The Stonecutter Spirits headquarters in Middlebury is an impressive place: cool and modern, with plenty of poured concrete and brushed metal. But in the aging room, the casks and the hush more resemble a medieval monastery.
I was there last Friday for a whiskey-release party. Stonecutter has been experimenting with blending booze-making techniques from different traditions, and its Heritage Cask Whiskey is the most recent result.
As co-owner Sas Stewart put it, the spirit is distilled like a bourbon, aged like an Irish whiskey, and finished in wine barrels like a Scotch.
When I'm under the weather, I go to Wilaiwan's Kitchen in Montpelier. The warmth and spice of the Thai dishes invariably clear my head, and I always leave feeling better than when I arrived.
When I'm sad, I go to Wilaiwan's, and I'm cheered by the interplay of flavors in my bowl of rice noodles in broth, or a salad with pungent lime and fish sauce dressing.
I also go to Wilaiwan's when the sun is shining, and I can take my bowl to a nearby bench on State Street and watch politicians go by on their way to or from the golden-domed Capitol.
Truth is, I go to Wilaiwan's Kitchen every chance I get. This is possible in part because every dish is just $9.75, tax included. It's only $2 more to add a fresh rice-paper roll, with its sweet and tangy dipping sauce.
Suzanne Podhaizer
Gwit Diow
The Wilaiwan's lunch-only menu is tiny — it includes just three items at a time and runs Monday through Friday. Because it rotates, what you eat one week is never the same as what you sampled the previous week, or the week before that. But that rotation also means your favorite dishes will come back around before long.
What never changes is that the food at Wilaiwan's is incredibly delicious. Every single thing. Every single time. Whether it's khao soy (chicken curry with coconut milk and pickled mustard greens) or lab moo (smoked pork with herbs, red onion and toasted rice, dressed with lime juice and served with cucumber).
On occasion, one of the offerings is made with local meat. If you tell 'em it matters to you, perhaps that number will increase, in time. While that might make the eats a bit less cheap, I, for one, would be happy to pay a little more. Even at the cost of giving up my spring roll.
Dining on a Dime is a weekly series featuring well-made, filling bites (something substantial enough to qualify as a small meal or better) for $12 or less. Know of a tasty dish we should feature? Drop us a line: food@sevendaysvt.com.
I keep a one-gallon bag of homemade breadcrumbs tucked in the freezer. The bag grows fatter week by week with odd ends of olive loaves, stale bagels, nubs of potato bread and too-old slices of homemade rye. The bread scraps will get slicked with olive oil and toasted into croutons; those that remain will be pulsed in a blender and zipped into the freezer bag. There they remain, until meatballs need making or a pile of spaghetti with herbs and cream begs for an extra hit of texture.
Currently, I have a favorite way to use those breadcrumbs waiting in my freezer. Determined to celebrate asparagus season as long as possible, I blanketed a platter of fat, roasted spears with toasted breadcrumbs and a few poached eggs. The runny orange yolks — courtesy of hens Alice, Riggs, Garfield, Houdini and George Costanza (yup, I know they're female) — mingle with the tender-sweet stalks and golden breadcrumbs for a dish that meets all go-to notes of color, flavor and texture. Here’s the recipe.
If there's one thing my kitchen garden does really well, it's grow herbs. Like clockwork, thyme blooms around the summer solstice, sending up charming little columns of flowers that seem to last for weeks. To eat, these blooms are somewhat milder than the leaves, tender and sweet, with light tannic notes (thyme is, after all, a woody herb) and a hint of licorice.
I’ve hit my fair share of creemee stands. Vermont Cookie Love on Route 7 sees me regularly for a cappuccino creemee. At Goodies Snack Bar, I count the days until the multitiered maple creemee is back in rotation. Sama's Cafe is right around the corner from my house, so it's all too easy to appear at its walk-up window for a chocolate-vanilla twist.
But, as much as I love a creemee in a wafer cone, sometimes I want to savor a different summer symbol: the milkshake.
Many people who eat out have come to accept the $15-plus burger-and-fries as inevitable fact. After all, beef is pricey — often $8 per pound, or more if it's local, organic or grassfed. So is the crisp Vermont lettuce, tomato slice and the labor that made the bun, pickle and condiments in-house.
But most diners who prioritize quality over pennies are willing to pay the asking price when a burger craving hits, and restaurants add value by serving hulking third- or half-pound patties with a veritable mountain of potatoes. Usually, I'll order a burger knowing I'll eat half of it and save the rest for later.
In addition to several larger, pricier patties, chefs Collin Parliman and Thom Corrado offer a four-ounce option (that's a quarter-pound). It's juicy New England beef, lightly seasoned and cooked to a cool, pink medium-rare (or whatever temp you request) in the middle. A melty layer of Cabot cheddar clings to the puckish form; its dairy-fat grease mixes with the meat juices and seeps into the brioche, which is substantial enough to soak it all in without falling apart.
Still need more fat? Ask for a bit of Mule's silken housemade mayo. You'll want to dip your rosemary-tinged skinny fries in it, anyway.
Another thing: A four-ounce burger cooks fast! And with Mule Bar's new hours — open daily at 11:30 a.m. as of last week — this meal is an easy fix for a workday lunch break.
For comparison's sake, a McDonald's quarter-pounder-with-cheese meal will set you back $5.79 — just $2.21 less. And there's no beer on draft.
Dining on a Dime is a weekly series featuring well-made, filling bites (something substantial enough to qualify as a small meal or better) for $12 or less. Know of a tasty dish we should feature? Drop us a line: food@sevendaysvt.com.
During the final year that I owned my Montpelier restaurant, Salt, I dispensed with regular menus. Instead, each night I prepared a tasting menu — a parade of small bites, designed to showcase the best of whatever was in season. While tasting menus allow chefs to be playful in the kitchen, which is a professional boon, I chose the format for several other reasons, too. For one thing, after I switched, I wasted so much less food.
Think about it: Customers expect restaurants never to run out of the dishes they want, but the only way to have enough scallops for everyone who might order them is to have more scallops than people are going to eat. And when you have one of those nights when nobody orders scallops? You make scallop chowder the next day. And all of the extra scallop chowder left at the end of that night? Trash. Compost. Bye-bye.
So, yeah, tasting menus. You only cook what you’re planning to serve. And you only order what you’re going to cook. What a concept! Tasting menus have been my favorite way to dine since long before I understood the behind-the-scenes reasons for their awesomeness. So, I was excited to receive an invitation to a tasting dinner at a pop-up restaurant called Elm, located in Philamena’s at 41 Elm Street in Montpelier.
It seemed to happen overnight: After a couple days steeped in heat and humidity, the rain clouds rolled in with an evening thunderstorm. My garden drank it up. The raised bed of herbs in the backyard seemed to bolt within 24 hours. Parsley. Chives. Big, downy leaves of mint.
I remembered the lemons I preserved last winter: scored, salted, packed in a mason jar and eventually forgotten in the back of my refrigerator — until the season's first herbs reminded me of a favorite recipe: Salsa verde with preserved lemons.
Radishes are a book-end vegetable, one of the first freshies of spring, and one of the last veggies standing come fall. I love the crunchy little roots served fresh or in salad, and they're fab on the grill or sautéed. And don't get me started on the greens, which make a fine pesto base or spinach substitute.
I planted some in mid-April (remember how it snowed just a few weeks ago?), and expected to harvest them this week and next. But following several 80-degree days and Sunday's rain, they bolted yesterday afternoon. I saved a few, but mostly I got a sink full of greens, since the plants had converted their bulbous roots into flower stalks in a single day.
This morning, I took a bunch of those greens and cooked them into a fluffy, frothy frittata with fresh herbs, asparagus from 4 Corners Farm and a handful of cow's milk "feta" from Neighborly Farms, over in Randolph.
This week’s issue of Seven Days features an interview with renowned food writer Ruth Reichl. Last week, I met Reichl at Sterling College in Craftsbury Common, where she spent three days co-teaching a summer course called “Food Writing From the Farm” at the college’s School of the New American Farmstead.
There wasn’t enough space to run the entire interview in print. Here are extended questions and answers from our front-porch conversation on the Sterling College campus:
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