South Shore Idyll

When it comes to fish, freshness is all, and it doesn't get much fresher than this. And I don't know many commercial fisherfolk, but I can't imagine they come much more charming than Jessica Resac, who has just stepped off the good ship "Flowerpot" in the port of Cornucopia, Wisconsin, with buckets full of whitefish, lake trout, and the odd herring. Jessica fishes the waters off the south shore of Lake Superior for Halvorson Fisheries . Six years ago she was working toward a master's degree in biology in Marquette, Michigan when she was asked to come to Cornucopia (Corny, for short) to "drive a boat," as she puts it. She accepted that invitation, and six years later, here she is. The master's degree can wait. (I don't think it's required that south shore fisherfolks' nail polish match their slickers, but it's a nice touch, don't you think?)

Mary and I were down on the Corny waterfront looking for some fresh fish for dinner, wouldn't you know it, as Jessica was unloading the morning's catch and hosing down Flowerpot. Inside the Halvorson retail shop we had already picked up a fillet each of whitefish and lake trout for dinner, and some of the smoked version of each, as well. I've been to Corny many times over the years, and never even knew that Halvorson had a retail shop. They're open seasonally, mainly June to September according to their website. The shop carries the fresh and smoked fish, as well as local delicacies like whitefish livers (surprisingly good; read on), trout cheeks, and "poor man's lobster," which is actually burbot, a freshwater cod also known as lawyer in some parts. I only regret that, since we were headed back to the orchard campground after our Corny sojourn, we couldn't load up on south shore treats.

While we were there, we got our share. We'd come up from the orchard to spend a night at one of our favorite spots on the big lake, O'Bryon's Village Inn . It's been more than 20 years since I first ate at the Village Inn, when I was staying in a friend's cabin for a month in the spring of 1988 to finish a novel (didn't manage to finish it then; did eventually). It hasn't really changed that much in the interim. It has always had that classic Midwestern supper club vibe--your cocktail comes with a ramekin of cheese spread and a plate of plastic-wrapped bread sticks and crackers, the menu offers standbys like Chicken Kiev, Ribs & Chicken or Ribs & Shrimp combos, Caesar salad, mozzerella sticks, and the like.

But there's a difference here from your standard small-town country club fare, and it's what Jessica Resac is holding in that photo above. The Village Inn features, as "Specialties of the Inn," superbly fresh and simply prepared whitefish and lake trout which travel all of about three blocks from port to kitchen. Someday I would actually like to try their char-broiled pork chops with sweet chili dipping sauce, or those ribs. A new menu also listed a pork shank with dumplings, which caught my eye.

But I don't know how I could pass up a starter of those whitefish livers, sauteed with garlic, sweet onions and green pepper (I pick around the peppers, can't stand green peppers). I know that many people are going to recoil just thinking about fish and liver in one mouthful, and frankly, I can't blame you if you do. But the thing about whitefish livers, at least these whitefish livers, is that they don't taste like either fish or liver. Well, more like liver than fish, to me, but it's a very mild, sweet sort of chicken liver flavor, not strong or off-putting at all. They're just delicious, and if you're someone who bothers to read a "blog" like this one, how could you pass up something like whitefish livers? Maybe you're living vicariously; that's okay, too.

So, yes, it must be whitefish livers to start with, and when asked if I'd like soup or salad I always have to have a cup of the inn's fish chowder, made with lake trout and whitefish, potatoes, onions, sweet corn, butter and cream. And the main course, of course, is fish: broiled lake trout or whitefish--and, no, we have not gotten sick of fish yet, because it's so fresh, and variously presented, and so well and respectfully cooked. You get a side of starch, which is mainly plate-filler, because everything up to this point has been rich and filling, and the fish portions are also generous.

The O'Bryons, Wade and Cheryl, took over the Village Inn two years ago, and I give them enormous credit for:

1) Not messing up a good thing. Many new owners of an institution like this would fall prey to the urge to "bring the place up to date." This place didn't need it. They've added new touches like Wader's Tiki Bar, a screened-in bar with a very Margaritaville sort of feel to it, but they're dedicated to

2) Preserving local food traditions like the Lake Superior fish boil:

There was a private party having a fish boil the night we stayed there. I've actually never tasted fish boil fare, but I love the idea of it. We need a bunch of people; who's up for signing up for one at the Village Inn later this summer? What happens here is that the master of the boil builds a roaring big fire under a big black cauldron, and into boiling water he drops fish, potatoes, corn, etc. When everything is cooked, he throws some kerosene on the flames, which causes the pot to boil over, expelling the fish oils that have accumulated on the top. And I imagine you enjoy it with melted butter. Those of you with first-hand fish boil experience, please report.

Mainly I give the O'Bryons credit for

3) Their wonderfully warm and thoughtful hospitality. When we stopped there two years ago, we were on the run from an absolutely dreadful cabin that we had booked sight-unseen, figuring, Well, it's right on the lake, how bad can it be...? Think equal parts Bates Motel and National Lampoon Summer Vacation. We walked in, took one look at the place (and one smell), and said, Nope, not staying here.

So there we were, Friday evening in July, south shore of Lake Superior, two dogs--did I mention that? No place to stay. We figured we'd stop in at the Village Inn and ask if they could direct us somewhere, and we'd make a dinner reservation while we were at it. I'd forgotten that the Village Inn is, you know, an inn. With rooms. Where you can sleep. Or if we knew that, we maybe assumed they wouldn't allow two dogs in the smallish rooms above the restaurant. But it turned out to be a case of can't hurt to ask, and they sized up our dogs (Lily was just a puppy) and said, Sure, make yourselves at home. We were as stunned as we were grateful. We stayed just one night, then moved along the shore to Bayfield. Should have stayed in Corny.

I wrote in a Real Bread email a couple of years ago that the Village Inn was just about the closest thing we've found around here to a French country restaurant-hotel. I wrote that just a tiny bit facetiously, I think, not wanting to overstate its merits. I take back any facetiousness that might have crept into that previous description. I hereby declare the Village Inn of Cornucopia, Wisconsin a pure delight, which does not need to stand comparison to French anything.

What it does share with those small auberges scattered throughout the French countryside is its unpretentious charm, its authenticity, its wonderful local foods, its warm hospitality--what the French would call l'accueil chaleureux (I know I said leave the French to themselves, but I just really like that phrase; it sounds warmer than "warm welcome," which is what it means).

What it also shares with such places is that, since you're sleeping right upstairs, you can enjoy your wine with dinner knowing that you only have to toddle upstairs to bed after dinner. We had two dogs with us again (everyone there was so nice to our dogs; we would go back just because of that), so we toddled out to the stunningly gorgeous, and inexplicably empty, Corny beach.

I had a swim, so did Lily. Mary and Annabel remained mostly on dry land. We had spent the last couple of nights at the orchard watching evening come on, and exclaiming about how beautiful the sky was there, because the hills on our land seem to frame the sky in particularly attractive ways; and we have lots of time to contemplate that sky. But we walked down to the Corny beach after dinner, and with one glance out over the lake I said to Mary: "Dear, we have just had our ass handed us, sky-wise." I did mention the wine, didn't I?

We were the only ones staying at the inn, this Wednesday night, and as we made our way through the lovely little breakfast room/sitting area (fireplace, balcony, help-yourself coffee, tea, juice, etc.), we saw a note on the breakfast counter, instructing us to look in the fridge for a "special treat." Two pieces of strawberry shortcake, from local strawberries. We thought we were still full from dinner till we took a bite, and then we devoured the cake, and from there to sweet dreams.

Now, who's up for that fish boil? We need ten people....

A couple more pictures from the trip:

Tying up Flowerpot.

The Village Inn dining room.

We missed the Corny farmers' market. Maybe next time.

Some local wine--more on this in a future post.

Text and photos copyright 2008 by Brett Laidlaw

Going Coastal

It was in Vancouver, British Columbia, that the 100-Mile Diet concept originated, and if you look at all the great food available in that area--from their fisheries, bakeries, fromageries, wineries, cideries, charcuteries, etc.--you might come to think that 100-Mile regime refers to the girth you'll achieve if you partake too freely of the area's abundance.

But of course the title actually refers to a table graced solely with local products, those found within 100 miles of wherever your gastronomic epicenter may lie. (And as a matter of accuracy, shouldn't that be the 160-Kilometer Diet, 'cause they're like in Canada, eh?)

However you measure your dining circle's radius, if you center it in B.C. you're going to capture some very good eating, year 'round. We always head straight for the sea, land-locked as we are for most of the year. We can find live Dungeness crabs in Minnesota fish markets, and they're always a treat, but there's nothing like getting them straight from the waters where they live.

That's what you're able to do in Tofino, B.C., on the west coast of Vancouver Island, where we spent three nights during our recent visit. You buy the crabs from the folks who fished them, bring a big pot of water to the boil, and plunge the crabs in. Fifteen minutes later you dig in to an exquisitely messy repast. Melted butter is de rigeur. A salad and a piece of bread lend a sham civility to the barbarous proceedings, as does a glass or two of excellent B.C. wine. We like the local whites--pinot blanc, pinot gris, and gewurtztraminer all do well here.

Back on the mainland, from our base in Abbotsford, east of Vancouver, we always make a pilgrimage into the city to visit the marvelous Granville Island Public Market. Now, here in the Twin Cities we have come a long way in the last twenty years or so in terms of our culinary savvy and sophistication, and we have many, many wonderful local products of which we can be justly proud. But when a Minnesota traveler encounters a place like Granville Island, he is forced to conclude: "Man, we are still in the bush leagues...".

I'm not sure where to begin. Maybe with the seafood, since we're talking about going coastal: fabulously fresh local halibut, salmon, tuna, sablefish and rockfish, wonderful spot prawns (as good as langoustines, much cheaper), unbelievably sweet and nutty Qualicum Bay scallops, a dozen or more varieties of local oysters, along with mussels, clams, and crabs.

The prawns, scallops, clams and oysters in this pretty picture all came from local waters:

The market also offers great cheese and charcuterie, bakery goods and fresh meats, chocolates, olives, wild mushrooms, fruits and vegetables, wine, prepared foods to eat in or take out. It's more than a little overwhelming for the gastro-tourist with eyes too big for his stomach and too few meals to shop for before he must leave this Lotus-Land.

And it's not just the big markets like Granville Island that make this area such an eater's Mecca. Vancouver has wonderful farmers' markets in season, and the province's interior, from the beautiful, fertile Fraser River valley on eastward into the semi-arid Okanagan wine region around Penticton, sets an intrepid foodie on an extremely rewarding scavenger hunt from winery to cheese maker to nut orchard to berry farm. The province has realized the worth of gastro- and agri-tourism, and a wealth of brochures and helpful signage make the treasures easy to find.

We just had a partial day to explore a bit of the Fraser Valley east and north of Abbotsford on our last day there. A Circle Farm Tour brochure for the Agassiz and Harrison Mills area led us to The Farm House Natural Cheeses and Limbert Mountain Farm Simply Fine Foods. At The Farm House we were able to sample around a dozen of their farmstead goat- and cow-milk cheeses, which was really unfair, as that made it fiendishly difficult to choose. The young and aged goat cheeses both were superb, as was an alpine-style cow-milk cheese. The Welsh-inspired Caerphilly was delicious in both goat and cow versions. We wound up with a young crottin of chevre, a slice of the cow Caerphilly, and a wedge of a lovely, creamy cow-milk blue, the Castle Blue.

Though it was a bit of a damp and drizzly day we were planning on a picnic, and the young woman who helped us at The Farm House said they had picnic tables at Limbert Mountain Farm. It turned out they hadn't put the picnic area together for the season yet, but we enjoyed a lively conversation at Limbert Mountain Farm with Trudie Bouchard. You know how it is when people with a mutual, fervid interest in local foods get talking....

At Limbert Farm they grow herbs, garlic, salad greens, tomatoes, and more, and they gather the nuts from several magnificent old chestnut trees on the property. They infuse chocolate with herbs they grow, and use their garlic to produce a sauce they call "Barn Burner Garlic Nectar." They recently started bottling their own sauerkraut, and Trudie described with great glee the joy of bashing the living daylights out of shredded cabbage in a big old crock, to get the juices flowing and start the fermentation.

When you bond over fermented cabbage, you know you've met a fellow traveler. Slow Food tours stop at Limbert Mountain, and they offer a class on wild herbs and vegetables. Another course description, on reclaiming the backyard for edible plants, reads:

"We have been growing herbs, fruit, veggies and nuts organically for 30 years and we recognize a renewed interest in people wanting to connect with food that is seasonally available, fresher & more delicious and nutritious."

They're fortunate in B.C. to have a climate that allows them to eat from the garden year-'round. From what Trudie called their "hoop house," they are able to harvest fresh vegetables in every season.

And in pretty spectacular surroundings, as you can see. When you can pull fresh produce from the ground in mid-winter in a setting like this, it surely takes the bitter edge off of eating locally and seasonally....

It was a marvelous trip, and I haven't even mentioned the cider apple orchard we visited, the brick-oven baker we tried to track down in Tofino, the great fish tacos at Go Fish in Vancouver, the spectacular dinner of exquisitely prepared local foods at the Pointe Restaurant at the Wickaninnish Inn, the delightful Middle Beach Lodge where we cooked and ate those crabs while looking out our cabin window at the almighty Pacific Ocean.

And of course, it wasn't all about the food (though, to be honest, we did spend quite a lot of time considering that topic!). I always want to consider the food in context--of where and whom it comes from, of how it's produced and of what that means in the myriad ways that food affects our lives in terms of health, our environment, our economy, and the just plain joy it brings to our lives.

Which is a lot to consider, so I wouldn't try to do it all at once.... I'll end here by considering, very fondly indeed, the fellow travelers I shared this trip with. These three guys sitting on a log on the beach:

Edward Roy Gomm, Grace Ellen Laidlaw, Mary Janine Eckmeier

May you all travel, and dine, in such fine company.

Brett Laidlaw


Limbert Mountain Farm Simply Fine Foods: www.limbertmountainfarm.com

The Farm House Natural Cheeses: www.farmhousecheeses.com

The Pointe Restaurant at the Wickaninnish Inn: http://www.wickinn.com/restaurant.html

Granville Island Public Market: www.granvilleisland.com/en/public_market

Middle Beach Lodge: www.middlebeach.com

Circle Farm Tour Brochures for the "Mighty Fraser Country": http://www.circlefarmtour.ca/

100-Mile Diet, "Local Eating for Global Change": http://100milediet.org/