The Lost Kitchen...

You don't have to hail from Maine to have heard of this tiny, out of the way restaurant. It has been written of in the New York Times, as well as many national magazines. Reservations are so highly prized that hopeful diners must enter a lottery by mailing a 3"x 5" card to the restaurant during a small window of opportunity that is open every springtime. Last spring our daughter and son in law sent one such card to The Lost Kitchen. To their delight, they received a phone call a few weeks later, and chose a date to enjoy a meal at one of the famous tables tucked inside an old mill in Freedom, Maine. The restaurant received cards from every state in the US, and more from 106 countries! Imagine our excitement when Rachel and Evans invited us to join them. All summer, Rachel and I thought happily about the September Saturday that we had reservations, and as the time grew near, our anticipation escalated.

The drive to Freedom on windy, country roads, was lovely, even in a light rain. We started out by visiting the wine cellar where Evans chose beverages for us to enjoy with the meal.

We were seated at a comfortable table, and had a little time to look around. Great care had been taken with the lighting, and the room was illuminated with a warm glow. Candles flickered on old beams, and there were lovely touches everywhere.

 To be honest, I had expected the atmosphere to be a little ostentatious. To my delight, I was wrong. The building and staff were all warm and welcoming. Soon the room was filled with the sound of happy conversation. It was plain to see and hear that every soul there was feeling jubilant. The air was infused with a feeling of joyous anticipation. It was almost a holiday feeling.

I sat back and took it all in, relishing being in a special place with three of my all-time favorite people in the world.

I knew the food would be excellent, but I honestly couldn't have ever expected just how perfect and beautiful it all would be.

These little things were Mangalitsa pork sliders. I have never put anything quite so delicious in my mouth before. 

The chef, herself, served us much of our food. She had a whimsical look on her face when she presented us with a tray of these little glass hens. "Pick a chick," she smiled. Each tiny chicken contained a mouthful of lemon thyme sorbet. Icy cold, and fresh. 

There was incredible cold soup made with the last of the seasons tomatoes, jalapeno peppers and cilantro. It tasted like summer on a spoon. Then the most beautiful salad I have ever seen. It tasted as wonderful as it looked.

This was followed by scallops, nestled on a bed of grits.

Then there was a buttermilk pound cake, served on a bit of custard. Topped with whipped cream, golden raspberries and baked plums. The chef came around and droozled warm caramel sauce over each serving. I nearly swooned.

And just when we were all filled with incredible flavors, pushing back our chairs to groan quiet, happy, groans, they came around with warm-from-the-oven cookies, and a bowl with fresh local apples and the sweetest little grapes.

I sort of floated out. The rain had stopped, the evening was soft and warm. We had just had an experience. It was so much more than a meal. The people, the building, the feeling of being a part of what the chef has created there. It was inspiring, uplifting, a delicious treat for the senses. The Lost Kitchen. Found.