Nate Smith | Emily Elsen | Sophie Kamin | Inez Valk | Burning Down the House

English polemicist Hobbes,
Took to bigamy in between jobs,
“I’d do less perspiring
And much more inspiring
If I had me four balls and two knobs.”

We’ve reached that bloodshot, coke-addled point in the political polemic when the Carnival of Assholes has become functionally unbearable. Last night the hours between 2.30 and 4.15 were spent gazing at the ceiling like Munch’s The Scream, sleeplessly contemplating the horror of being governed by a giant, bloated incubus muppet: whatever happened to the old chestnuts of financial destitution, lovelessness, cancer, infant mortality and the bomb?

We all need a break.

Friday night we register our protest at #peakdrivel by running screaming from our houses in pantyhose and fishermen’s cable-knits, wrapping the entire interior of the Table on Ten in newspaper and inviting Nate Smith and Sophie Kamin (from Bar Bolinas and Allswell) and Emily Elsen (from Four and Twenty Blackbirds) to man the existential barricades alongside Inez in a steadfast one-night cookathon which will employ every last scrap of vegetation remaining in Delaware County. Star Route, Berry Brook, Burnetts and Hellers will be rendered desolate wastelands. Further supplies will be pillaged from Key Training Farm, Cowbella, Bovina Valley, Greenane and Marguerite, along with the rude knobbly bits from fridges, shelves, sides of the road, Ollie’s matted flanks and the trunk of the Subaru. Scorched earth harvesting. What’ll remain when we’re done is rocks, stumps and grubby-handled toddler’s pull-toys, each missing a wheel.

No tickets, no invitations, tastings or pairings. No french linen sheets repurposed as tablecloths or backwoods banjo-string-quartets. You don’t have to simper like a poodle or prance like a dressage-pony.

No need to hashtag, like, follow, lie, cheat, namaste or lol. Neither to choreograph kittens or petals, crush persimmons, nor scatter ground-cherries onto beds of milkweed fluff. Leave your prohibition-era assless chaps, pomade and rolled-up cap-sleeves at home, there’ll be no biblical ram-slaughter. Hell, you could even contrive to forget your iPhone.

Call us up to tell us you’re coming, then come. Or swing by. Like any other pizza night.

The only difference is the whole damn menu.

And no pizza.

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Chewin’ the Cud with Nate, Emily, Sophie and Inez

Friday 4th November, Table on Ten, 6 to 9

Menu will Quite Probably Include 

SOFT BOILED EGG –  $5
spruce aioli, garlic chives, tarragon

URSULA KALE AND APPLE SALAD – $12
Alderney cheese, armagnac prunes

WINTER CHOPPED SALAD – $10
beets, cabbage, celeriac, cumin koji maple dressing, cilantro, mint

CAST IRON SOURDOUGH WITH PRESERVED TOMATOES – $10

ROASTED VEGETABLES WITH RED MOLE (the sauce, not the insectivore) – $12
potatoes, cardoons, turnips

SPICED LENTILS AND NETTLES – $10
tomatoes, yogurt, mint

ROASTED BROCCOLI RABE – $12
almonds, Cotija

TAMARIND PORK – $18
Cortland onions, pickled peppers

SALTED CARAMEL APPLE MINI-PIES – $7
maple syrup, fresh frozen yogurt, bee pollen

•••

wine

beer

prayer

•••

bring your own children and cigarettes

Delco Bell | Making America Mexico Again

Never let it be said that Table on Ten doesn’t shred the gnarlacious curl of the zeitgeist.

Pickled beet stems and caper buds. Cold brew, bacon, PG Tips, wine in mason jars, artisanal sriracha, bone broth, foraged this, foraged that. So much shredded kale you started to look like a brassica. Ramps. Kimchee workshop. Ironic Ass Beer.

Pull out your sauvecito pomade and your Mayan sun print bikini. We’re going mondo Mexican.

And in case you think we’re just another bunch of hipster Juanny-come-latelies, plundering some flavour-of-the-month food fetish, whereby stuff everybody’s been tossing on the BBQ for decades is now serious eats because we’re pronouncing it in Yucatan dialect and cooking it with flame … well, we want you to know we were at Coqui Coqui when it was just us, Heidi Klum and some campesinos raking seaweed off the beach. And while the Tuluminati were perfecting their Bharadvajasana at Bikini Boot Camp, we were blazing pioneer trails through the jungle in a 4-Runner with really shoddy a/c. An hour-and-a-bit to Valladolid, past poorly signposted cenotes and cut-throat snorkel traders, elbowing aside Instagram zombies to score Spiderman underpants from authentic artisans. Hey, we climbed that pyramid at Chichen Itza too, and Caleb lost his sarong! And barely made it back in time for whole-animal Grouper Ceviche de Wahoo and Dash Berlin’s set at Gitano. ‘La Pura Vida, muchacha!’ Wait, was that Costa Rica?

The 'Real' Mexico
The ‘Real’ Mexico

Saturday 6th of August  – 12 till 3 and 6 till 9 

Table on Ten and The Pines present:

¡ TACOS EL SABADO !

Featuring – 

La Pared Hermosa (Carne Asada) – Greenane Farm flank steak, chilis, garlic, lime

El Donaldo (Cochinita Pibil) – slow-cooked Home Grown Farmstead pork, sour oranges, garlic

Las Pequeñas Manos (Pollo en Mole) – blind mole on a stick. Or Key Farm chicken in mole sauce

La Melania (Vegetariano) – roasted Star Route cauliflower, beans, Bovina Valley cotija

•••

Tortillas de Asesino – hand-made with masa from Trevor Wilson’s local yellow heirloom corn

•••

Elotes del Extranjero Indocumentado – charred local first corn with butter, cotija and lime

Ensalada de Siete Cárteles – black lentils, avocado, pickled peas, arugula, honey, cotija

•••

Salsa Verde

Salsa Rojo

Salsa de Soplete Esteban – Burnett’s gizzard-searing smoked maple tomatillo sorcery

•••

Torta de Cuatro y Veinte – chocolate chili from Brooklyn with Table dulce de leche ice cream 

•••

Cervezas Mexicanas

Vino Francés e Italiano

•••

And there you have it! Grab your sombrero, your crossed ammunition belts and assless chaps, head over to La Casa de la Risa in downtown Pueblo Floración. The oil-tank grill will be roaring, there’ll be plastic party banners in the trees and mariachi in the air. But get there quick, before the Albondigas have turned to Pho and the mezcal back to bourbon.

•••

Saturday 6th of August 12 till 3 and 6 till 9 

•••

Pie ‘n Mash Night 2 | The Kraken Wakes

Sunday October 11th – 6 to 9.

(The Night Before Columbus Day)

‘In short, whoever you may be,
To this conclusion you’ll agree,
When everyone is somebody,
Then no-one’s anybody.’

In honor of the descending thermometer, Table on Ten will be pulling on its Bon Appétit-era woolly knee-socks and making savory pie for the masses.

Sunday dinner at Table on Ten; a menu expertly formulated to fortify the citizens of Delaware County against the leading edge of Autumn. Insulation for the ribs. Weather-stripping for the soul.

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PIE ‘N MASH NIGHT 2 – THE DEEP BRAISE

Warm Leek and Turnip Vichyssoise with Ripped Croutons, Olive Oil, Peperoncino

3 SHADES OF SAVOURY PIE WITH

• Guinea Hen, Smoked Pork Butt, Leek, Thyme, Hen Stock

• Shepherd’s Cottage Pie a la Table with Shaved Lamb and Beef, Spicy Greens

• Goodwill Pie with Parsnips, Beets, Winter Greens, Sweet Potatoes, Leeks and Cider Gravy

EACH ON A BED OF

• Buttery, Creamy, Leekie, Squashy Mashed Potatoes

ACCOMPANIED BY

• Two Special Salads, One Leafy, One Munchy

WASHED DOWN WITH

• Hearty Beer and Cider

• Effete Wine

CROWNED BY

• Unique Non-Pie Dessert Collaboration with Four & Twenty Blackbirds

• Espresso

• The Collected Works of Gilbert & Sullivan

• Pie Movie

ALL MAIN INGREDIENTS SOURCED LOCALLY FROM

Mauer’s Mountain, Star Route, Burnett Farms, Bovina Valley, Berry Brook, Greenane Farm, Township Valley, Cowbella, Evans & Evans.

•••••••

Call for reservations to make our life easier – 607 643 6509

Put down that last stacked log, climb out of your Carhartts and come on over anyway.

Sunday 11th October, 6 to 9

Sheepdogs, horses, pitchforks and weapons checked at the door.

Autumn Song | The Return of Soup

Now the leaves are falling fast,
Nurse’s flowers will not last;
Nurses to the graves are gone,
And the prams go rolling on.

Someone told us, a couple of years ago, that summer ends on the last day of the Delaware County Fair. That elegantly shaved Holsteins are ushered into trucks even as the beeches begin to drip with browns and duns. Well, not in 2013. This year the Gods of Summer looked kindly on us, easing apart the parentheses of the season to accommodate the remainder of August and much of September, allowing schoolchildren to return to their lessons still sporting chestnut knees. But there’s no stemming the march of time. The chill is in the wings, like an attendant servant waiting to come on and announce ‘the Queen, my lord, is dead’.

Now friends come through the front door briskly, shutting it behind them. Ice-cream sandwiches linger longer in the refrigerator. And the first glimpses of a conversation that will punctuate the coming months like a thousand commas – how to stay warm – are sighted at the register.

But the turning of the seasons affords new opportunities: to break out that Harris tweed hacking jacket and deerstalker, mothballed from an unlucky May; to twist the menu between finger and thumb, ushering in items that warm the belly and bolster a sense of community. It’s time for Soup. To roll in at lunchtime, pull up a chair, a hunk of baguette and mop up something that distills the goodness of its ingredients into a restorative and sticks sweetly to the ribs.

Soups of Last Season I
Soups of Last Season I
Soups of Last Season II
Soups of Last Season II
Soups of Last Season I
Soups of Last Season III

First up: New Brushland Clam Chowder (with Cowbella Croutons)

2 lbs or so fresh chowder clams (these don’t need to be fancy)
1 cup Star Route Farm creamy potatoes, peeled or not, cubed
2 teaspoons Cowbella butter
3 good slices Catskill Food Company bacon, cut crosswise into small pieces
1 Lucky Dog onion or 2 shallots, diced fine
2 or 3 garden thyme sprigs, stripped
1 Burnett Farms celery stalk, diced fine (we wonder if a palmful of grated celeriac would do the same thing; we haven’t tried)
A little salt (careful, clams are salty)
Fresh cracked black pepper
1 cup Crystal Valley milk
Half a cup of cream
Ripped Table on Ten bread and Cowbella butter for croutons

Put the clams in a heavy pot with 3/4 cup of water. Cook on medium-high until they open. Let them cool (scalded fingers) before removing them from their shells and chopping (or not chopping if they are small). Strain the broth through cheesecloth or a clean tea-towel (more on that in late November) and store the clams in the broth to avoid them drying out. Cook the cubed potatoes in salted boiling water until nearly done, set aside. Melt the butter, fry the bacon pieces till just short of crisp, set aside. In the same buttery/bacony skillet, gently cook the onions and thyme for a few minutes before adding the celery. Continue to cook till the mixture is soft and golden. Season with pepper and (easy, there) salt. Transfer to a saucepan, add the potatoes and bacon, cook briefly. Add the clams and their broth, boil then simmer for a couple of minutes until the potatoes are soft. Add the milk and cream, bring up to heat but don’t boil. That’s it.

The buttery croutons are easy. Melt butter, add rough, big hunks of crustless bread, spin ’em round a few times, bake in the oven till done.

Cold, impossible, ahead
Lifts the mountain’s lovely head
Whose white waterfall could bless
Travellers in their last distress.

Fresh Pasta on Sunday | La Fornarina says ‘Sì!’

fornarinagrid
La Fornarina – Raffaello Sanzio da Urbino, Palazzo Barberini, Rome

And so it was that Italy Week at Table on Ten came thundering to a climax, barnstorming up River Street like a charioteer in Ben Hur.

Or maybe more like Raphael, so consumed with his obsession for Margherita Luti that he was unable to concentrate on painting; had her installed in his house so he could drop his brushes every fifteen minutes and go barreling upstairs for a bit of black-eyed, nipple-tweaking tomfoolery. There won’t be much of that on offer this Sunday in Bloomville (unless there’s a sub-plot we’re unaware of). But – whilst momentarily disappointing – it’s probably not such a bad thing; Raphael was dead by the age of 37, of a fever brought on by too much sex. With a big grin on his face, mind you.

So whilst it’s unlikely anybody from the Table on Ten will be manipulating their areolae as though trying to find the World Service on a short-wave radio, we will be turning out fine, hand-cut fresh pasta to anybody who fancies a forkful of Italy in Delaware County on a Sunday evening. We’re going with a robust, toothy semolina-and-all-purpose mix, bonded with Last Harvest Farm eggs and just a drizzle of Frankie’s. And this time we’re going to spare us the cutter and do it by hand, so we can put a bit more girth on our noodle. More pappardelle than tagliatelle with creative wiggle-room contingent on how far down the bottle we are when the knife comes out. 

There’ll be three ways to eat it:

• a rustic, pork-shoulder ragù: slow-cooked on the bone in the tomato base, cooled, then flaked back in afterwards. Pork from Stone & Thistle in East Meredith. Chunks and shards. Something to bite. Can’t be eaten with a straw. Maybe this one’s got sort of a Tuscany thing going on? Like wild boar ragù from over there, except we don’t have as many wild boars over here, at least not with that spelling.

• dandelion and hazelnut pesto. As it sounds, with parmesan and Frankie’s. Great for herbivores, this one’s a bit more Puglia: like a warm evening in Lecce, but with frostbitten clapboard instead of honeyed Baroque limestone. Dandelions by Lucky Dog Farm, Hamden.

• simple, long-cooked marinara. A huge pot of it steeped with 60 cloves of slow-melted garlic. This is Naples: Così fan tutte and death by Vespa.

Then we’ll have these:

• eggplant caponata crostini. Eggplant, pine nuts, currants, a little marinara simmer together with whole mess of spices. On toast. A quick bite in Palermo while waiting for the ferry to Stromboli.

• chicken liver mousse on bacon; on crostini. Horton Hill Farm chicken livers, bacon by Catskill Food Company, Delhi.

• mashed fava bean crostini. Beans by Star Route Farm, Charlotteville.

Oh, and these:

• fresh citrus salad: oranges, grapefruit, meyer lemons, green olives, tangerines, pistachios, hot peppers and parsley. Capri. Having tea with Graham Greene.

• green salad. Greens by Burnett Farms, Bovina, and Lucky Dog. Let’s say a cave in Matera.

Followed by these:

• affogato. A shot of espresso sluiced over Table-made fennel ice cream. On the wooden boards at Rialto in August with a second spritz and a cigarette.

• pure lemon ice cream sandwich, all made right here. So many lemons we’re puckering just thinking about it. All zest. Ischia.

And this:

• espresso. You could mess about with frothy milk and stuff. But after lemon ice cream? The railway station in Florence, freshly fragrant from Officina Profumo-Farmaceutica di Santa Maria Novella.

We will, of course have our full list of wines and beers. But y’know, that Sangiovese, Paterna Il Rosso might round out the pageantry?

And – weather-and-darkness permitting – we’ll be silently projecting Fellini’s Satyricon from the tree onto the side of the building. Which means it’ll bend around windows and the chimney and be shadowed by branches. But that can only help, right? You can insert yourself into the action! Perhaps your last chance to be a hermaphrodite demi-god.

We’re starting a tiny bit earlier – 5 – to accommodate those who would like their slice of Italy before beginning the Long March south. And we’ll go on till about 8 or so, for the rest of us. The usual deal, same as pizza night, just turn up. If there’s a bunch of you, maybe let us know and we’ll be armed and ready.

A dopo, amici!

Burgers Dogs & Beer | Food Truck Sunday | Be Here Now

Burgers, dogs, beer, wine, donut holes, fries, sides, trees, sun
Burgers, dogs, beer, wine, donut holes, fries, sides, Mike, Grady, trees, sun

We met Mike and Grady back before winter set in last year; one of those incidental encounters that have come to epitomize the human evolution of Table on Ten. Grady was participating in a food safety course alongside us in Delhi; conversation ripened over the latex gloves and the tale of their small-scale local butcher shop emerged. Long-pastured, grass-fed, dry-aged meat, sourced, butchered and processed right here in Delaware County. Two people cheerfully, determinedly plying an old-fashioned trade, focussed on excellence of provenance, husbandry, practice and quality. And they weren’t in Tuscany, Shropshire or Brooklyn. Nope: our very own Roxbury NY. We made a date and took the short hop across Roses’ Brook, to forage duck breasts from their refrigerator and cool our heels with them over roundels of freshly-made blood sausage.

Grady swung by Bloomville shortly thereafter, her butcher’s pockets replete with snappy, all-beef, Delaware County hot dogs; perfect serendipity, as the winter chill had been calling for a Table on Ten twist on a hearty classic. The Table Dog was born: he bounded through the door, circled the place twice, shook his wet coat, sniffed everybody in all the wrong places then settled by the stove, twitching, dreaming of rabbits. He was 100% grass-fed beef, resting in an organic bun with caramelized onions and Table-made, River Cottage adapted ketchup. He spooned a fistful of Burnett Farms greens. And he came with beans too; baked long and low through nights of Françoise Hardy and Campari. Ah, the nostalgia. They grow up so fast!

Like stills from old Super 8's
Like stills from old Super 8’s

Then there was the near-legendary Mike Solyn Blood Sausage workshop at Table on Ten. Scenes from la Terreur. A dozen Table regulars, bathed in blood, giddily stuffing rice and gore into sausage casings, like kids cut loose in an operating theatre. In her eagerness to attend Jeanette Bronée crashed her Subaru into a tree, but still went home blood-spattered with her own, deep burgundy hand-hewn sausage.

'It will have blood', they say ...
‘It will have blood’, they say …

Well, it’s been a while. Summer has seen Mike and Grady’s food truck ratcheting up the miles between Jefferson, Fulton Stall Market in New York and Empire State Plaza in Albany, plying a wider audience with meat of prodigious quality.

But they are coming to us on Sunday.

Sunday 28th. 3 o’clock in the afternoon.  The moment the doors shut on the regular menu we’ll be shifting our attention to the garden, where Mike and Grady’s truck will be purring like a Maine Coon. Call it: late lunch, afternoon snack, rustic high tea or Early Bird Special. There’ll be beer and wine and all the meaty cargo Farm2Door have on board: the cooked stuff to stay or go, the uncooked to take home and perform your own magic with. We’ll go till 7 or so. If you’re heading back to the city, come eat something good before you go, fuel yourself for the journey. Or make it (another) reason to stay up (another) night. The roads are so quiet in the early morning; like clipclopping on a horse and buggy through Tess of the D’Urbervilles. And if you’re here full-time; what better dinner? There’s even whispers of a bespoke Table Burger. Here’s the current skinny:

HOT DOGS – 100% grass-fed beef from Sweet Tree Farm (Carlisle). Snappy or skinless, no nitrates, phosphates. Smoked over local hard wood, made fresh by Farm2Door every week.

BURGER – 100% grass-fed beef from Sweet Tree Farm (Carlisle). Dry-aged for 50 days. A juicy 70/30 lean/fat grind.

FRIES – twice fried for a tender interior and crispy finish.

SALAD – organic greens from Burnett Farms (Bovina) with radish and carrot. Add a maple pickled egg or Harpersfield Cheese. Balsamic or bacon vinaigrette.

MAPLE DONUT HOLES – all local ingredients, fried in heritage lard from Horton Hill Farm (Jefferson). Dusted with maple sugar from Buck’s Maple Farm (Jefferson).

SIDES
lettuce, tomato, onion
fried egg
maple pickled egg
maple pickled jalapenos
house hot sauce (papaya, mango, habanero)
Harpersfield Cheese.
house sauerkraut
house smoked bacon

DELI CASE
grass-fed steaks
hot dogs
blood sausage
local cheese
eggs

BEER brewed in New York

WINE by Zev Rovine

usual drinks