Thirsty: Anthony Giglio

wrong turn, and it’ll be as if you’re in Pasadena on the morning of the Rose Parade. Luckily, Julia and the rest of the sta know their way around town. If you need help, don’t hesitate to ask, because unlike the Olive Garden, at Frankie’s, they don’t treat you like family. But they’ll treat you like a welcome guest, whom they want back.

FRANKIE’S RISTORANTE BAR ITALIANO

80 Main Street, Lenox, MA 413. 637 4455 frankiesitaliano.com

THE OLD MILL

My rst visit to The Old Mill was two weeks a er we moved into our rst house upstate. Over the past two decades we have probably dined there about 50 times. Having worked in the food industry all my adult life, I’m aware and acknowledge that every restaurant has an o night. The stars don’t align, deliveries don’t arrive, some members of the sta are undergoing breakups, the chef is having a breakdown. I’ve been witness to it. I’ve been part of it. Even Le Bernardin, my favorite restaurant on earth, stumbled once (but only once). But I have never, ever, had a bad meal at The Old Mill. It may be the most consistent restaurant I’ve ever known.

Maybe their strength stems from the sturdiness of the more than 200-yearold grist mill that it inhabits. Maybe it’s because I think I can count on less than two hands the sta changes in the past decade. Perhaps it’s the personal connection that the sta has with a majority of its clientele, almost all of which are residents of the area, not tourists. Or maybe, they’re just darn good at what they do and restrict themselves to exactly that.

The Old Mill doesn’t tout its menu as farm-to-table (though their food sourcing at the bottom of the menu infers that). The kitchen sta isn’t foraging in the hills of South Egremont. I’ve never been served a dish with foam, or heard pig cheeks, uni, ostrich or almond milk pudding recited as specials. They don’t entertain guest chefs, Peruvian bistro week or o er seven-course prix xe with wine pairings. But chef/owner Terry

Moore’s team has nailed down with the con dence and succinctness of the ‘master cra smen’ on Flea Market Flip the dishes they’re pleased and proud to serve.

Their onion soup is simply perfect. Hot, cheesy, dense and decadent. Steamed mussels are exactly the right size for an appetizer with just enough garlic in their herbed white wine sauce to demand extra bread. Oysters are so fresh. The pâté is just as coarse and the mustard just as spunky you want them to be.

I love calves’ liver. Almost everyone I know hates it. My husband would rather swallow a fork than try a bite. The Old Mill pan sears it briskly with smoked bacon, sweet, caramelized onions and just burned enough fries. The sauce dressing the shrimp and spaghetti can get a little dense, but the shrimp have snap and that counts. Grilled lamb chops are lean and tender, but the surprising bonus is the yummy, dried foot compote along with some neat pommes Anna. Specials such as the wonderfully seared duck breast in cherries, cleanly grilled branzino and wonderfully thick veal chops go quickly, so best get there early if you wish to indulge.

Speaking of indulgences, most restaurants have twisted themselves into knots trying to be uber inventive with desserts when the reality is most Americans love cakes, cobblers, sundaes and pies. The Old Mill is one of the few places where I look forward to dessert. Nothing is deconstructed, except by the sweep of your fork. If anyone reading this is above apple crisp, peach cobbler, chocolate mousse cake, pro teroles, cookies and two thoroughly guilt producing sundaes—one with co ee ice cream topped by Callebaut chocolate sauce, the other made laced with lemon meringue, then knock yourself out as you chase your next Pavlova around the plate.

And if all those delectable sweets aren’t yummy enough, the sta at the Old Mill are e ortlessly convivial, like members of the Family Circle you wish you had. The Old Mill is one of the rare restaurants in our region that doesn’t take reservations (for small parties) where no one seems to mind waiting for a table, just because everyone who works there appears glad you showed up.

The New York Post recently ran a piece about the machinations people are attempting, and the perks and bribes being nagled to secure tables at some of the Hampton’s most coveted outposts. One manager spent the a ernoon on a potential patron’s yacht. Another was o ered $3000 for a table at the Southampton Social Club. And a retail big shot just bought himself a table for the season at 75 Main Street. When we le The Old Mill the other night, Ginny Filkins, the manager, said, “It’s always such a treat to see you guys. We look forward to seeing you again. I hope it’s real soon, too.” And I don’t even own a kayak.

THE OLD MILL

53 Main Street, Egremont, MA 01230 413 528 1421 oldmillberkshires.com

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