Northern Run...

 A while back as Spring first began to emerge, took a road trip up to the northern woods, a chance to wander in an expanse of open land, catch up with old friends, and of course eat some good grub. A few hours outside the City, having followed the twisting bends of the Eel river, we cut up through rutted road, snow still dusting the surrounding hills implying the possibility of needing a "tow" out should it drop any lower during our stay. Wood smoke served as our welcome, along with the wagging tails of hearty dogs sitting at the drive's mouth.

Quiet spot by the chicken coop.

 The cool air tasted good, the sun broke from a lingering fog, and my long frame was grateful to stretch from the small European car not intended for me. Embraces and small talk, dogs sliding about our legs, the day was slowly coming into focus as we stood under  the canopy of scrub oaks that were set about the main house. Ushered inside, the popping of newly placed logs could be heard coming from the iron wood-burner, the sole source of heat. We were offered a late morning beer, very cold and good, and settled in at the kitchen table; a perfectly weathered picnic version.
  It didn't take long for food to come up in conversation, signaling the time to retrieve the bags we'd brought. With several raised beds forming the garden, the growing season offers an abundance. As that was still a ways off, we came prepared. First was a kale salad tossed in a brown sugar and balsamic vinagrette with shaved red onion and fresh goat cheese that my traveling buddy (Katie having opted out of the trip.) had picked up as the Sunday Marin Market opened. As all were "pescatarian", a departure for one so meat centric as myself, I put together a fennel and cauliflower soup, drizzled with a salsa verde. The Heinekens, preferred drink of the house, kept appearing, sections of the Sunday papers were passed around, and naps descended upon all.

 And so, the pattern was set. Good food seemed constantly to find its way to the table, wood to the fire, the odd beer to be opened. The large valley-to-peak parcel of land demanded to be hiked, and we would set out to explore, following one of the many streams that fed the property's water tanks, along with providing power by way of turbines. When changing light or cooling wind reminded us of time, we'd be led by the wood smoke back down, cutting along the tiers of waterfalls, past the turtles sunning themselves in the failing sun on large stones exposed in the small pond.

 

 Once back, the cooking would again start. A spaghetti of aglio-olio-pepperoncini... pizzas of Spring garlic, chard, and goat cheese... tossed chicories, with roasted beets, Spring onion, and crostini of early season salmon. When a few days had passed, and the City called for our return, no tow was needed. Instead, the sun held true, as we headed back refreshed, ready for another go round with reality.

http://www.chez-gautier.com