Recipes, weather, books in the lobby, things the cooks find at low tide. New entries every other Tuesday since 2018.
Tom called from Noyo at 6:14am — the first king of the year, eleven pounds. We grilled it whole that night, fennel and lemon and a knob of butter the size of a child's fist, and ate it on the porch with the regulars who'd booked the long table without knowing it would be there.
Salmon doesn't taste like salmon when it's been on the boat for hours instead of days. It tastes like the cold water it grew up in. Anyway, here's the recipe — it's almost not a recipe, but Ren wrote it down.
The lobby shelves are open to guests. Twelve titles new this month, including two on coastal birds and a slim novel by a regular.
Wild miner's lettuce, sea palm, the last of the rosehips. Wei wrote up the route — three hours, mostly downhill.
March came in with a bang, and the bluff trail closed for ten days. Photos from the lobby window during the second storm.
The most-asked-for recipe of the last decade. Ren's version, with rosemary and an unreasonable amount of mascarpone.
Margaret took two days off to alphabetize the poetry. Findings: too much Rilke, not enough Ada Limón, just the right amount of Mary Oliver.
The Douglas iris is up early this year. Wei thinks it's the warm December; the rest of us think she just looks harder than the rest of us.
The pantry, in late January: three jars of green tomato chow-chow, the apricot conserve, two kinds of fish sauce. Ren writes it all down.
Audre called early this morning — the resident pair returned from their winter route eight days ahead of schedule. Photos.
Six titles the staff is pressing on each other this December, plus the one we'd put in every guest's room if budget weren't a thing.
One on the kitchen, one on the bluff. We send only twice a month and we never share your address. Unsubscribe at the foot of every issue.