To The Island For Brunch
THE SUNDAY BRUNCH IS an American culinary enigma.
It is the descendant of the old farm breakfast set out for nonfarmers. It is a colossal laboring-man's spread offered on a day when traditionally Americans do not labor.
It is a giant meal served at an hour when few of us are hungry and, if fully consumed, is guaranteed to put us to sleep for the remainder of a cherished day off.
It is, therefore, beyond sensible understanding. But like most things in life - from puppy love to a 50th wedding anniversary - it is not necessary to understand in order to appreciate.
I eat a copious Sunday brunch at least once a year, whether I am required to or not. And usually I am. If the romantic poet William Blake was right (and he usually was, even when he claimed on his deathbed to see angels), then copious Sunday brunches are populated by the wisest of Americans. For Blake wrote: "The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom," meaning that you do not know what moderation is until you have experienced too much of a good thing. And if the Sunday brunch is anything, it is splendid excess.
In a recent journey down that road - a road I believe I travel more often than most; indeed, I am paid to travel it - I drove from Friday Harbor on San Juan Island to Roche Harbor. There, on a sparkling day, with the sun blazing off the shining, bobbing white hulls of other people's yachts, I stood in line for a 14-course meal.
And those were just the hot courses arrayed in a long, silver-clad line to my left. Another dozen or so other choices - the "cold line," with rolls and cakes, with chocolate mousse and fresh fruit suspended in heavy whipped cream, five kinds of melon and chilled salmon steaks shimmering under sour cream and snippets of fresh dill - were aligned to my right.
It was a gustatorial gantlet.
And I said to my friend P.J. Griffin, "You know, I'm not really hungry. I don't see how I am going to get 14 hot courses down and still have room for the chocolate mousse."
"Why don't you cut back to 13?" she said.
"And not get my money's worth?"
The Roche Harbor Restaurant - like most such institutions - offers a fixed-price brunch. For $14.95 you get all you can eat. Which breaks down to about $1 per serving (self-serving) of all of the hot choices. Figure the cold dishes, then, are free. For $15.95, you get all you can eat, plus all the chilled champagne you can drink.
"We try to cut people off after they've downed two bottles or more," executive chef Jim Boyle laughed. "But we don't usually have to."
The Roche Harbor Resort and Restaurant are laudable examples of making lemonade from handed-down lemons. Or, to put it more accurately, from lime. The harborside complex (pretty, quaint, Victorian) got its start as a lime factory.
At one time its roaring furnaces consumed 10 cords of wood a shift, and the lime factory's wood-fired ovens (limestone is baked at 1,650 degrees to make lime) ran three shifts a day. To get all the fuel, the forests of nearby islands were denuded. The factory ran from 1886 until the Great Depression did that part of the world a favor.
The small workers' cabins became tourist cottages. The owner's splendid home became the restaurant. The large bunk house became the Hotel de Haro. Much of the resort looks like it could use massive renovation - but its charm, its history and its waterfront views are irresistible.
It is said that it took two years of rainfall to wash the lime dust from the trees surrounding the bay after the lime house closed. A scuba diver who recently surveyed the harbor bottom, 60 years after the plant's closure, pronounced it biologically dead.
It is, nevertheless, quite pretty up on the surface. The Sunday brunch is likewise attractive.
Can you handle 14 hot courses for a late breakfast? They are all there and, for the most part, all good. Chef Boyle, an amiable and well-trained young kitchen craftsman, studied at the New England Culinary Institute (Montpelier, Vt.) and broke in at resort-hotel kitchens in Laguna Beach and Newport Beach, Calif.
Here's what you get: fresh, hot biscuits and country gravy; seafood souffles; finger quiches; beef Stroganoff; scrambled eggs; fried sausages and bacon; eggs Benedict; cheese blintzes (these were really very good); apple-peach crisp (also excellent); chicken-stuffed crepes in a vin blanc-brandy-cream sauce (I ate three), poached rock cod in a wine-lemon sauce and topped with bearnaise; freshly sliced ham.
Add in all of the pastries, breads, cold salmon, chocolate mousse and berries in whipped cream you can carry (or go back for), and you get some idea of what puts the large in largess.
Yet, in fairness, Sunday brunch is not what most of us do on a regular basis. The experience is supposed to be exceptional. The Roche Harbor Restaurant does it better than most.
Not all is perfect. The hollandaise of the eggs Benedict can break down under hot-tray service, and crepes held over heat for even a few minutes begin to toughen on their bottom surfaces - but as noted above, I enjoyed mine.
The champagne, Chateau Elysses, is a wine I'm not familiar with and endless pourings or not, champagne for breakfast is beyond even my sense of acceptable excess - unless it is dawn in Paris and you haven't been to bed yet - so I passed.
I think one of the most appealing aspects of the weekend brunch (Roche Harbor serves its on Sundays only, 9 a.m. to 2 p.m.), is the sense of escape and adventure; of being places we normally are not and doing things we do not ordinarily do. In those respects, Roche Harbor fits the qualifications nicely.
You don't have to have a boat to get there. San Juan Island is served by West Isle Air of Anacortes. It's a quick flight (15 to 20 minutes) and costs $17 a person to Friday Harbor or $21 to Roche (each way), with group rates available; $85 for up to five passengers. You can also hire a cab from Friday Harbor.
On the other hand, you can stay home, sleep late, buy your own champagne and make your own Three-Cheese Blintzes.
ROCHE HARBOR THREE-CHEESE BLINTZES Serves 6 For the crepes: 3/4 cup sifted flour 1/2 teaspoon salt 2 tablespoons powdered sugar 2 eggs, beaten1cup milk or 2/3 cup milk and 1/3 cup water 1/2 teaspoon vanilla
1. Combine sifted flour, salt and powdered sugar. 2. Add eggs, milk or milk and water, and vanilla. Blend and rest batter for one hour or longer, refrigerated. 3. Cook thin pancakes briefly in a greased 5- to 6-inch skillet. Hold in a warm oven.
For the filling: 1 cup ricotta cheese 1 cup cream cheese 1 cup cottage cheese, rinsed, drained 1 to 2 teaspoons vanilla extract 1 tablespoon Grand Marnier 1 tablespoon freshly grated orange peel 1/4 cup whipping cream 1/4 cup powdered sugar
1. Mix all ingredients for two minutes at medium speed. 2. Place two tablespoons in the center of a crepe and fold over from four sides. (There will be leftover filling.) Place seam-side-down in a well-buttered oven dish. Bake in a preheated 350-degree oven for 10 minutes. 3. Serve with raspberry sauce and sour cream, or sour cream diluted with fresh cream.
To make the raspberry sauce: Puree two cups fresh or frozen berries; strain. Add fresh raspberries, blueberries, etc.
JOHN HINTERBERGER'S FOOD COLUMNS AND RESTAURANT REVIEWS APPEAR SUNDAYS IN PACIFIC AND FRIDAYS IN TEMPO. HE ALSO WRITES A WEDNESDAY COLUMN FOR THE SCENE SECTION OF THE SEATTLE TIMES. BETTY UDESEN IS A TIMES PHOTOGRAPHER. CECE SULLIVAN OF THE TIMES FOOD DEPARTMENT TESTED THIS RECIPE.