"And then, finally, spring arrives. As if it has been sleeping for months, the earth begins to awaken. To me, there is nothing more exciting than the moment of the first bit of green, that long-lost and forgotten hue, emerges from the thawing ground. The moment you can throw open the windows and inhale the first breezes that soften the bracing winter air. The moment the stillness comes alive with birdsong and buzzing and a constant trickle from the thaw- when the scents of daffodils and forsythia awakens our senses, fiddleheads make their way through the soil, ramps spread wild over the forest ground, stalks of rhubarb gain heigh, and spring parsnips (wintered over, now sweet) are finally ready to be pried from the thawing ground. New life, new hope, and new dreams emerge this season that I wait for most impatiently, the season of new beginnings." -Erin French.
When I heard of Erin French and her restaurant The Lost Kitchen, there were so many parts of her story I related to and respected: her love of Maine, her belief in the deep connection a person has to the earth wherever they call "home", and her passion for her craft. After years of waiting, I finally enjoyed a meal at the Lost Kitchen last night with my husband Mike, and dear friends Ashley and Terry. I didn't take too many pictures, the experience was too rich to break away from, but we were each given a copy of her just-released cookbook so I've been stuck in daydreams all day. The only temptation worthy of stepping away from our plates for a moment was sneaking to watch Erin "cook" (thought it looked more like a graceful, rythmic dance than cooking) in her kitchen. I think I said it 100 times last night, but I meant it every time- there is magic in that old, restored mill.