I turned fifty on September 26th, 2015. I took a trip to celebrate. I had wished to travel with good friends; all invited needed to cancel going. I went alone. It was, unintentionally, a pilgrimage of sorts. There was uncertainty and small hitches but I finally got on the road on Friday in the afternoon. The Portland Amtrak Station is a nice starting point.

En route, on the train, I found space to write, to reflect on the novel I'm crafting...and take some surprisingly good photos with my cell phone's camera. This is crossing the Ballard WA bridge at sunset. I wrestled with and pinned down five pages of fresh text. The novel is continuing to challenge me. I spent a good 40 minutes staring out the window...deeply contemplative...I checked some (emotional) baggage during this period. I was sadly lonely. I was hurt that friends couldn't accompany me on this trip. I found some peace by shifting my focus...how could I make this trip...artful? Meaningful?
I recalled my lessons from Burning Man...and chose to see the world thru an artist's eye...thru a poet's mind...thru a lover's heart....as we rolled into King Station, Seattle I was confronted with that perspective in the form of a building:

I was moved by its artistry and non-conformity: it was the only building in its area...it was the only building like that...and it reflected all that went on around it...funny how we see ourselves when we look at the world.

I was very lucky. One of my favorite, bright, funny loving friends was in Bellingham WA for the night and day. He and a friend picked me up at the train station. The met me with smiles and laughter. And gifts of socks. And an owl.

They get me...They were in Washington, down from Vancouver BC to race bicycles in a cyclocross race, something I'd never watched. His family was there too...the races were fun and exciting. There were cowbells to ring...and cheering. Here we are, post race, all smiles and hugs. 

Kellen fell during his race, managed to come in 5th...and needed eleven stitches! Juliette won her race. They are both beasts on their bikes!

On a break between races I wondered off...for some quiet. The races were held on a State Park...that was once a dairy farm associated with a mental hospital...really. The abandoned buildings were beautiful. 

I felt...accepted by their emptiness...the wind at times was the only noise. 

I made viewing them...an artful moment. I did not draw any conclusions...just observed and recorded.

I took more photos of this one locale, than of anything ever before in my life. 

I have a good eye for art. I am grateful for that. I was able to carry that feeling on the next leg of my trip.

The ferry dock to Lummi Island; marking passages from one place to the next is important to me...I like doorways, gates, bridges...as my friends dropped me off with warm laughter, I looked ahead to where I was going, what I was bringing with me. I chatted on the phone, long-distance with my mother. She was confused at my excitement to travel. I set that aside. I set a lot aside as I waited for the ferry. The ride was short, the shuttle was quiet. I had arrived.

At The Willows Inn, I was met by one of my best friends, Robert. He works at the Inn is one Chef de Partie among several. He gifted me with dinner. We chatted for a few minutes, he was pulled away to return to prepare for dinner service. In the lower level reception area, I cleaned up and relaxed for a few minutes. 

The writing on the wall? Italian "Dolce far niente"..which means idleness....at this point, as I prepared for the meal of a lifetime...much of my worry, worldliness, loneliness were idle...like an engine used to racing...I was at idle. The view of Bellingham Bay was just across the road.

As I sat down to dinner, it was 6:30. I was alone, but not lonely. I was celebrating but not expressively. I was meditatively awaiting to participate with all of my faculties and sensibilities. I held that intent and demeanor for the next three hours.

Dinner began outdoors on the deck with a chamomile sparkler. The notes of apple and honey, the tiny hint of alkaline from the seltzer were clean, and recalled the sunset.

The first few courses, seafood for the most part, were perfected. This was the theme for the dinner: well-practiced mastery of ingredient. The oysters were so good, I ate them before I remembered to take their picture.

Brined in pickled turnips with freshly grated horseradish; they were fresh that morning frm the Bay nearby. Yes, the serving box is local shore stones and driftwood. 

I fell in love with the beignet...I wanted a bucketful of them...sadly I got just one...but it provided four satisfying bites....I can say...now I've had an Indian Summer fling...with a beignet!

Smoked-saltcod beignet with red seaweed and sea salt on top. I was feeling a bit tired (all that race-side cheering was catching up to me.) I tentatively asked one of the servers...if I could have a cup of tea. I stated I didn't wish to stray from Chef Blaine's menu and pairing, but was chilly and tired. My server asked the Chef for a recommendation....our interests met and the server provider her own personal stash of Bai Ji Guan oolong for me. 

It was a comfort and a reminder of home. I drink oolong daily. Finding home while on the road is a good thing. I felt at home at the table then too. I was aware that I was the only solo diner. Quiet conversations from other tables remained muted...worshipful, really. Each server carried themselves as a model of reverence. They would pause at the doorways into the dining areas...and place themselves into peacefulness...this was evident in the set of their hands and smiles. There was no rush...no hassle...no hustle. 

Like the service each dish was a focus on itself. 

These little rolls...crispy crepe rolls they named them, were deceptively simple: Char roe, tangy cream, chives and crisped crepes. The roe was the star, but not the sole performer. The assertive fishiness of char roe was well mellowed by the cream. I finished them in two bites....and admired the grass under the plate. It was warm and smelled of the sun.

I was moved indoors as it was cooling off noticeably. I was given a table next to the kitchen entrance. I could have chosen to look out over the view of Bellingham Bay. I chose to look into the kitchen. I was there to experience a Master at their craft. Chef Blaine Wetzel and crew were frankly amazing to watch. I doubt most people would sit, alone, on their fiftieth birthday to dine while watching a chef and crew serve dinner. I am glad I am that person. 

In all there were 21 courses. Each was a simple dish, a few bites, a few ingredients. I had more servers than I could recall. Each was reverential, warm, receptive. For full disclosure's sake, as a friend of one of the chefs, I was granted VIP respect. I saw Chef Blaine be attentive to my plates. From his vantage point, his back to the door that was open to the dining area, he oversaw each service. His smiles, his simple nods and gestures silently conducted the ceremony of dining. 

I am not current with culinary nomenclature. I don't know if or what Chef Blaine's style is named. If I could coin a phrase? It would be nouveau zen. Here's why:

The photo is deceptively unassuming. The description is too...soup of summer squash. Paper thin summer squash blanched in its own stock...yeah...summer squash pieces in summer squash broth. A drizzle of oil. Classic, simple presentation, a mindful focus. Nouveau zen. Like zen ink painting, the merest effort isolates the subject, elevating it. 

Heirloom beets, brined, paired with juniper berry infused yogurt...the tiny buds are from dill and fennel plants almost gone to seed. The Continental base for this dish, borscht, elevated by simple mindfulness. 

Dungeoness crab...with pine nuts. Huh. Not an intuitive pairing. Crab lack unctuousness. It can be stringy and bland, to my tastes. Making a puree of seawater from cooking the crab and pine nuts gave the crab a fatty depth...and a toasty warmth. I started skeptical...but was convinced by the end of the dish, that this worked well. In the experience of the dish, which was puzzling in its introduction, I found an understanding of the dish. Like a zen riddle, a koan, by meditating during the tasting I passed thru to understanding. 

This was the theme for me. It was how I embraced the dinner. One pause in the service was birch branch tea. Birch bark resin is a common ingredient in Japanese incense. I laughingly told my server of the serendipity of being served an ingredient of the culture I was referencing as I meditated on dining. I was served seconds of this tea. 

The well-practiced attention, the artful mindfulness, the reference to culinary tradition, the respect for simple ingredients, all were orchestrated by Chef and crew. 

Nootka rose goes to seed, makes rose hips only a few weeks a season. Nootka rose hips are high in pectin. Smashing them, setting them to chill, they make themselves into a pudding. Dripping rose oil made from the same plant provided the balance of unctuousness with the tartness. 

I do not intend this journal entry to be a restaurant review; it is a reminder of my experience, of a meal of a lifetime. I leave out most of the courses; I leave out the charm of my servers. Some of the experience was not to my preferences; I like more variety in temperatures across my meal for example. That is not a criticism, this is not a critique, it is a journalling. 

I am transformed by the meal, the trip. I am grateful I could watch a Master inspire his crew to reverence. I am thankful for those who shared this incredible weekend with me. 

This little stone was the napkin holder at my table. I took it. It sits on my small altar at home. A relic from my pilgrimage. 

In the end, the next morning...this is me: