Noshing Out – Fireplace Feast

                It’s the beginning of April. Easter has passed and we already had some mid-60˚ days. But mother nature, in her jesting way, decided to give winter one last (hopefully) hurrah and dump snow on Connecticut last weekend. An hour drive away from Hartford, the Salem Cross Inn provides colonial experiences throughout the year. Entering the front door, you get the vibe of old New England with wood and rusted farming implements decorating the interior. Down the stairs is an open entertaining room with a wood hearth about eight feet wide and five feet tall. Logs of hardwood are ablaze within its brick depths, the flames pushing heat into the room. Outside, a horse drawn carriage provided an unseasonably wintery reprieve from the heat with a short ride around the property, now covered in white. With flurries gusting, we huddled under blankets to block the wind as we surveyed the acres of land belonging to the Inn.

                Back inside, warm, spiced cider in hand, we watched racks of prime rib roasting on spits. I was entranced by the rotating meat, the higher rows basting the lower as the juices dripped down. Eventually, they were removed to rest and carve; the logs were rearranged to prepare for a demonstration on how to make clam chowder. A heavy, black cast iron pot, reminiscent of a witch’s cauldron, was hung on a hook above the roaring flames. Onion, fat back, clams, clam juice, potatoes, and cream were added incrementally. The audience took turns stirring the concoction with a long wooden paddle, but the turns were quick, as the heat billowing from the hearth was intense. I was surprised at the violent boil within the cauldron, which I would expect to give the shellfish a tough texture, but as we filed out to the dining room, I was soon proved wrong.

                We sat at tables, family style. Behind the scenes, a roux was added to the chowder to thicken it, and a team of servers quickly ladled out the soup for service. Thick, but not grainy, with the clams firm but yielding, the chowder was excellent. Unlike most chowders, laden with potato, this version had a wealth of seafood, its briny flavors contrasting with the heavy creaminess. Sides of squash puree, spinach pie, and rolls were handed out before the carved, medium rare prime rib was plated. Marbled with fat, the meat was pinkish in the center with a char on the outside. Spices and juices had crusted from the intense wood heat, imbuing the meat with a woody, smokey flavor, yet soft texture.

                During the social hour prior, the pastry chef had given a demonstration of an antiquated coring/peeling machine, working through a bowl of apples from a local orchard. These had been tossed with butter and spices and baked into a tray of apple pie. Accompanying the tray, a server hefted a tub of house made whipped cream, halfway to butter in thickness and heady with the scent of vanilla. Diners were quick to take photos of the mountain of whipped dairy. Dollops made an audible plop as we lined up for the sweet, tart, freshly made finish to our meal; the apples still maintaining a slight firmness and the buttery crunch of the pie shell accenting the richness of the cream.