Returning
to Hattie's
by Stacy
Cooper
The sun is just beginning to set
over the marsh when I reach the tiny bridge. I can see it blazing in
the rear-view, slipping behind the trees and turning the humid June
air into spun gold. I breathe deeply, inhaling the salty scent of the
tides and filling my lungs with the freshest air I've had in months.
The temperature drops ten degrees as soon as I reach the bridge. Something
else falls away the way it has for all the years I've been coming to
this tiny village on the coast of Maine. As I exhale my body begins
to relax and finally I release the energy of the city and make room
for the summer's bounty. My slate is clean, and I'm ready to inscribe
it with all the new tastes and recipes and experiences the season holds.
I am not on holiday, though I look
forward to this trip with the same excitement. No, I am on my way to
my second season as a 'guest chef'at Hattie's, a little seaside restaurant
owned by my friends Vicki and Jerry. Vicki has run Hattie's for 27 years,
serving her famous pies and good home cooking to locals and tourists
alike. When Vicki and Jerry couldn't find a dinner chef last summer,
I volunteered to help out. They bravely accepted, knowing full well
that the extent of my professional cooking experience was prepping in
a catering kitchen when I was in college. They also knew my cooking
from many shared dinners, and they trusted my love of food and my passion
for feeding friends. They knew that nothing makes me happier than cooking
for parties and large family gatherings, so they promised to hold my
hand as I ventured into their kitchen to prep and serve 50-100 diners
a night, six nights a week for July and August. The minute I started
I was hooked! My heart beats a little faster as
I come to the end of the beach road and swing into the gravel drive
in front of Hattie's Restaurant & Deli. The weathered clapboards
and neat blue shutters look the same as they always have. Jerry has
planted petunias and marigolds in the big tubs along the perimeter of
the property. The flowers are small yet -barely buds, but it's still
early in the season. The newly painted picnic tables are the same vivid
blue as the sky. The windows sparkle, washed with vinegar and polished
thoroughly with newspaper, no doubt. And the yellow awning is up, clean
and bright and newly mended from the storms last fall. The familiar Hattie's sign, a tall
oval the color of sea and sand hangs next to the door, the name carved
into the worn wood. Hattie was Vicki's grandmother, who ran a public
dining room in her home in the early part of the twentieth century.
Many of her recipes are still on the menu and her portrait presides
over the dining room. I crunch across the driveway, taking
my time, savoring the moment. Soon this place will be bustling with
activity and the time will fly. I pause at the kitchen door, taking
in the scenery. I feel greedy, gulping in the view, a little guilty
for gawking like a tourist every time I see the Pool, also known as
Winter Harbor, with lobster boats bobbing, tide rising, sun setting,
air glistening with moisture and sunbeams and swarms of tiny bugs called
noseeums. I wonder at my great good fortune. This is the moment in time when
the village has recovered from the departure of the students who inhabit
it for the winter, and is poised for the onslaught of summer people.
A world between worlds, the quiet is palpable and the place belongs
only to me for this solitary second. Vicky bustles out the door with
a big hello and a hug. I notice her manicure. The season of hard work
is still a week away. 'Well, we can't wait for you to get started!"She pours coffee and serves home
made chocolate chip cookies as Jerry tells me about the latest gadget
he's added to the kitchen. I have to stop myself from staring out at
the view. The sun has set and there are bands of orange and yellow across
the sky. I remind myself I'll see each of the summer's sunsets from
the window over my prep table. We sit around the big wooden table
nibbling cookies. I unpack gifts of cheese and bread and sausage and
olives from the Salumeria Italiana in the city and we catch up on life's
events. Then it's time to plan the summer's dinner fare, if it can truly
be called planning. Mostly we talk about what's good, what sold well,
what was most fun to make and eat. Breakfast and lunch are always the
same. Good solid food like you wish your mom would make - perfectly
fitting from Hattie's cheerful kitchen. Bacon and eggs, pancakes, sandwiches,
and salads fuel the day's beachgoing, birdwatching or kayaking activities.
Vicki's famous Maine blueberry muffins and pies are constantly baking
in the back ovens, filling the dining room with their delectable aromas.
Lobster is on the menu at every meal: lobster omelets, lobster rolls,
lobster pie. Jerry's chowder is another constant favorite, made from
Hattie's original recipe. If you're lucky, Jerry's Jambalaya or Cioppino
might be on the menu as well. And now for dinner. We'll always
have the classic offerings: Baked Haddock and Baked Scallops topped
simply with a crunchy cracker crumb topping. Lobster Pie, a crock of
shelled lobster meat fresh from the lobster pound down the road, topped
with nothing but sweet butter and crumbs, baked till bubbly. Some people
call it 'Lazy Lobster.' Whatever you call it, it's heavenly. We'll add a special or two to the
menu each evening. We'll decide daily, writing recipes like summer poems,
based on what fish is freshest and what produce the farmer's market
offered that morning. Inspiration may also come in the form of a pile
of fresh garden tomatoes brought in by a customer, or by a monster zucchini
that suddenly appears amidst the herbs in the kitchen garden. It may
come from a newly discovered cheese from the market or an abundance
of tarragon or rhubarb or fresh peas in our yard or a neighbor's. We'll
experiment and improvise, feeding our customers the way we'd feed our
friends. Nothing too exotic, no elaborate
presentation; just good, flavorful and fresh food, served simply and
with love. One of last summer's most popular specials was Fisherman's
Pie, a seaside spin on shepherd's pie, evolved from an old English recipe
my mother and grandmother served when I was a child. Haddock and vegetables
in creamy cheddar sauce, topped with a cloud of mashed potatoes and
baked till golden. Comfort food for sure. I lightened the sauce a bit
and added a bed of fresh spinach as a tasty surprise at the bottom of
the crock. Everyone asks for the recipe.Another hit was Mediterranean shrimp.
We had olives galore in the larder one day, and the shrimp were particularly
plump, so I sautéed them with olive oil and garlic, fresh oregano,
tomatoes and onion, and a splash of ouzo for good measure. The whole
thing was topped with Feta and run under the broiler to finish. We couldn't
make them fast enough. One bright morning, the fennel at
the farmer's market was prolific and cheap, so I brought back an armload.
I sliced it up and sautéed it in olive oil and lemon (juice and
zest), to serve as the vegetable of the day. Early in the evening, the
fennel was crisp with the fresh bite of anise. As it held on the back
burner, it cooked down a bit, becoming more velvety, with a richer,
more mellow flavor. Finally, toward closing time, the last few customers
got the fennel at its peak, with concentrated, complex layers of flavor
and a crunchy carmelized crust. It made me think about the stages of
life and love.
Surely more discoveries like these
await me this summer. How fortunate I am to be able to play in this
happy corner of the world, surrounded by the bounty of the gardens and
the sea, and by wonderful people who love to eat what I cook. When I
leave at the end of August, I'll carry back to the city a notebook full
of recipes and a heart full of tasty memories to last me till next summer
when I return again to Hattie's.
Hattie's Restaurant and Deli
Mile Stretch Road
Biddeford Pool, Maine.
Phone for directions: 207-282-3435
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