About 18 of us winos made it from Seattle to Ripe’s Family Supper Saturday night in a bitchin windstorm for what amounts to the biggest chef’s table ever–seating for about 35 in the whole place. It was the first enterprise of Michael Hebberoy, also of clarklewis and Gotham Bldg Tavern. Tommy–the most excellent (and soon to be award laden) chef at Gotham Bldg Tavern–was our cook for the evening. And we were treated to a wicked fun dinner–everything cooked to perfection. The idea is to cook a three course meal, everything from local farmers and ranchers and serve it family style. All for the price of a single entree at any fancy joint. You then get to decide if you want to take part in dessert and coffee, which are an optional few bones extra. If I lived in Portland, I’d eat there all the time.

The entire experience had an anti-jading affect for this old pro. Not to complain about all the fancy free dinners and booze I receive on a regular basis, but fancy for fancy’s sake gets old fast. Sometimes, you don’t want to see the 17 ingredients that went into the dish listed on the menu just to justify their review/PR/prices/etc. You just want someone to cook a decent risotto for you, for once. Like Tommy’s squash risotto with fried sage leaves–rice cooked just past al dente, tender yet solid. Small bits of squash cooked to the exact doneness of the rice lifted by a splash of balsamic vinegar and topped with enough fried sage leaves for everyone. That’s all you really want after a lifetime in this business. Someone with the confidence to make the simple tremendous.

It’s the Italian way of doing things. Start with beautiful and delicious, then don’t fuck it up. Have the balls and the conviction to know that the perfect tomato doesn’t need you; it needs you to get out of its way.

Laser beams or cryogenics always smack of some inadequacy to me, the emphasis of circuses over food. It’s like post-post modern modern. It’s so ironic, I apparently don’t get it.
But if it makes you happy to spend hundreds of dollars to take communion with some whacko that’s distilled a blueberry cobbler down into a cube of boullion, whatever. I’d rather have a warm pot of berries, buttery crumble, a big spoon, and some fucking ice cream.

After their big, beaming centerfold spread in Food & Wine last month, I suggest you get on Ripe’s mailing list if you ever hope to attend Family Supper. Though it is best attended in the summer when local produce of every freakish variety is available for the cook’s amusement, you will not, can not, be disappointed. (Website: www.ripepdx.com)

Wines we drank: (DETAILS SPOTTY) A big ol’ giant of Deutz ( the only negociant I drink, and also the most complex and lovely), an aromatically stunning 1996 Lenoble Blanc de Blancs, the last of my righteous ‘85 Ceretto Zonchera, Chateau de Varennes Savennieres–one of my favorite freaky whites, a really cool white grenache from Spain who’s name I wish I could remember, a super sexy back vintage of the Mr. Riggs Shiraz, an elegant Arcadian Pisoni vineyard Pinot that bookended the mushroom pan jou of our bird (Joe’s is the only Pisoni that actually tastes like Pinot, go figure), and an obligatory uber-tasty Chateauneuf du Pape. And many, many more. But I wasn’t about taking notes.

P.S. Have you ever fried sage? It’s one of those easy little touches that drive people crazy. I used to work at this restaurant in Seattle, Marco’s Supperclub (website HERE) that has them as an appetizer. You have to get a suitable kind for your culinary purposes (a sweeter, downy plant works best). Then you soak them in milk, toss them in a little rice flour (AP is too heavy), and fry. Olive oil works best, and just like popcorn–pull them out and drain em on a paper towel before they smell “cooked.” I serve them with sweet potato homefries or add them to Terra chips.