the plated dish

Of course, this description is brief and utterly simplified but the level of precision that is achieved within it, and every dish at Per Se on a daily basis, is mind blowing. Every minuscule component is pored over: every sliced olive, every oyster, every perfectly slivered artichoke heart. I stood beside an extern from the CIA, Ethan, as he tirelessly diced a small stack of Aji Dulce peppers until they were practically liquified (he was stretching his forearm by the end). Those peppers appeared as a mere bite on a cod dish later that evening but his efforts seemed monumental. From beginning to end, O&P probably takes Kenny and Santiago a combined three hours to prep and serve. Once on the table, it’s gone in about four bites. There is a standard here which has been set higher than almost any other restaurant in the world — and the preparation behind every dish lives up to that.

Of course, the chefs I met seemed content to be right where they were. At 4:20 on the nose (ahem), a server delivered plates mounded with staff meal (barbecue pork, two different salads, sauteed greens, and a macaroon) and throughout the entire day, no matter how high tensions would rise (a dish wasn’t thoroughly worked out for a VIP that night; timing was tight on prep) no one raised their voice and everyone calmly and respectfully addressed each other as “chef.” Granted, there was ribbing and poking fun (a good amount directed at me) but overall, there wasn’t an ounce of attitude or pretension.

On top of it, they fed me well. Both here and when we sat down to dinner a few hours later (stay tuned for part II).

The menu at Per Se simply calls it:

“Sabayon” of Pearl Tapioca with Island Creek Oysters
and Sterling White Sturgeon Caviar

Nothing to it, right? Tapioca with oysters and a hit of caviar. Right. Except when it’s part of a $275 tasting menu at one of the country’s finest restaurants. Clearly there’s more work behind it than words on a menu.

Chef Thomas Keller has been using our oysters since he opened Per Se in 2004. On an ever-changing menu, this dish is actually one of the very few that remains available daily. The oysters we send him are a specific cull, a compact shape and deep-cup (called the Per Se), which gives the kitchen exactly what they need to pull together the elements of the dish. After we cull them out, A2 counts and bags every one of them to ensure that Per Se gets the same bag of oysters every time.

While I’ve never eaten any of Chef Keller’s restaurants, I know that he and his kitchen staff put an incredible amount of research into the ingredients they use and hand selected our oysters after one of their chefs spent time on our farm. Tomorrow, I’ll be down in New York to spend a day in Per Se’s kitchen to get an up-close view of how exactly they prepare our oysters. My goal is to follow the dish from beginning (when our oysters hit their door) to very end (when they arrive bound in tapioca, cut down to the belly and laced with sturgeon caviar). With any luck and good note-taking, I’ll also be able to report on how a kitchen like this is run.

Naturally, having had very little professional kitchen experience but knowing the caliber of restaurant I’m about to gain access to, I’m jumping out of my skin right now. I have everything I might need (basic knife kit, empty notebook, couple pens, camera) along with a million questions… but I’ll refrain from asking them all at once. I think my only approach is to treat it like any other kitchen stage: stand back, watch, and learn. Hoping to put the first of two posts up this weekend with details on the day followed quickly with details on the dinner. And photos, of course. Wish me luck.

ICO fall

Ah, yes. The sun’s started setting earlier this week which means our days on the farm are about to get a bit shorter. For me this means no longer driving to work in the dark — which makes me feel like I’m part of the land of the living for awhile. But A2 kept joking yesterday that we needed to get a move on since the sun would be setting soon (this was at 2:30). So yes, there’s been a shift, albeit slight.

ico fall2

We’ve also seen all our gorgeous red and golden leaves start to drop, the cranberry bogs flooded and harvested, and the chickens start to fatten up for winter. The winds are picking up (we had what felt like 1-ft waves on the harbor yesterday) and I’m pretty sure we’ve gone through whatever pleasant fall days this season had in store for us. Oh well.

We had a skeleton crew last week with Berg and Skip traveling to Zanzibar and Will in Houston for a few days. By Friday, it was just A2 and I doing some quiet work on the float. This week, we’re back up to speed and have a boatload of work to get done. We still have seed (!) in cages on the lease that needs to be planted. Once that comes out, we still have to pull cages, get our bags put away and make sure everything is stored and secure for the winter (we’re stowing everything at a very friendly farm near the water). Lots of busy work, which feels a little like spring cleaning did, but there’s a little more urgency since we never quite know what the weather’s going to bring.

Right now, our oysters are right about at their peak – Dave and I tried a few on Friday just to be sure – as they are all over the country what with water temps dropping everywhere for the winter. But down south, the Gulf is dealing with a new challenge: the FDA has proposed a new regulation that all oysters harvested in Gulf waters during the summer months need to be processed, or hit with “mild heat or low-level gamma radiation.” The regulation wouldn’t go into effect until 2011 but the news has been extremely sobering for such a small industry.

Obviously I am a huge proponent of eating oysters raw, especially right out of the water. What this regulation is trying to combat is a bacteria called Vibrio vulnificus which is extremely rare but can be lethal to people with weakened immune systems. It’s not something we deal with in New England (fortunately) since the water temperatures stay below a point that propagates the bacteria. But for our friends in the southern oyster farming industry, this regulation, is going to pose enormous challenges and some folks have already spoken out and are lobbying against the ban.

Whatever the outcome, the main message to get across is that we need to support these oyster farmers no matter what. There are an important number of jobs and lives that depend on this industry’s success (mine included, now) and all we can do to help is eat more oysters.