Orchard Kitchen

On a humble five acres, where soil is lovingly tilled, nature blooms, and the seasons dictate what is fresh, lives a farm-focused communal dining experience. Orchard Kitchen greets guests with a dirt road driveway and a wooden sign, leading them back to a barn and a makeshift parking lot where the sun slowly sets. Dinner is almost served.

Once on the property you’re welcomed into the mind and world of a working farm. Plants bloom and sway all around the premises, some for looks, others for purpose. The sounds of animals echo from afar, as pollinators hum in the fading light. Once in the warm kitchen, pots and pans are not only decorative but serve a purpose. On the giant butcher block counter, vintage stoneware jugs hold spatulas, wooden spoons, and whisks all earning their keep with the stains of thousands of past dishes.

This working kitchen feels lived in and intimate, like walking into a close family member’s home for dinner. You somehow know your way around while the sound of clinking dishes creates the background ambiance of a space well loved. Smiles are plenty, familiar comfy aromas fill the room, and a calm happiness falls over the dinner guests.

Open shelving holds labeled spices and olive oils, all within easy reach and stored in a menagerie of different-sized containers. Small personal details are woven into the room making it feel even less commercial. A horseshoe hangs upward to keep the luck in the space and a small jolly chef statue stands at attention like the patron saint of the kitchen.

Restaurants of this caliber vary in the way they let their guests interact with the space. Some are cold and solely focused on the presentation of the food, never allowing one to see behind the curtain. Others invite those into the artistic process, a true immersive experience of the mind, body, and soul. Orchard Kitchen is the latter. At various times of the meal Chef and owner, Vincent Nattress, would step away to chat with guests and thank them for stopping by, as if they hadn’t had a reservation for weeks, but were old friends who just happened to be in the neighborhood. Other patrons were celebrating birthdays, anniversaries, and graduations, another nod to the warm family culture Chef Vincent has curated for this restaurant. A warm embrace for all of life’s milestones.

Chef Vincent is no stranger to the culinary arts. He has had a love for the kitchen since age sixteen, when he found his first job, which led to him receiving a culinary-focused BA from Fairhaven College and studying in Provence. From there, a quick sixteen-year stint in Northern California spent co-founding Roux Restaurant in St. Helena and serving as Executive Chef at Meadowood Napa Valley. But alas, all roads lead back to this enchanting and rich island.

With the start of the meal Chef Vincent gives his speech, setting the tone for the evening. The motto has always been cook what the land produces. If strawberries are still ripening in the garden even though it’s fall who are we to tell nature how to do her job? A loving sentiment, the act of noticing and working with nature rather than forcing her to comply with what should be on the menu. A true weekly surprise to not only the chefs but also the patrons who get to call this intimate dinner a family affair for a night. The menu changes weekly because the garden changes weekly, a simple fact when working with the land the way this kitchen does.

We had the opportunity to sit at the bar and watch these artists, and artists they are, work in real time. A delightful assembly line naturally forming once each dish was ready for plating. Every idle hand finds its natural rhythm and place within the line, like a honeybee hive in motion.

I often wonder whether, if an outsider looked in on any of us at our day jobs, would they see a symphony of sorts. The many moving parts and pieces coming together to form a final whole. I wonder whether the things we do every day that seem so second nature could be seen as magical movements born of years of subconscious pattern recognition. I wonder if chefs see their work as a performance, especially if it’s in front of a live and eager audience. Or if for them it’s just another Tuesday. Either way I always recommend sitting as close to the action as the performers allow. You get an insider’s view on technique, small smiles, little oopsies, and the natural, almost circadian like, rhythm that manifests itself once a professional enters their space of genius.

Overall each dish was outstanding in its own way. My favorites were the Garden Bean Curry and Duck Breast. But mostly I was enamored with the space and peaceful bubble of familiarity this establishment produced. A wonderful meal, but an even more nostalgic atmosphere. If Chef Vincent can figure out a way to bottle the feeling of this evening and send it home in a doggy bag, I would take two, please.

Love and patience has been infused into all flavor profiles and blooms. The same hands that planted the tomato seeds now serve them in a farfalle dish. I think it takes a special kind of person to see the life cycle of ones food. It takes an even more special soul to willingly enter into that lifecycle from start to finish season after season. But through love all things are possible, and through love a dinner is served.

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