Rhapsody in Blue

Blue Hill
75 Washington Place (at Sixth Ave)
New York, NY 10011
212-539-1776

I first heard of Dan Barber when I read this article in this New York Times (“Chaos Theory”, NYT August 7 2005), where he describes first-hand the idiosyncrasies of Daniel Bouley and a subsequent lesson in respecting food and its preparation. I was sold, and went on to read more about Mr Barber and his flagship Blue Hill at Stone Barns, its sister restaurant in Manhattan, and all the work he has done to promote awareness of issues such as sustainability and nutrition in the way we eat. Coming from a country with such a scarcity of natural resources that it grows little to none of the food it consumes, the idea of eating locally and responsibly resonates with me. It made perfect sense that I would one day make the pilgrimage to Blue Hill, that bastion of farm-fresh flavour – and I finally made the trip this past weekend.

Kellyn and Brian had decided a long while ago that they would visit the Big Apple this past weekend, and for weeks had pestered Hunter and myself to tag along. I made the pretense of holding out – I had been travelling for work quite a bit and wanted to spend the weekends at home – but in reality I had a free roundtrip Amtrak ticket and had been meaning to go up for a while. Some of my favourite people in the world live in New York, and Reed’s latest move to the city meant that one more had joined the ranks. I finally caved, took the train up on Friday and arranged for dinner with Morgan, Reed and Camille. We all enjoy a good meal, and upon consultation with Camille, I decided that this was where we would have it.

Named after the Barbers’ family farm in the Berkshires, Blue Hill at Stone Barns and its Manhattan counterpart both practice the art of showcasing what is primary about the ingredients – its original flavours and colours – and letting them speak for themselves. Barber and his team take care not to drown their food in sauce, and show amazing restraint in seasoning and dressing their dishes. This is nowhere better exemplified in the amuse-geule that was laid out for us – cherry tomatoes, almost naked in their simplicity. Morgan poked at them to see if anything had been done to them – a sprinkle of sea salt, maybe, a drizzle of olive oil – but if it had, we were none the wiser.

Reed had called dibs on the “This Morning’s Farm Egg” appetiser long before we had even set foot in the restaurant and it worked out well that there was something else for everyone. I ordered a half portion of the creamy farro, which came in an intensely sweet tomato sauce and topped with braised belly and crispy jowl. It seemed a little incongruous that one of the healthiest of grains should be paired with one of the fattiest of proteins, but that was the last thing on my mind as I slurped it all down. Camille had what was probably the standout of the appetizers, a chilled corn soup that was almost overpowering in its taste and freshness.

(Wine tasting notes – Jean Foillard, Cote du Py, Gamay, Morgon, Burgundy, France 2006: An earthy Beaujolais, not too overpowering. Sweet, spicy black cherries. A nice middle-to-heavyweight wine with tremendous versatility in pairing with food.)

Before I had made up my mind on the entrees, Camille had picked the pork and Morgan the lamb and I was left with no other meats. Both the fish dishes looked intriguing, and I finally settled on the wolf fish. The wolf fish, as I learned, was an eel-like white fish similar to a catfish and just as ugly – but it had a strong texture and would stand up better to the reds that we were drinking. It was paired with spring vegetables and toasted spices, which made the wine taste more complex.

(Wine tasting notes – Frecciarossa, “Giorgio Odero”, Pinot Nero, Oltrepo’ Pavese, Italy 2005: Excellent garnet colour and legs that went on forever. Hints of balsamic, dark fruits – plums, blackberries. Absolutely delicious.)

It was sobering to think that most of the ingredients that went into our meal had come from a farm just 30 miles north of where we sat, and some – like the egg that Reed ate – might even have just been harvested that day. The freshness of the ingredients was certainly evident, and it was an exciting challenge in itself to pick out all the individual flavours of the ingredients. For a palate that is not particularly cultured, like mine, it was tough because my tongue kept searching for that added flavouring, that extra pat of butter or bouillon, or – horrors – MSG. What it found in the end was ten times better, a natural intensity of flavour that is often masked through too much manipulation on the part of the chef. Like I said during the meal, a tomato in August is a beautiful thing.