It’s going to be hard not to write all week about my dinner this past weekend at Blooming Hill Organic Farm in Blooming Grove, New York (right near Woodbury Commons outlets, but oh so far away, too). And to be honest, the only thing that is stopping me is that the farm is only really accessible to my Northeastern readers (or New York visitors). Blooming Hill is a working organic farm in the Hudson Valley that has been a longtime supplier to major Manhattan restaurants and Union Square’s Greenmarket. My family has been going to the farm for the past few years for their Sunday breakfast, when they open up the farm to guests who can sit in the backyard next to a creek and eat whatever Guy Jones — the owner, farmer, mastermind behind BH — has decided to put on the menu that day. Almost everything is right from the farm, everything is fresh. I’ve had some killer breakfast burritos and the girls always get banana waffles or pancakes. On the last Saturday of the month, though, through the early fall, BH brings in a few chefs from New York and Brooklyn and open up the farm for dinner. There are no reservations — it’s on a first-come, first-serve basis. You give Guy a check ($60 per person) when you walk in the door and then you are free to eat whatever is presented, which on this particular night included everything that was near and dear to my mouth. Sliced tomatoes and brick oven pizzas for apps, grilled corn with smoked pear butter (!), cucumber soup with some sort of chili pepper oil, buccatini with fresh tomato sauce. Guy and his team come out and discuss the particulars of what we are eating and what’s being harvested on the farm that week, what’s being planted and replanted. He also walks around from table to table saying things like “The Doctor is In,” as guests fired question after question at him regarding their own backyard basil, hydrangea, and tomatoes.
The drink station included two kinds of waters (mint and citrus) as well as pomegranate-peach sangria, and a bucket of iced Gennessee Cream Ales. (You can bring your own wine.)
I know I said otherwise above, but I just might have to keep writing about this one — tomorrow in the form of sangria.