Outstanding in the Field

As our tires crunched along the gravel driveway at County Line Harvest Farm yesterday afternoon, I realized that we were nearly thirty minutes late for dinner, but that's what happens when the driver is too near-sighted to read street signs, the co-pilot is threatening to barf, and the directions are wrong. Still, Mr. Food Musings and I were thrilled to arrive at the farm in the middle of the hot afternoon and find the other diners milling about on the front lawn with glasses of chardonnay. We parked our car in the makeshift lot, took turns using the Port-a-Potty (oh, joy!) and proceeded to grab a glass of wine and go kiss-kiss with the Tablehopper, who was there in the flesh. (She and I had devised a secret plan ahead of time to bring matching red purses and thereby identify one another. Smooth, no?)

The occasion was my very first Outstanding in the Field dinner, which connects hungry diners with a Bay Area chef, loads of locally raised meat and produce and a dinner table right smack dab in the middle of a Northern California farm. I've been wanting to attend one ever since I first read about them a few years back, and when my Northside editor assigned me a column, I did a little jig. I'm going to let the pictures tell the story, so grab a piece of straw to chew on, sit back, and relax.

We gathered last Sunday afternoon at County Line Harvest farm just outside Petaluma, happily chattering away with strangers over glasses of Alfaro Family Vineyards chardonnay. Once all the stragglers had arrived (gulp -- guilty as charged), OITF founder Jim Denevan, a one-time chef himself, extended a warm welcome to all of us. While logistics were being explained, I took the opportunity to survey the crowd.

We were an eclectic mix of of young and old, out-of-towners with zip off pant legs and moneyed folk from wine country, hippie-granola types and hip city types (who no doubt regretted their sexy shoe choices after the farm tour, otherwise known as "the dirty, dirty dirt walk"). Thirty-something couples mingled with industry folks, including one of the partners from A16, whose new executive chef Nate Appleman was manning the stoves. There were veterans of other OITF dinners, art gallery owners, the purveyors who supplied the evening's food, gastro-tourists and folks who farm on the side.

Then Jim introduced farmer David Retsky (at left. FYI The guy in the cowboy hat is Mark Pasternak, owner of Devil's Gulch Ranch, which keeps The French Laundry and other such restaurants in rabbits.) Retsky told us all about his farm, which he financed with a $50,000 family loan back in 2000. Though he grew up in the urban jungle of Los Angeles, somehow he got bit by the farming bug. Now he and his wife Francesca, their 3-month-old tot Nico, their farm crew -- a family of 6 from Oaxaca, Mexico -- and 3 interns farm 6 leased acres. (To be honest, I doubt the baby does much.) They sell their goods at farmer's markets in Marin County, Petaluma and Oakland; despite being on the Ferry Plaza waiting list for years, they can't seem to break in. Most of their produce makes its way to San Francisco restaurants like A16, Delfina, Farallon and Rose Pistola. Retsky also sells to Greenleaf Produce, a local business that has been supplying restaurants with organic produce for more than 30 years.

"Farming is a lifestlye," the affable, suntanned Retsky explained. "You go to sleep thinking about it and you wake up thinking about it." He and his family are hoping to cruise down to Costa Rica for a month this winter, because during the planting and harvesting months of summer and fall, they're pretty much handcuffed to the farm.

After a handful of questions, we sauntered off on the aforementioned "dirt walk." (They warned us to wear walking shoes, but they didn't say much about the fine, brown powder that would shortly find its way into our shoes, toes, and pant cuffs.) Farmer Retsky took us through the Valley of Baby Lettuces, yanking out weeds that had grown in since the last weeding. His team works from 6 am till 7 pm this time of year, and their biggest challenge is keeping the weeds at bay. Since he's an organic farmer, he doesn't use pesticides and the bulk of time is spent pulling unwanted plants like amarinth and purslane from the rows of Little Gem Romaine. Luckily, the lemony purslane fetches a good price at the market, so he's able to sell that, too.

County Line Harvest plants more than 50 crops, including: broccoli rabe, French breakfast radishes, Romaine lettuce, squash, cucumbers, wild arugula, turnips, chicories, Early Girl tomatoes, and strawberries.

Lettuce is harvested every morning from 6 am till 10. Once the sun is out in full force, it's too late to pick -- the leaves will become bitter. So they leave the lettuce in the ground, and if they have to harvest more, they wait until evening.

On the tour we saw wild arugula draped in white cloth to protect it from mites who make tiny holes in the leaves, giving it a lacy, eaten look that restaurants don't cotton to. We passed by a passel of chickens and a blonde, Polish rooster on our way to row after row of strawberries, where Retsky invited us to taste one or two. They were sweet, juicy and sun-warmed, and they made me think of all the berry picking I did as a kid. After being invited to as many Sweet Peas as we could hold, it was time to sit down.

By now it was 6 pm. As our wine glasses were refilled with more chardonnay, the meal began. With local food as the focal point, we found ourselves splitting open grilled oysters and spritzing them with lemon.

Aside: I'm not one for family style eating. All my friends know it (and ostracize me for it, too, the bastards) and last night's dinner epitomizes why. As soon as the food is set down, the conversation quiets and people get that look in their eye. You know the one -- the one that erases millions of years of evolution and takes us back to the time when we had to fight one another for food. Everyone looks worried they won't get enough to eat, and I saw a few people get a good grip on their forks just in case someone else went for the squash blossom they were eyeing. Luckily, my neighbors always served me first -- not sure why that honor didn't go to their wives, but whatever.

As we ate, the chef walked around, happy to chat if anyone wanted to, and purveyors like Mark from Devil's Gulch Ranch stood up to talk about their operations. The oysters were followed by two salads, one a mix of Little Gem lettuce, radishes, and eggs from the farm as well as rabbit kidneys (which I thought would be revolting but actually they were no biggie). A lovely, very dry rosé was poured, and then we moved on to a salad of zucchini and squash blossom flowers with ricotta cheese, sweet cherry tomatoes and mint. When I saw squash blossoms on the menu, I assumed they would be stuffed with cheese and fried, but instead they were simply added to the salad. Though I missed my deep-fry fix, the result was crisp, sweet and pleasingly cool.

The best dish of the night came next, and if it's any indication of what Chef Appleman can do, A16's continued world domination is assured. A coil of plump rabbit and liver sausage was enhanced with herbs like rosemary and savory. It was succulent and flavorful, definitely meat with a capital M, from the grillmarks to the undeniable, if mild, sausage flavor. It was served with wild arugula from the farm, and a bit later great platters of grilled rabbit thighs (?) were served. I didn't nibble on one -- by that time I was pretty full -- but Mr. FM enjoyed his two.

Dessert was nothing if not superlative, quite literally, made up of the sweetest honeydew melon I have ever had the pleasure of eating. It was marvelous, incomparable, and indescribable. Along with the raspberries and strawberries, it came drizzled in wild honey atop cottage cheese. By this time, the hot, sun-dappled day had given way to a surprisingly cold evening. We shivered, wrapping our sweaters closer, and held out glasses for more Pinot Noir. Votive candles and torches were lit, and plates were cleared.

As the crew gathered to say good night and thank us for coming, we sang Happy Birthday to Nate and exchanged phone numbers with some of our neighbors. (Hey, it was all part of "the moment.") The evening was spectacular, and simple, and as soon as Mr. FM is over his horrible motion sickness, we're going to go again. (Photo: OITF founder Jim Denevan, far right, and guest chef Nate Appleman from A16, 7th from right).

Outstanding in the Field events continue through July, with dinners at Live Earth Farm (July 8), Marin Sun Farms (July 16) and Half Moon Bay Sea Cove (July 21). Then they'll take the show on the road to the rest of the country. Dinner is $145-180 per person, depending on the menu, and it's inclusive of wine, tax and tip. Registration is open and if you're interested, do it now -- I hear they fill up fast.

Comments

[Robyn]

It sounds wonderful, Catherine, and oh-so-northern-CA . I'm jealous! Thanks for the great post.

[Fatemeh]

Joy & I with accompanying partners did the Outstanding dinner at Swanton last year.

We had a last-minute change (like, the day before) in our guest chef, so I think he didn't have the full benefit of one who'd been thinking about the menu for weeks, but it was still a nice meal.

The best part was foraging for chanterelles, and going home with at least a pound of them each.

[Tana]

Catherine, I'm surprised that you don't like communal tables. Your writing is very gracious and open, so I am surprised that you don't enjoy "family style eating." But maybe your Southern family is even bigger than mine (I'm one of five girls, with nine first cousins, from Georgia), and maybe competition for "enough" was even tougher.

: D

Anyway, I was surprised to hear you say that.

I've been to nearly thirty OitF farm dinners (and others elsewhere) but have never really experienced any of "the look in the eye" you describe—though I certainly have experienced dinners where the chef miscalculated how much food would be needed. (It sure is nicer when people serve others first, instead of themselves, though. It bears repeating at each and every dinner.)

Reminds me of "the difference in heaven and hell." The spoons and forks in heaven and hell are three feet long. In hell, everyone starves because they're trying to feed themselves. In heaven, everyone feeds each other (presumably the person three feet away).

County Line is a beautiful farm, and the farmers epitomize what I love the most about that work: their dedication is clearly endless, and their hard work is unfathomable. We don't see a fraction of the reality. God bless 'em.

Cheers.

[Catherine]

Tana -- well, you have to take everything I say with a dash (shaker?) of salt. Though I don't adore family style eating, I do confess to making certain points for comic effect. So...maybe I was the only one with that look in my eye ;)

Were you there Sunday, by the way? I thought I saw someone who looks a bit like your photo, but I was too shy to walk up and ask.

[Joy]

Fatemeh and I went to one at Swanton in December. There was a last minute chef change so the food was a bit disappointing but the event was still fun! I never got around to writing about it...