The Nut Tree

But hush - Earth's valleys sweet in leisure lie; And I among them wandering up and down Will taste their berries, like the bird or fly, And of their gleanings make both feast and crown. Harvest - Edmund Blunden With a mix of unintended but welcome British artists and eclectic groups from the States, the drive to Oxfordshire can only be described as restful. Sensitive to J-Mac's mellower predilections, I selected tunes aimed to soothe but not lull him to sleep behind the wheel. Once clear of Heathrow, one enters a landscape of rolling fields bordered by woods, and trim little hamlets. Elbow, Adele, Morrissey, Billy Bragg, and Bob Mould serenaded us along our scenic way.

Arriving at Charlton-on-Otmoor, I was introduced to our hostess, Jude. She was a pure delight. She is one of those classically British women who must have nobility somewhere in the family tree. There was a casual elegance about her accompanied by that tireless wit which only a Brit possesses in any great measure. She could not have been a more welcoming host. I have a hard time of it around new people. I am petrified of doing something completely inappropriate and thus sealing my fate as the unwelcome intruder. It took all of eleven seconds (I clocked it) for Jude to make me feel completely at ease.

Over a glass of wine, Jude and J-Mac caught up. She directed questions my way and seemed genuinely interested in hearing the answers. She wanted to know all about my trip, and when the conversation got around to You Gonna Finish That?, she began to talk excitedly about our dinner plans. Up to that point, I had been expecting a quaint meal of roast beast and pudding accompanied by cool ales or a claret at the local pub. I was laughably uninformed.

From all outward appearances, The Nut Tree is simply a traditional village pub in the English countryside. And to be sure, the denizens do frequent the bar for a pint or two after a hard day in the fields. Once one enters the dining area, however, all similarities to your local watering hole end.

Along with partner Imogen Young, Chef Mike North - already a darling of Britain's hospitality industry - opened the Nut Tree in January of 2007. Raised in the area, North had always dreamed of owning the Nut Tree. In 2005, at age 25, North made headlines as one of the youngest Michelin starred chefs at the Goose in nearby Britwell Salome. Lightning struck again when, this past January, Mike and Imogen were awarded another Michelin star at the Nut Tree.

The Nut Tree Degustation Menu Ballottine of foie gras with cherries and fresh almond Grilled diver-caught scallop with lemon curd and fennel salad Pavé of Nut Tree smoked Orkney salmon with whipped horseradish cream, Avruga caviar Risotto of wild mushrooms with Parmigiano-Reggiano and summer truffle Grilled fillet of aged Oxfordshire beef with triple cooked chips, baked tomato, onion rings Roast breast of Barbary duck with sautéed Jersey Royals Pan-fried fillet of seabream with crushed Jersey Royals and confit tomatoes Raspberry soufflé with raspberry sorbet Sticky toffee pudding with caramelised apple tart and praline ice cream Bitter chocolate tart with almond milk ice cream Vanilla crème brûlée

I will dispense with all my usual histrionics when excited. Without exaggeration, the tasting we experienced at the Nut Tree was, unreservedly, the best meal I have ever had. Ever. Meats were perfectly grilled, the sauces flawless, seasonings were expertly balanced throughout. Chef North and his staff executed presentation exceptionally well. Between courses, Imogen or one of her young hostesses came to the table to make sure everything was going well. They were all effortlessly charming. At one point Imogen hefted out the Catey Award the Nut Tree had just won for Best Newcomer. The Catey is Britain's culinary equivalent to our Oscar. It's a tremendous achievement.

Finally, lingering over our port and dessert wines, Chef Mike came out to receive his well-deserved praises. We talked over top of one another like starlings, trying to out do each other in our adoration. I must admit, he took it most graciously. Imogen and Mike are Hospitality's Ideal. Mike is unassuming and wants only to find the best ingredients, and prepare them the best he can. Imogen runs the front of the house like your favorite luxury hotel. Her enthusiasm as hostess is genuine and infectious. They've both worked very hard to get where they are today. They deserve every success.

The Nut Tree Main Street, Murcott, Oxon, OX5 2RE United Kingdom 01865 331253

Dining Room Monday - Saturday Lunch 12noon - 2.30pm Dinner 7pm - 9pm Sunday Lunch 12noon - 3pm Reservations recommended

There was a trip to the city of Oxford the next day with a soggy tour of some of the colleges and lots of photos of Tudor and Edwardian architecture. There was a rather underwhelming lunch at Jamie Oliver's restaurant, Jamie's Italian (although the mushrooms and scamorza cheese appetizer was outstanding). I couldn't have ended my visit to Britain on a higher note than the Nut Tree though. It would not be possible. I too now sing the praises of England's cookery. The entire encounter was a revelation, one I'll treasure always. As they say, if you're ever in the neighborhood...

Thanks for taking the time - Blog O. Food

All photos generously provided by Judith Ghilks, with my gratitude.

This Other Eden. This Sceptred Isle. This England!

“Bread, milk and butter are of venerable antiquity. They taste of the morning of the world.” - Leigh Hunt, The Seer On Friday, J-Mac took a day off from being a Master of the Universe (I think he called in well). He had planned an itinerary visiting the English countryside in Oxfordshire, where he wanted to introduce me to an associate of his, and there was some vague talk of a pub meal of some sort. I hear pub, and I think ale, so whatever we ate was gonna be fine by me. Provisions would be needed for the drive and a care package delivered to his friend. That meant a trip to Borough Market.

Non-foodies and people who read this blog merely as a courtesy to me can easily skip this post, because you're just not gonna get it. I suppose you think that if you've seen one farmers market, you've seen them all. Well, I've got another think for you. Borough Market is not just some local farmers market. It is an orgy of organic produce, baked goods, meats, artisan cheeses, flowers, food stalls, wines, beers-of-many-nations, sweets, hawkers, chefs, wives, and sightseers. It is a Macy's Day Parade of food crammed into a beautifully arched space under a railway viaduct on the south side of London Bridge. A market has stood on that side of the bridge since Roman times.

This was a market that registers on the Richter scale. It was sensory overload. I was a kid amped up on sugary cereal running around a toy store. The yeasty smell of fresh bread. The riot of colors in the produce stalls. The perfume of flowers. The buzz of merchants and shoppers. I was intoxicated. If my hyperbole smacks of excess, I hope you'll indulge me. Food excites me. The prospect of what one could do with all that bounty turned me giddy. Some folks follow NASCAR. I want to feed people.

After a solid hour longing to buy lots of everything, we settled on fruit, cheese, some good bread and rice paper-thin slices of prosciutto as an offering for our Oxford host. J-Mac had arranged for a rental car close to his flat. Just up the street from the pick up point was a very respectable tavern, the Dukes Head. (Looking at food tends to make one hungry.) It had a pretty little terrace, which was packed on this fine day, overlooking the Thames. We took a table inside with a great view of the river. I was ready for a pint and was surprised by the menu while waiting for the ale to arrive. I was expecting fish & chips and kidney pie, but should have known J-Mac wouldn't stand for such banality. Here was another establishment dusting off its carte du jour.

There was a brie and asparagus salad with pea shoots and toasted almonds, steak with wild mushroom and spinach fricassee. Was this still the UK? I suspect Pete's toxic cocktails from the previous night were not sitting well with J-Mac, as he ordered a chicken club sandwich. I wasn't in top shape either, so stuck with vegetables - a confit of aubergine with spiced chickpeas, tomato and fennel. Surprisingly good. I was slowly learning that all preconceived notions about Britain's food trough could go out the window.

Bellies full, car packed, GPS programmed, we set off northward. It was a two-hour drive to Oxfordshire. The rental car came with an mp3 connection. I played DJ with my iPod the entire way. I think J-Mac envisioned another career for me in nightclubs and lounges should things go south at home. I do what I can to entertain.

Thanks for taking the time - Blog O. Food

Routines

I spend a good part of every summer on Great Chebeague Island off the coast of Portland, Maine. I made such a favorable first impression on my girl Natalie and her brood that first Thanksgiving so many years ago, that - to them - I was a logical addition to their summer party. I'm now part of an extended family that can balloon up to as many as 15 on any given day. We clamber around a rambling three-storey shingled cottage elbowing for room on couches for DVDs, and squeezing in at the breakfast table for popovers and egg "sammies".

For visitors, island life is a simple life. Reading, jigsaw puzzles, golf, naps, long walks and lots of cooking with an extended cocktail hour every afternoon. There's pier jumping, and a greased pole climbing contest at the July 4th fair. But I begin every trip to the island with a stop at Northeast Liquors for a bottle of akvavit (more on that later), and a pint of Guinness or two at Rí Rá before catching the ferry over to Chebeague. Rí Rá is conveniently located at the foot of the Casco Bay Lines dock. I've been eating and drinking there for years. Three years ago, I caught the 9:30 ferry from Chebeague every morning to watch the World Cup. I didn't miss a game. Upon arriving in Maine, my first stop is always The Rí Rá. They take pride in their traditional Irish atmosphere, slightly chilled draught beers and superior pub fare. Along with the now usual suspects of wings, crab cakes, Caesar salads, and burgers, their Irish dishes rank among the best. The Emigrant's Corned Beef & Cabbage ($12.95, served with mashed potatoes and Irish parsley sauce) is tender, obviously, but also perfectly seasoned with crushed pepper corns and a vinegary brining liquid. They do a Guinness simmered beef stew ($11.95) that rivals any red-wined also ran out of France. Finally, the traditional Irish Breakfast - eggs, bangers, rashers, pudding, grilled tomato fry up: $10.95 - is served, gratifyingly, all day long.

You can get a perfectly grilled to order burger for $8.95. It comes with a side of fries, nicely crisped and golden brown. The staff has never been anything but amazingly friendly and open. Portland thrives on a tourist trade, and the locals know it. Although I abhor thinking of myself as an outsider, the fact remains the summer crowd will never be considered locals, but I relish the hospitality showered on us every summer.

Rí Rá: 72 Commerce Street (right on the waterfront) Portland, Maine 207.761.4446

Local or tourist, arriving in Portland will feel like a homecoming. It's an unhurried, rugged, individualistic atmosphere. Consider it an invitation.

Thanks for taking the time - Blog O. Food