HUDSON VALLEY CHEF’S TABLE

When you go to Blue Hill at Stone Barns, you should prepare yourself for unexpected juxtapositions, like the sight of piglets squirming in the mud to be followed immediately by a meal of ravishing elegance. The contrasts are intentional and are all part of Blue Hill’s mission to fight for more sustainable foodways using the weapon of sheer, irreducible beauty.

The restaurant is sited in an aristocratic fieldstone barn complex that John D. Rockefeller Jr. commissioned from architect Grovernor Atterbury in the early 1930s. Although it was built in a castle-evoking Norman style, the barn’s purpose was purely rustic. It housed the cows whose teats provided fresh milk to the large Rockefeller family, including David and Nelson, who lived nearby. Now, during the long and luxurious feasts that Blue Hill at Stone Barns serves under the same roof, you’ll still feel the seductive tension between basic, rustic reality and the pinnacle of high style.

There are other strange dynamics at work. For instance, it’s odd for an enterprise dedicated to the production of meat to dodge the joyful meat-mania that has gripped other restaurants in the Hudson Valley. Says Chef Dan Barber, “While you can raise meat very well in the Hudson Valley—and dairy, for sure—you should also look at eating meat in portions that are more in line with what this environment can provide.” The carrot cutlet recipe following is the perfect example of what he means. Says Barber, “If we as Americans are going to cut back on meat consumption—which it seems we really should be doing—we’re going to have to figure out ways to make truly satisfying meals that satiate our appetite for protein. And carrots do really well in our soil here, so what if we looked at a carrot—which, when grown in the right variety and picked at the right time in the right soil—is like meat? It very much is like meat. And so, if you braise it with care, and then you roast it to caramelize the sugars as you would caramelize a steak, what you get is a semblance of a steak. And I don’t mean that in a kinky way, I mean that in a real way. Cooked this way, the carrot has the umami of a steak. And then you use the meat as a sauce.”

Barber continues, “This is a little bit tongue in cheek in that you’re flipping the proportions: The seven-ounce steak becomes the one-ounce sauce and the one-ounce carrot garnish becomes the lead actor. But it flips everything on its head, not as a political statement, but as a statement of deliciousness.”

And just when you think you have your flexitarian/locavorian feet standing firmly under you, Barber will make you question the no-brainers like ramps. Ramps—an indigenous species with a small ecological footprint—are gathered rather than raised; they are a food that the earth volunteers. What’s not to love? “Except,” Barber suggests, “the popularity of ramps has driven them to be a little bit in trouble. Chefs now have adopted ramps in huge numbers. This is a frightening thing for the foragers who are finding fewer and fewer ramps. But that’s why cuisine is so important: Cuisine is a natural balancer.” Cuisine is not a collection of disparate dishes like this cookbook in your hands; it is a cultural system that synchronizes the food needs of a population with the land upon which they live. The classic cuisines of the world have been developed over millennia. In contrast, what we call American cuisine is a hodgepodge of out-of-context dishes borrowed, adapted, or barely remembered from somewhere else.

“In order to provide the seven-ounce steak, you need an agricultural system that’s out of kilter. And it’s the same thing with ramps, unfortunately, or any vegetable or cut of meat that becomes suddenly popular. We lack a cultural cuisine that allows us to spread the wealth a bit over time and over an agriculture. Instead, you have ingredients like ramps that have become instantly popular with chefs. And with the Internet and farm-to-table social movement, we can—in dizzying speed—suddenly popularize an ingredient and simultaneously signal the end of its life. We see that in the ocean all the time. So we need to be careful. And that’s why farm-to-table doesn’t work.” He continues, “Ramps are the perfect example: Ramps have a small ecological footprint, they’re an indigenous species to America, and what a beautiful sign of spring! There’s nothing wrong with ramps. And yet something is wrong because we tend to support them in a way that ensures their decline.”

Point taken. But, just to keep you on your toes, Barber also notes of ramps, “They make a truly delicious pickle that you can enjoy straight through to the next picking.”

CARROT CUTLET

For the lamb sauce:

2 (1½-pound) lamb shanks

Salt and freshly ground pepper

2 tablespoons vegetable oil

2 large onions, coarsely chopped

5 cloves garlic, smashed

1 large carrot, peeled and coarsely chopped

1 rib celery, coarsely chopped

1 cup dry red wine

½ cup ruby port

1 sprig rosemary

For the herb salad:

1 cup tarragon leaves

1 cup parsley leaves

½ cup dill leaves

½ cup mint leaves

½ cup chervil leaves

For the apricot puree:

2 cups orange juice

1 cup dried apricots

3 tablespoons Champagne vinegar

For the carrot cutlets:

6 medium carrots, about 8 inches long and ¾ inch wide

2 tablespoons olive oil

1 teaspoon granulated sugar

1 teaspoon salt

A generous grind of black pepper

For the breading:

¼ cup finely ground panko bread crumbs

¼ cup finely ground bread crumbs made from dried whole wheat bread

2 tablespoons rice flour

1 teaspoon finely ground cumin

2 cups all-purpose flour

1 egg, beaten

Oil for frying

To make the lamb sauce: Preheat oven to 325°F. Season the lamb with salt and pepper. In a large skillet heat 1 tablespoon of the oil. Add the lamb and cook over moderately high heat until browned on all sides, about 8 minutes. Transfer the lamb to a plate and pour off the oil. Add the remaining 1 tablespoon oil to the skillet and add the onions, garlic, carrot, and celery. Cook over moderate heat until browned, about 12 minutes. Add the wine and port and boil the liquid until it’s reduced to ⅓ cup, about 4 minutes. Transfer to a roasting pan and add the rosemary. Arrange the lamb shanks in the pan, add ¾ cup water, and cover with foil. Bake for 2 hours, turning the lamb once, until the lamb is very tender.

Transfer the lamb to a bowl and keep warm. Strain the pan juices into a saucepan. Boil over high heat until reduced to ¾ cup, about 7 minutes. Shred the shank meat and add it to the pan juices; season with salt and pepper. Reserve.

To make the puree: In a small pot reduce the orange juice by half. Add the apricots and the vinegar and simmer for 5 minutes. Remove from heat and allow to stand for 10 minutes. Transfer to a blender and puree until smooth. Keep warm.

To prepare the carrots: Preheat oven to 400˚F. Peel the carrots. Lay three sheets of aluminum foil on the counter and place the carrots on top of the foil. Drizzle the carrots with the oil and season with the sugar, salt, and pepper. Wrap carrots tightly in the three layers of foil and place the package on a baking tray. Put the tray in the oven and roast the carrots for 1 hour. After 1 hour flip the package of carrots and continue to cook for another hour, until the carrots are very soft. Remove from the oven and set aside.

When the package is cool enough to handle, unwrap the carrots. Line a baking tray with parchment paper and lay the carrots on the tray, leaving some space between each carrot. Top with another piece of parchment paper and another baking tray. Place a heavy weight, such as several cans of food, on top of the tray to press down the carrots. Press for 10 minutes. If the carrots are cooked properly, they will not break but will instead press into little cutlets.

To bread and fry the carrots: In a small bowl combine the panko, bread crumbs, rice flour, and cumin. In another bowl place the all-purpose flour. In a third bowl place the beaten egg. Working in sequence, dip each carrot first into the all-purpose flour, shaking off any excess. Then dip each carrot into the egg wash. Finally, dredge each carrot in the bread crumb mixture. Meanwhile, in a sauté pan over a medium flame, heat about ½ cup oil. When hot, carefully place the carrot cutlets in the oil and fry them for 4 minutes per side, or until they are golden brown. Transfer the fried cutlets to a plate lined with paper towel to drain, then season well with salt and pepper. Spoon the lamb sauce around the cutlet; serve with a dollop of apricot puree and garnish with herb salad.

PICKLED RAMPS

Wash the ramps thoroughly and trim off the root ends and green parts. Set aside about ½ pound of ramps. In a pot bring the wine vinegar, sugar, mustard seed, and bay leaf to a boil. Place the ramps in an airtight container fitted with a hasp and seal. While the liquid is still warm, pour the brine over the ramps and seal the airtight container. The pickled ramps will keep for several months in the refrigerator.

A Conversation with Chef Dan Barber

My brother, David [Barber], and my relationship to farming started with our grandmother, who began Blue Hill Farm in the Berkshires in the late 1960s. My brother and I were farming that land as kids. And my grandmother wasn’t a political activist or anything. She just loved the open space and she wanted it preserved. She knew that in order to preserve the beauty, she had to farm it. It was very smart. So we were farming to preserve the beauty but ended up being inculcated with the issues of agriculture. That sounds kind of light, but it’s important. And the place, Blue Hill Farm, is quite stunning. It has views that are really iconic for New England agriculture. It’s a place that still informs my cooking.

My brother and I were approached by Mr. Rockefeller to offer an idea for what the Stone Barns Center could be with a fine dining restaurant attached. That’s really what happened. And Mr. Rockefeller liked us; he liked my brother and his financial plan. He liked my sister-in-law [Laureen Barber] and her sensibilities. And, he liked my food.

It happened, for lack of a better word, organically. Our idea was to create a restaurant that looked at and celebrated the Hudson Valley. But with its own farm that supplied the food—also, the food would come from other farmers that were interested in becoming our customers. The idea of co-creating a menu with farmers still appeals to me. Carlo Petrini, who is the founder of Slow Food, said that we need to stop thinking of ourselves as either consumers or producers. Instead, we all need to think of ourselves as co-producers—and eaters are co-producing, too. I thought that was a really great way to put it, and so that was the underlying philosophy of Blue Hill at Stone Barns and of the Stone Barns Center for Food and Agriculture.

Jack Algiers is the vegetable farmer and Craig Hainey is the livestock guy and they’ve been on this project since the beginning. How do I talk about them? They’re intimately involved in the planning of the menu because they’re rotating their crops or planting particular crops and adopting different breeds according to where the menu is going. And they are simultaneously reacting to and dictating the menu, which is all part of the co-producer thing.

And I have to give credit to my sister-in-law for the design of the place. I mean, she really believed in the ideas that permeate our food and our farming. The idea behind the design is that you’re combining old and new to reach a broad audience. Given our food and our farming, we didn’t want it to feel like a Shaker museum from the late 1800s. She really brought a modern sensibility to the design. My food is really quite modern. And these ideas of local, sustainable, and supporting a community are all rooted in age-old and inherited wisdom—but at Blue Hill at Stone Barns, they’re interpreted in a modern context. Laureen expresses that beautifully in the design. You know you’re in these old, historic barns, but you feel like you’re part of something very modern and up-to-date. That’s not a contradiction; that’s an important aspect to our identity.

We made more mistakes than I can count, and we’re still making them pretty heartily. And I’m like anybody else: I wake up the morning and think, I wish I could start over. And that’s pretty much what we try to do. In just this past year, we got rid of the menu completely; you sit down without any menu at all. It’s almost like every couple of years, we start all over again because we’re so linked to what’s going on around the world. There’s a really exciting global social movement happening in fine dining. The food’s changing and we’re keeping pace with that. But, also, we’re telling a story. Is our restaurant a political statement? I don’t know . . . I guess so. It’s not the direct intent, but eating is politicized, and it has to be in some way. It’s more like we go to restaurants as places to escape, right? I mean, that’s the beauty of going to restaurants—you let someone else serve you and you escape from your daily ritual. And if we do our job right, it seems to me that we can still offer that, but also, we can have a restaurant that’s a place of connection. That’s our idea: How can we connect diners to the natural world? To a lost but reemerging system of farming? To the history, the open space, and the beauty of the Hudson Valley?

Sure, you could do all this by writing a book, and you could do it by lecturing. You could do it through a lot of ways, but I would argue that one of the more provocative and, increasingly, powerful ways is through food. Through food and through the totality of a menu. It’s a great way to pierce the things that we can’t see or spend the time trying to understand. Ecology, ecological diversity, and ecological vitality are all very hard things to talk about. But it’s not very hard when you serve a delicious meal, because the menu connects all the dots. And luckily, I’m on a stage where I am, with Mr. Rockefeller’s help, allowed to speak about issues in a way that broadcasts pretty profoundly. I wouldn’t be able to do this if I were just a chef in a space that wasn’t situated on a beautiful farm with these historic early twentieth-century stone barns. I have this bully pulpit, in a way.

It always angers me because some things—like a new breeder developing a new variety that has worked well in the system and some story that’s attached to it—just get lost in a plate of food. We really re-jiggered the restaurant to address this—I mean, talk about mistakes. I was doing that for five years. We were dealing with all this beautiful produce and the stories attached to it, and it all had great potential for the diner to understand the issues that we just talked about. And I was just blowing it left and right because, unless you have a connection to the ingredient, you’re not going to get very far with that. So, yeah, that was a big one.

Not everyone agrees with [Blue Hill’s didactic mission], and so I have to be very careful. There’s definitely a sector of the dining public that doesn’t want to hear about it during a meal. So, in those cases we’re either doing it wrong—in other words, we’re approaching them incorrectly—or we should be leaving those people alone and then, hopefully, trying to win them over with great food.

We’re called farm-to-table, but the trick for the future (if we have this conversation in ten years) is to tie the pieces further together. It’s not just about supporting a local farm. It’s more about thinking about a menu that connects with a whole system of agriculture. That’s what any good cuisine does: peasant French, peasant Italian, Chinese, Indian. These are cuisines that produced different local interpretations, famous dishes and cooking techniques, but that mostly arose from supporting a system of agriculture. They’re rooted in peasantry. And, in many ways, I’m trying to get back to that.

In the past, good land stewardship was trying to eke out of the land whatever could be produced. But being evolved now supports the same idea—to get good nutrition and eke out what you can from the land. And that sustains—that’s why we call them cuisines. They sustain for thousands of years. As farming changed and environments changed and cultures developed, for sure, they became more complex. But at the root of it, we are talking about building a package that can support a healthy landscape. And that’s not just about buying local; if it’s about buying local, that’s just too easy. Anyone can buy zucchini, tomatoes, and eggplant from Hudson Valley farmers and call themselves “farm-to-table.” I think the future needs a new paradigm. And that’s what the Stone Barns Center is inching its way toward.

BLUE HILL AT STONE BARNS

CARROT CUTLET

PICKLED RAMPS