WORTH THE TRIP
Butterfield, under direction of aspirational chef, serves buzz-worthy cuisine worth journey south.
But it’s the calm ambition of its restaurant, Butterfield — so named for the rich, fertile Hudson Valley fields early settlers compared to butter — that will have engines revving.
What if I told you that an hour and change south of Albany, you’d find Aaron Abramson, a Seattle-born chef whose career ascent reads like a foodie’s wishlist with spells at Michelin-starred The Willows on Lummi Island, Washington; Rene Redzepi’s Noma in Copenhagen;
Dan Barber’s Blue Hill at Stone Barns in Westchester; and Flora Farm in San Jose del Cabo, Mexico? What if you could make a reservation with a few days’ notice, control the impact on your wallet by ordering selectively from an a-la-carte menu, or request the off-menu, $18 short rib-andchuck farm burger, instead of forking over $300 for the tasting menu at Blue Hill? Is your heart racing? Does it all seem too ridiculously good to be true?
The New York Times critic Pete Wells noted that if you “look inside the head of a bright young chef you’ll see a beehive of swarming ideas, a few just hatched and others that buzzed in from somewhere else.” So it is here. With the Redzepi-barber philosophy coursing through his veins and aspirations for a Michelin star, Abramson has kept Butterfield busy since his arrival last spring: partnering with local farms, restoring the original stone smokehouse to full use for fish and meat, homegrown tomatoes for his smoked tomato sauce and a chef’s garden that is part of plans to farm a restaurant-supporting 2- or 3-acre plot.
Abramson experiments with color, flavor and texture, with the link to the seasonal land impacting the menu daily. An ingredient, often a humble vegetable, may be presented in natural form, amplified (often by fire) or texturally changed. Three types of beets — puce, golden and tie-dye Chioggia — are roasted wrapped in dough made from smokehouse embers. Quarters, scattered with crisp quinoa (a ringer for Grape-nuts cereal) are pressed into a spectacularly nutty, bitter puree of blitzed nasturtium flowers, a nod to beets with mustard that’s popular in Copenhagen. More nasturtium leaves are flopped like lilypads on top. This is just the start.
Rutabaga carbonara, in reimagining the pasta classic, is peculiarly magical. Its vegetal, juicy strands get coated in a thin cream of whisked quail egg and salty aged cheddar, and gamey lamb bacon yanks our minds sideways every now and then. When the chicken-liver mousse arrives, airy as any dessert, it’s smeared over slate and drizzled in honey, studded with potpourri of fragrant fennel seed and lavender blossom — an epic plate. When the root-vegetable chips have gone, we grab the rustic sourdough rye to finish the job.
Only the green garlic soup, an emerald pool with sauteed garlic scapes from the garden, is out of whack, blasted by a level of salt that suggests someone’s hand slipped.
Our main courses are marvels: Highland Farm venison so supple and rare it could have sprung off the plate; Bonticou Farm duck, aged a week or two, with fatty skin pan-seared to a condition so close to crackling I keep some as the last bite on my plate; and plump sea scallops perfectly seared but simply less interesting than everything else. Alongside are seasonal treats: foraged golden oyster mushrooms and fiddlehead ferns; Tributary Farm rhubarb poached and angled over celtuce — a soft, roasted stem lettuce Abramson encountered at Blue Hill — and more in translucent shavings over foie gras jus. There are rye berries, ramps and brassica florets. By now you might find nettles, wild mulberries, blossoms and squash.
One look at the photos on the Butterfield website and it’s clear everyone should order the exquisite vegetable mosaic. Only I didn’t, out of concern we’d be ahead of the garden curve. My loss. It would have been asparagus and fiddleheads, squash blossoms, mustard greens, and peas — the sort of pneumatic medley gracing the allvegetable menu at Noma 2.0.
Service is casual; guests, too. We’re not escaping the city, but the ratio of man buns, mamas in linen and tweens dining politely beneath Hot Topic-dyed hair suggests others are. Our happy server correctly times courses, but bussers ignore spills, and when I request a replacement spoon it seems some young head will roll. I’m reminded of upstate landmarks where the upscale vibe is not always matched to server skill.
Featured drinks are this year’s Cynar, Lillet and Campari cocktails, strongly mixed, and though the smashed cucumber in a G&T will eventually come from the garden, a dash of bitters is a nice surprise. Beer and cider are the fruit of New York state, wines whimsically European and safely priced for a mixed crowd, with a few hip
East and West Coasters to stir things up.
Out of nowhere dessert is a gloriously creative finale. Tiffany Verney, a Culinary Institute of America-trained pastry chef who worked at Jean-georges in Manhattan, deploys young pine shoots in a deconstructed tiramisu blobbed with pine mascarpone, pine ice cream and sprinkled with fronds; rhubarb poached, roasted, whipped into a fool and celebrated in every possible way is plated with almond ice cream and biscotti rubble. There’s creme brulee should you want it, but best to follow Verney’s indulgent lead.
We leave through the chef’s garden, glancing at the illuminated kitchen, passing the hoots of a private party dancing under strung lights on the lawn. Like Noma and Blue Hill at Stone Barns, Abramson hopes to offer a prix-fixe chef’s garden menu this July and August, and eventually to “harvest to order,” reducing the time from soil to plate. He intends to add amuse-bouche and last bites. Unlike his former teams executing meticulous tasks, Abramson is pulling this off with a tiny crew. The barn doors are already open; now’s the time to go.
A burger, fries and cocktail will cost around $40 before tip. Dinner for two — cocktails, appetizers, mains, desserts — will run about $160 without wine and before tip.