Dining as performance art sparks up our evening

Recently, Greg and I visited Michael Smith’s Fire Kitchen at the Inn at Bay Fortune, purchased by the famous chef earlier this year and extensively renovated. The old kitchen and way of food service are out, and a new method is very much in. So popular, in fact, that we had to wait a couple of weeks for a reservation to this family-style eating experience.

The previous day, we received a reminder: arrive at 6:00 for the oyster-shucking cocktail hour. So, what did we find when we got there — at 6:01? In the first place, not many other people.  I knew being on time would be the equivalent of being too early; my dining companion still has to learn this. However, we were warmly greeted by a chilly hostess in the cool autumnal air outdoors. She explained the procedure for dinner, then went indoors to find a coat!   

We admired the new reception area (blond wood ceiling and birch trunks room divider).   Once the doors to the kitchen were open, which reminded me of waiting for the doors to open at  the Maple Dining Room at Christie Gardens, a few of us straggled into what was the former main kitchen.  We ate, not Colville Bay, but Fortune Bay oysters harvested about as locally as you can get — about 500 feet away in the sea. Local provenance is the byword here.  

With Bloody Mary ice on top, they were delicious.

We eschewed the gin and tonic, figuring at $13 a mason-jar drink, we could imbibe at home for much less money and equal effect.

Greg and I were not quite sure what to do with ourselves for the next 45 minutes while we waited for dinner to begin, so we sat in the lounge and watched other people arriving, while at the same time avoiding making eye contact with them, as they were with us. Is everybody here an introvert?

Carrying our coats with us, as the former coat closet was now a mini-store for cook-books by Michael Smith,  we decided to explore the dining room, found our name chalked on a slate, determined we would have to sit across from each other at dinner  (no sotto voce comments possible, darn it), and hung our coats on the back of our chairs. 

More people had arrived and seemed to be gravitating to the other end of the long room where the new ovens are. There, we found the next stage: pastrami salmon with lemon caper aioli being assembled on crackers by a very young man (to our elderly eyes). He could barely keep up with the  demand. Mmmm good! There was also smoked beef  with beer mustard, also very good as, initially, the beef was not too rare for my liking.

More drinks could be added to our tab were we to indulge in local beers.  Again, we passed: too pricey.

I got a big kick out of talking to the young chef unwrapping the baked beets plucked earlier in the day from the Inn’s garden. Rail thin and wearing a baseball hat backwards, he was cheery and chatty. I asked him, wasn’t the heat from the fire a bit much on his back and he said he was used to it. He told us they burn maple, birch and something else and that there is not a lot of hardwood on the island so they have to source some of the wood in New Brunswick …well, still pretty local! (All the gravel for driveways here comes from New Brunswick too, by the way.  Some things just can’t be helped.)

Here is our take-home menu.

In addition to place-setting menus, the courses for the night’s feast were written on the wall  on brown wrapping paper suspended from what looked like an antique paper roll, with an  impressive serrated edge at the bottom. On another wall, the 40-plus ingredients for the salad were listed. Inspecting these items relieved me of the necessity of talking to total strangers. I said to Greg, we should have gotten a group together, so we would know people.

However, that all changed when we got to our tables. We were saved by a retired teacher and co- owner of tourist cottages, who introduced herself and encouraged the rest of us to do likewise. We did and soon we were finding lots to talk about with one another.

Course after course arrived — with explanations from one of the chefs as to their significance. Sourdough yeast for the bread  takes a month to develop from potato mash, so even the yeast is local!  The resulting 12-grain Red Fife sourdough bread was irresistible, especially with brown butter.

The Taste of the Island Board was delectable. The peas could have been younger, but the dilled beans were yummy. There was way too much pate, delicious though it was, and too few crackers.  Jeff McCourt’s cheese from Glasgow Glen was pizza-flavoured — and it was “gouda.”

Cue the chowder:  all local sea food, delicious.

The invitation to smash the sand crusted on the baked halibut drew several volunteers. After whacking the sandy crust, the participants shared their adventure on their I-phones, while the chefs removed cabbage leaves from the fish, placed there  to protect it from the grit. Served with cauliflower, it was a bit bland… Even the spicy sea rocket provided from local beaches by the Inn’s forager didn’t spark it up quite enough.

However, the occasion itself kindled energy in the crowd.The conversation noise level rose, while course after course was presented. I found out the back stories of my seatmates (I already pretty much know Greg’s). Not telling them here … as what is said in the dining room stays in the dining room. It was just so convivial. 

A 90-year old woman and her 50-year old son shared a birthday, and of course everyone in the room belted out Happy Birthday when their cake was marched in.   Want to know where on the Island to go for afternoon ballroom dancing lessons? Now I know. 

I didn’t think I would like family style dining, but it turned out I do. Four hours after we arrived, we all said goodbye and wended our happy ways home.

If I had a word of advice, I’d say make the main entree portions a bit smaller. We sent way too much chicken back to the kitchen as we simply couldn’t eat it all.  Same with the excellent brown butter mashed potatoes. The beets, zucchini and roasted onions were very enjoyable, and the quantity was just right.

Also I was told that some of the garnishes the forager finds are few and far between on the beaches. Now that local plants are used in quantity at many restaurants, I worry we might be enjoying the results on our plates but over-foraging in the woods and beaches.

Nevertheless, I am looking forward to returning anytime I want an energetic, participatory, delicious dining experience. Good for Chef Michael for embarking on this rollicking adventure in Prince Edward Island hospitality and local foods.

The Village Feast in Souris was a great success

A contingent from Camp Gagetown NB provides chowder from their field canteen each year. The woman behind the soldier talked to us about one of the charities this event benefits: Farmers Helping Farmers —  building cookhouses in Kenya. 

Greg bought the hat, as it unexpectedly got sunny later in the day. You can't have too many hats. 

The mobile kitchen cooked up the lobsters.

From the tent behind the diners, the sale of local oysters, fresh from Colville Bay, benefits one of the other charities,

Some of the folks in our group enjoying their meal are Kathy, (then a space where my place is), Lynn, Ron (the doctor who sewed up Greg's arm), Maureen, and Kathy.

Joanne is enjoying the meal.

Main course after the chowder: Steak, delicious potatoes and a bit too much gravy, whole grain bread, salad, and a Kenyan side dish whose name escapes me.

All those hats and potato sacks....hmmmm... In the background is the dessert tent, where strawberry shortcakes were on offer.

You line up for your steak at the flag indicating the appropriate stage of doneness. The extremes were" Bloody" and "Burnt."

In the background is the chowder canteen provided by the troops at Camp Gagetown, NB. It was yummy!

Afterwards, the kids swarmed the fire truck and took turns sounding the siren. The hay bales, which marked the paths to take from one food serving to the next , a la IKEA, were provided by Springwater Farm — a great place to visit.

With a $100 donation, several brave souls volunteered to be installed as honourary Islanders.

First, on goes the Ann of Green Gables hat.

Then the potato bag shirt.

Chef Michael Smith explains the ritual involved in becoming an honourary Islander.

Chef Michael introduces the participants to oyster shucking.

Lord help me - it's alive!

Down the hatch:

How to get the elastic band off the claws without getting pinched!

How to peel a potato!

There's where the bridge is on the map.

Chef Michael Smith has the piper lead in all the volunteers, who made the day a success.

Here are some of the crew members. This event involves practically everyone in and around Souris.

My little table centre is now re-potted on the deck.

Bonnie had us all over to her house for drinks and conviviality before the feast.

Grant, Bonnie, Greg and Kathy are heading home afterwards.

There were lovely bouquets like this one everywhere.

All in all the day was seamlessly well-organized down to the last delicious detail.

The Village Feast was a super treat

We had a great time at this event. Every year for the past seven years, Chef Michael Smith and a vast army of local volunteers (including members of the actual armed forces) make it happen. The dinner is a fundraiser for four charities. PEI-based Farmer Helping Farmers builds cook-houses  in Kenya with donations from the feast. Other money goes locally to the Souris Food Bank, Coats for Kids, and the Main Street Family Resource Centre. 

What struck me was how well-organized it was and how helpful and cheerful the volunteers were. One of them told me they had 1,100 meals ready to go this year. And as you shall see, this wasn't just hot-dogs-on-a-bun fare, but a delicious three-course locally provisioned meal. When you consider Souris, the largest place around here for about 25 miles, has a population of 1,600, that is quite a feat. 

The physical layout  was a big part of the success. Moving so many people through the event over just three hours and keeping everyone was happy was what  really impressed me. It was like going through a combination of  IKEA and that Swiss-based restaurant in downtown Toronto whose name I forget.  Aha ... Movenpick!

Our ticket is propped up against a bag of lettuce as a centrepiece. It had tear-offs all around it — missing in the photo, but you can see the perforations — which we used at each food station.

 

Because of the high winds due to Tropical Storm Arthur, the event was held inside this year — necessitating last minute changes that seemed to us — as mere attendees — to go off without a hitch.The entrance to the Eastern Kings Sportsplex is not pretty, but the bales of hay were placed in such a way that a large crowd could congregate but then get narrowed into a line to go in to the building. You just followed the labyrinthine path.

I  suspect the same farmer who last year donated the hay bales at Micheal Smith's wedding also donated to the Feast. We visited Sweetwater Farms last year; this is the hay barn.

Anyhow, once inside, we were met with a volunteer at the entrance to the dining area,which is the ice rink in the winter. Her sole duty was to give us and everyone else useful advice to make getting our food easy.

Find your chairs first, tip them up, go get your chowder and dessert, and then afterwards, head out for your main course. Sounded sensible to me!

However, we were immediately distracted by the oysters, and not reading the sign too carefully decided on two for $5, much to the amusement of the volunteer shuckers.

As the salty dog on the left said, it's all for a good cause.

Having tipped up their chairs,  our table mates had gone for their dinner:

The chowder stand was out back. The shrimp, lobster, and potato-filled  delight was served  by members of the Canadian Armed Forces.

Next, each of us picked up one of the 1,100 rhubarb shortcakes and whipped cream for our dessert:

Here is what things looked like at about 5:00. The feast ran from 3:00 to 6:00 in the afternoon.

Chowder eaten,  it was back out the way we came in for our main course:

The steak, garlic mashed potatoes, and gravy station was first.  Such a clever way of dividing the crowd: by the degree of doneness each person wanted for their meat.  But no well-done steaks on offer, as you can see.

The lobster station was next, made obvious by the lobster boat! I wonder who lent it.

A couple of eager young people handed out the greens with gloved hands from huge bowls, another time saver. Alas, no picture of them in action.

A nod to Kenyan cuisine was given in curry-flavoured githeri, consisting of beans and maize. It was a tasty vegetarian addition.

Next stop: Acadian bread baked in that nifty oven, which usually lives near Michael Smith's kitchen.

Here is the final product; we had already devoured the lobster- and shrimp-laden  chowder.

Greg had gone the surf and turf route and did not have enough room for the lobster, which we took home for our next day's supper.

Lots of silly entertainment was orchestrated by Michael Smith while we ate. These 12 people paid $100 each to wear a funny Anne-hat, put on a potato bag apron, shuck an oyster, peel a potato and apologize (we're Canadians) to the person next to them. The money was donated to Farmers Helping Farmers.

I think they also had to drink the strawberry cordial:

Later, the crown gave a standing ovation to the orange-clad Feast volunteers.

Time to go home. The crowd is breaking up.

We stopped off at the gift stand and looked over African-made wares.

I suggested to Greg he buy another giraffe, as his previous one had its nose knocked off in one of our moves. This one does have feet; I was concentrating on its snout  for the picture.

So many sponsors:

I can hardly wait until next year.  I may not only attend, but also  volunteer to peel potatoes or maybe slice up rhubarb.