Blue Hill and Other Adventures in Westchester

Three months ago, I staggered out of bed in the middle of the night to secure a reservation for six at Blue Hill, a restaurant in Westchester that is positively legendary, for Ed's birthday. Blue Hill is located on the grounds of Stone Barn Farms, a sprawling piece of property north of New York City that produces a stunningly diverse array of organic produce and meat and dairy products. (There is also a location in Manhattan, but I have heard that it is not as impressive.) The menu changes constantly according to what is in season, and it's frequently lauded as one of the best restaurants in the country. I'd heard that the multi-course menu takes a long time to get through, and so I arranged for us to stay at a nearby hotel to make a getaway of it. Three months seemed to drag by, but finally we found ourselves driving out of the city yesterday, headed toward what promised to be a memorable celebration.

The Castle, with its lion head-adorned fountain

We checked into the impressive Castle Hotel and Spa in Tarrytown, where we were welcomed by an exceptionally courteous staff and ushered into the lovely lobby to drink complimentary champagne while we were being checked in. The Castle Hotel used to be a house, and I certainly wouldn't mind living there. It's beautifully decorated with wonderful details; some are obvious, like the gorgeous carvings on the wooden banister bordering the central staircase just of the lobby. Others, like the small light fixtures shaped like armored knights tucked up near the ceiling on either side of the main door, are delightful surprises. In our large, comfortable room, we were greeted by a plate of chocolate-dipped strawberries and told that the items in the minibar were complimentary. Part of our room was in a turret, and the rounded wall housed a row of windows that provided a sweeping view of treetops and a river on the horizon.

After settling in and dispatching some of the strawberries, we went for a run that took us by a pretty, ice-covered pond and through some forested, rolling hills. Then, at last, it was time for dinner.

I was in love with Stone Barns Farm, and its restaurant Blue Hill, before we were even out of the cab. Off the main road, we approached an imposing stone building via a hilly, curving road that took us past a cow pasture and a field filled with wheeled hen houses. A brick walkway took us through an entryway into a courtyard in which a row of flickering lanterns on the flagstones led the way to the entrance of the restaurant. Inside, a warm, elegant bar and a friendly hostess greeted us, and we were handed a cocktail menu that listed drinks like Pickled Ramp Martinis.

Our friends arrived soon after we did, and we were escorted into a large, airy, dining room. Unlike in the city, there was plenty of space around the tables, and the chairs were upholstered and comfortable. Running through the center of the room was a long, wooden table from which soared an incredible sculpture made of branches and hung with flowers. Potted succulents were nestled in its curves.

An Australian man in a suit placed an enormous parsnip, nestled in a trough-like section of log, in the center of our table and told us about how it had spent the winter growing in the soil just outside the dining room, where the cold concentrated its sugars. He was to intersperse our many, many courses with changing centerpieces and poetic information about the food and the philosophy behind many of the seasonal dishes. We settled in to peruse the menu and found that we had a choice between only two set tasting menus. We ended up settling on the longer one. After that, we told our host about allergies and dietary restrictions and our decision-making for the evening was over.

Shear-Your-Own Peashoots

What followed was a kaleidoscopic array of courses, each simple, fresh, beautiful, and spectacularly delicious. I lost track after a while, but here are some of the ones I remember: an array of baby carrots, radishes, bok choy leaves, and cauliflower florets impaled on nail heads protruding from a pretty polished board; a bit of yellow wax bean served with a rich smear of steamed, seasoned egg yolk; "beet sushi," a thin slice of beet arranged over a little cushion of warm grains and crunchy sesame seeds; kale and cabbage chips in long strips woven amongst the protrusions of a striking black branch-like sculpture; a tiny "beet burger" that tasted like the most wonderful sloppy joe ever concocted; slivers of curried carrots on a crunchy, seeded cracker; a potted assortment of growing pea shoots, served with metal shears and a pesto-like sauce in which we dipped the sprigs as we cut them; a small, thick piece of succulent brioche bread with a spinach spread and fresh ricotta; a soft-boiled egg served with shredded seaweed and other Japanese-inspired seasonings; small pieces of liver bordered by thin panels of chocolate; deconstructed fish tacos with broccoli guacamole and other wonderful toppings, all designed to be wrapped up in a "tortilla" that was actually a paper-thin slice of kohlrabi; a bouquet of fresh greens made to be dragged through a swirl of dressing, then dipped in some flavorful, crunchy crumbs that lined the edge of the plate; a Jerusalem artichoke in a dollop of some wonderful curry sauce; heavenly egg noodles and mushrooms; and a parsnip "steak" with a delicious sauce drizzled over it. I'm forgetting almost half of what we were served, but I assure you that every bite was truly awe-inspiring. (My memory of some of the meat dishes is even fuzzier, since Jenny and I were served vegetarian alternatives to each.) Throughout the meal, we were served various wines and beers chosen to compliment the dishes.

Most of the courses were no more than a mouthful or two, and there wasn't a single one that didn't cause every person at the table to moan with pleasure. If all vegetables were as fresh and as expertly prepared as the ones at Blue Hill, we decided, there wouldn't be an omnivore left on the planet.

The birthday boy

The waitstaff was absolutely superb. Their work felt more like graceful choreography than food service. Some dishes were presented to all of us at once, and on these occasions each plate wafted down from above our heads simultaneously from the hands of six separate servers. About 2/3 of the way through the meal, we were told to get up from the table, and our party was escorted into a small, candle-lit shed where we sat at a table and were served a course and its wine pairing, then left to enjoy the food and gush about the setting in privacy for a while. It was simply magical.

We sat down at 7:30, and our meal concluded after an assortment of truffles, home-made marshmallows, and other confections, at 12:30. Ed and I returned to the Castle where we collapsed to digest and sleep in a sumptuously comfortable bed.

Unsurprisingly, we were not terribly hungry the next morning, but I was eager to explore the Stone Barns farm, so after I said a very reluctant goodbye to the Castle, we headed back toward Blue Hill again. We bought rich coffee and luscious pastries at Blue Hill's walk-up Cafe (which also sells jams, pickles, and other edibles all made on the premises), then headed out toward some greenhouses. I, a lover of gardens, was absolutely smitten by the warm, light spaces. We walked past bed after bed of carefully tended plants, some housing mere seedlings and some bursting with mature spinach, lettuce, chard, carrots, radishes, and basil. Ed, predictably, was much more interested in the animals. Some enormous pigs lay around, grunting meditatively, but we spent more time watching a barn full of busy Rhode Island Reds. Ed's favorite, however, was the sheep barn, which was filled with large, loud ewes and, wonderfully, a handful of impossibly tiny, bleating lambs! Some still had dry, stringy remnants of their umbilical cords dangling from the middle of their tummies. Ed coaxed one over to the fence and stroked its nose for a few moments before a suspicious-looking sheepdog made it clear that this sort of fraternization would not be tolerated. We both enjoyed wandering through the Visitors' Center, where beautiful cookbooks, charming children's toys, and all sorts of other wonders were for sale.

Just one section of the enormous greenhouse complex

 Alas, Blue Hill is pricey enough that our visits from here on out will necessarily be few and far between. But I would love to revisit Stone Barns on another weekend, perhaps in spring, when I can sample more treats from the Cafe and admire the garden and the baby animals. Blue Hill also offers cooking classes, the very thought of which makes me swoon.

For the serious foodie, I can't recommend Blue Hill highly enough. Ed said that he went in with astronomically high expectations, and even so Blue Hill managed to surpass them. Diners may not know what dishes to expect from the ever-changing menu, but it's safe to assume that whatever you are served is bound to make up one of the best meals of your life.