Synopses & Reviews
Experience beautiful home cooking that takes its cues from the kitchen gardens and forest harvests of the Pacific Northwest. Andrew Barton and his friends run Secret Restaurant Portland, a monthly supper club. After hosting dinners for five years, a culinary style emerged that reflected his practical approach to cooking: accessible recipes alive with flavor, lovely on the plate and the palate. The Myrtlewood Cookbook brings forth 100 recipes that amplify the tastes, colors, and textures of summer tomatoes, fall mushrooms, winter roots, and spring greens. You will gain nearly as much from reading these recipes as from cooking them. Whether you are inspired to make Nettle Dumplings in Sorrel Broth, Candied Tomato Puttanesca, or Russet/Rye Apple Pie, be prepared to swoon under the spell of Myrtlewood.*
*The Myrtlewood tree is found on the same ground as fiddlehead ferns, nettles, and other wild foods characteristic of the Pacific Northwest. The plates, bowls, and cutting boards carved from Myrtlewood shown in this book connect to the land where this cookbook was created.
Review
"Andrew Barton’s voice is warm and his food is beautiful. The sense of place — the ambiance — will draw you in and make you feel freshly appreciative of simple, everyday possibilities. In a world overflowing with cookbooks, this quiet gem stands out." Mollie Katzen, author of the Moosewood Cookbook
About the Author
Andrew Barton is a preschool teacher by day. He has co-run Secret Restaurant Portland since 2010, putting on dinners for 15 to 60 people, themes and style varying upon location and inspiration. He also curates, edits, designs, and letterpress prints a series of books under the name Two Plum Press.
Peter Schweitzer is a freelance photographer who has captured the mood of Secret Restaurant Portland since 2012. For over ten years he worked on a continual documentary project, photographing a moment from his life every day between 2006 and 2017.
Andrew Barton on PowellsBooks.Blog
Do you know what I mean by “that fall feeling”? It’s a sensory thing. The air getting just crisp enough for a sweater, but no jacket. Coffee, exposed to the chilled air, giving off curls of steam. Music with cello, piano, and brushed drums. Reading on a park bench. Pacing the room in the lamplight, because the night is so long and there is so much you can do...
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