THE Maine COURSE

This coastal US state’s rugged, rocky landscapes aren’t an obvious draw for farmers, food producers, or chefs. That’s exactly why generations of outside-the-box types have settled here, finding meaning in Maine’s hard-won bounty—and creating some sublime food along the way.

- Kevin West

JUST AFTER LUNCH, NOT LONG PAST Labor Day, I was hightailing it across an Acadian landscape of glacier-scoured hills and moose-haunted plains. To be only somewhat more specific—because GPS showed me no nearby towns, just vague, empty stretches—I was between the Maine Turnpike and Penobscot Bay. Early as it was, somehow I was already late for dinner at the Lost Kitchen, an ambitious restaurant in an old gristmill in a depopulated town called Freedom.

Chef-owner Erin French’s life story, a tale of hardship resolved, has made the Lost Kitchen into something like the Wild of the restaurant world—a runaway bestseller about female grit. Despite the restaurant’s cinematic isolation, nearly 20,000 hopefuls apply by postcard each year for roughly 4,600 covers. When I invited my neighbour Christine along for dinner, she didn’t hesitate to drive the five hours from where we live to join me.

Christine was already there, wearing an eager expression, as I pulled into the restaurant’s unpaved parking lot. We crossed the millpond dam and were shown to a table at the water’s edge. Servers, mostly locals, brought artfully informal platters of appetisers while French’s husband, Michael Dutton, lit braziers around the lawn. Dinner at the Lost Kitchen is typically served at six o’clock but, the day before, ours had been moved up because of incoming cold. As the afternoon sun slid behind the trees and I put on a jacket against the chill, French explained the meal ahead.