Fischer Chris - The Beetlebung Farm cookbook : a year of cooking on Marthas Vineyard

M y grandparents moved to Chilmark in the 1950s. They didnt travel far, but they entered a different worldat least thats how it seemed to my grandfather, whose family had lived on Marthas Vineyard for more than 250 years. But Chilmark was where they wanted to settle, start a family, and buy a farm. So Albert and Regina left the bustle of down-island life and headed up-island to wild, windy pastures and wooded hillsides, where the electric lines were newly strung and most roads werent paved.

This island is not big, about eighty-eight square miles in total. But it contains many worlds, some that overlap and some that never touch. Chilmark is a rural town in the southwest crook of the island, bounded by Aquinnah at the western tip, Menemsha and Vineyard Sound on the north, and the Atlantic Ocean to the south. My grandfather bought a five-acre parcel at the juncture of Middle Road, South Road, and Menemsha CrossroadBeetlebung Corner. Like the intersection, his farm was named for the resilient native hardwood tree (known elsewhere as black gum).

The advance, then retreat, of the last ice age created Marthas Vineyard, carved its terrain, and defined its land. The subsequent rise of sea levels separated us from the mainland. Today, particularly up-island, rocks are scattered everywhere. Giant boulders hide in the woods, cluster along the shore, and disappear into the waterall reminders of the enormous climatic and geologic upheaval. Settlers used the mid-sized rocks to build fences to contain the sheep they raised in numbers so large that the forests disappeared for a time. My grandfather, like his forefathers, had to clear tons of stone before he could plant his crops. He hauled some, then blasted the rest with dynamite.

By the time I was a kid, the islands sheep were mostly gone and the woods had grown back around the crumbling hand-piled walls. I grew up in ChilmarkI left and then I came back. I returned after my mother died because I needed to be here and because I wanted to learn how to farm from my grandfather. I had become a cook while I was away; I worked in restaurants in big cities on both coasts of this country and in Europe. So I farmed days and made money nights as a private chef. I found it surprisingly easy to leave the field and have a meal prepared by sundown, because the ingredients here are so fine they are best almost left alone. I realized then what I had always instinctively known, that the food we grow, the fish we catch, the animals we hunt, and those we raise on grasses and flowers salted by the sea breeze are special because of this place.

Thats why I started hosting dinners on Beetlebung Farm. We served what we grew and what our friends caught and raised. The fare was simple, the evenings were informal, no two meals were the same and it was lots of work, but each dinner was a magical occasion.

Then I was offered the job as chef of the Beach Plum Inn & Restaurant in 2013. I accepted, eager for the chance to expand the circle. I began by ripping a hole in the wall between the small kitchen and the old dining room so the kitchen team could see people eating their food and the diners could see us cooking, carefully and with full attention. I continued to manage the farm and used my work there to inspire the menus I wrote every day. We harvested then cooked simply, letting the ingredients shine.

I grew up eating this way. Our meals were planned after a visit to the garden or when my dad got back from fishing. Of course we also made sure to feed the freezer for the cold monthsa necessity here. We were not inclined to spend hard-earned money on imported out-of-season vegetables. Frozen peas and canned tomatoes, our own or store-bought, were just fine until the warm weather returned. I still eat this way, enjoying what is best from the farm when I can but happy to open a can, package, or jar when I need to.

Ive now been back almost ten years and still marvel at all that this island has to offer. This book celebrates all we have. It is a journal of the past year, the story of the seasons told as I experienced them through seventeen meals I cooked beginning in the warm days after the island emptied and ending a year later when the garden was once again full.

The menus are a collection of recipes that I cooked and ate. Look to them for inspiration but dont feel bound. These are all dishes I will make again and again, likely giving each a tweak every time I doto suit the season, yes, but also because that is part of the fun.