Every spring for the last ~12 years, I have been dutifully sending a postcard The Lost Kitchen in Freedom, Maine, in hopes of being randomly selected for one of their coveted dinner reservations, which are chosen through a lottery system of snail mail that they pull out of a bag.
It’s an enduringly guirky system, one rooted in the owner’s appreciation for slow living and all things analog– but you can imagine my dismay when, invariably, for the last 12 years, I was never chosen.
This unrequited hope that I would one day get a chance to try Erin French’s food at The Lost Kitchen was kindled this past summer, when I was delighted to learn that The Lost Kitchen recently started offering a lunch pop-up called The Little Lost Kitchen– and that it was just as incredible as the coveted dinner experience, only you didn’t have to send a postcard for a chance to get a reservation. All you had to do was show up!
Unlike dinner reservations at The Lost Kitchen (which continue to be drawn at random), the Little Lost Kitchen pop-up is first-come, first-served– a way to give more people the opportunity to experience dining at Erin French’s famed restaurant, which lives inside an old mill in the pastoral haven of Freedom, Maine. (Population ~700 as of this writing.)
It was thus with great enthusiasm that, earlier this summer, I had the opportunity to take my family to The Lost Kitchen en route to Acadia National Park (more on that later)– and we stopped for lunch at the pop-up restaurant so lovingly helmed by French.
Maine is a special place for me, as I’ve been going here every summer since I was a kid– nothing fancy, but our relationship is long and enduring.
I know Maine intimately, but I’d never gotten a chance to drive up to Freedom, Maine, specifically, until now– as an adult with my own children. I’ve travelled all over the country and world in pursuit of thoughtful, locavore experiences like this, and it always seemed backwards that I’ve explored so many of the World’s 50 Best Restaurants and food cities, while still never having been to The Lost Kitchen, so close to where I spent many formative years, and so deeply aligned with how I like most to enjoy food.
Alas, when the opportunity finally arose this summer I was delighted to make the pilgrimage to Freedom in pursuit of the experience that French has created there. It was, in a word, amazing— though many other descriptors enthusiastically come to mind, like incredibly thoughtful! tender! beautifully-curated! moving! deeply comforting!— the way food and dining should be.
If every restaurant in the world could approach the experience of food with as much earnest care and intention as The Lost Kitchen, we’d be better for it.
Here’s what a summer meal at The Little Lost Kitchen looks like:
Finding Freedom
When you first approach the restaurant, you’ll have driven through the sunny rolling greenery of small town Freedom, Maine– there are old steeple churches, country roads lined with pasture, old grown pine forests and quint small town playgrounds. Even the post office seems endearingly old-timey, with a vintage sign and central location in the “busiest” part of town. It’s sleepy and picturesque, and I have no doubts that part of the titling of “The Lost Kitchen” comes from the fact that you feel like you are discovering a hidden gem in the middle of a docile wilderness when you finally come upon it.
When we arrive, we park in the overflow lot at a local church– it’s busy!– and note with amusement the Peanuts-inspired sign for “Sikeyatric Help” at the neighboring playground.
This is very much the vibe in Freedom– the town feels somehow a part of the past, even as it’s most famous restaurant is on the forefront of food. Perhaps being so isolated from the bustle of a big city makes the vision for her restaurant more clear for French– or so her previous books have suggested.
The Ambiance – At a Glance
Diners have to cross a bridge over a waterfall to reach the famous Mill, and there’s a short line to cross when we arrive. Outdoor dining on the grass in the shade of the towering pines is lovely, shaded additionally by umbrellas and airstream trailer. We sit in adirondacks on the other side of the pond while we wait our turn. It’s quick, pleasant, and efficient.
Guests dine mostly outside at varnished wooden tables with aluminum chairs, many of them 6-seaters arranged under giant, sturdy umbrellas.
Inside, a lovely wood & glass display cabinet contains tiny plates of pastries for sale, including, on the day we’re here, luscious date-bacon-&-blue cheese scones as well as black pepper, cheddar & chive biscuits and an Earl Grey + apricot shortbread tea bar. We buy one of each to take home, and order our food at the counter so they can bring it to our table.
A patina’ed steel sign features a handwritten list the days grab n’ go drink offerings, which include the usual elegant suspects: Capital Fizz, local Oxbow Pale Ale, Saratoga water, Pelligrino, Coca Cola and Fentiman’s. It’s curated, but not pretentious.
We order from the short seasonal menu (printed with a lovely, watermarked typeface): the iconic fried squash blossom, filled with handmade ricotta, and topped with walnut pesto and heirloom tomatoes; the menu is seasonal and changes accordingly, but this one is a staple. There’s more food to come, but while we wait, we sip on chilled Saratoga waters and a house-made cherry-basil shrub.
Exceedingly GoRgeous FOOD
There’s an earnestness to the beauty and loveliness of the food at The Lost Kitchen that I struggle to articulate. Freedom is a small town and a pastoral one, at that– local farms are not hard to find and source from.
The execution and presentation of this food, however, is akin to alchemy, as French and her team spin world-class satiety out of ingredients that diners have likely been eating their entire lives– but never in this exact way. Each dish is a melange of textures and pleasing flavors– salt, acid, and fat rendered perfectly over heat; but also there’s brightness, there’s acidity, there’s fully in-season produce at every turn. It’s all gorgeous and delicious in equal measure. Even the richer dishes don’t leave you feeling bogged down and lethargic.
Take, for example, the mouth-watering Cornflake & Fennel Pollen Fried Chicken, which is easily one of the most eye-catching orders of the day.
We get several orders of the Cornflake and Fennel Pollen Fried Chicken, served in an adorable basket with cabbage slaw, homemade biscuit & honey butter. It’s astounding– the most gorgeous fried chicken dish I have ever seen (and I seek this out professionally, all over the country!!) with juicy dark meat chicken coated evenly with a surprisingly crisp batter.
The biscuit is textbook, with neat n’ flaky layers, a compact shape, and perfectly golden-brown color; between this sweet element and the refreshing, crunchy slaw, it’s a perfectly executed dish and a real work of art.
Alongside this feast-in-a-basket we also order the mouthwatering Focaccia Picnic Sandwich, which is my favorite discovery of the day. It arrives wrapped in parchment paper and twine– delightful, pretty, intriguing.
Inside the fluffy, buttery, sesame-crusted focaccia is a brilliant mix of summer squash, roasted shallot, basil, sesame, and whipped herb cheese.
It’s ethereal and the flavor profile is so pristine that even my meat-loving, vegetable-suspicious husband loves it. At one point I turn to him and say, “I want all my sandwiches to be like this!”– both in flavor and presentation.
…Which brings me to discussion of these tenderly-prepared veggies. ^
Rounding out the table is a locally-sourced summer caesar salad with incredible dressing and smart presentation. A halved organic lettuce head sits atop a generous swath of dressing, sprinkled with pecorino cheese and toast crumbles, and adorned with edible flowers to finish.
It’s fresh, crunchy, creamy, colorful– and it’s exactly what I wanted on this warm summer day, dining by the pond under a shade umbrella.
Dessert + The LOst Kitchen Shop
For dessert, we share the Candied Ginger & Blueberry Shortcake, made with highbush blueberries and fresh whipped cream. It’s a symphany of flavors, texture, and color– buttery, crumbly, gooey, sweet, fluffy, light, tart in the best way– the kids and their father demolish it in about 90 seconds. During this process I snag only one bite– enough to know it’s delicious.
Afterwards, we peruse The Lost Kitchen shop, which is really a dream for me as I’ve been buying pantry staples from them online for years.
At the on-site shop, I purchase locally-made Maine sea salt, handmade wooden spoons from France, salted currant compote, local, blueberry-infused maple syrup, malted pancake mix, and tiny canvas pouches for my kids.
There’s also an elegant selection of cookbooks, linens, kitchen tools, and ceramics– but I have to get on a plane in a few days, so I note things to purchase later in an online order and take one last longing look before we go. (We had reservations at a hotel near Acadia National Park, and needed to get on the road.)
Later, as we meander back outside from the Mill, I marvel at how contented and satisfied I am from the day. The food at The Little Lost Kitchen was even better than I had imagined– thoughtful, fresh, and lovingly-sourced to highlight the local terroir– but the acuity with which dishes were conceived and flavors paired continues to blow my mind. They’ve got access to great raw materials, sure, but the vision is really what makes the food at the Lost Kitchen so incredible.
French has often described herself as less like a “chef” and more like a girl who cooks– but dang, this woman can really cook.
The Little Lost Kitchen, moreover, is excellent— it deserves all the fanfare and critical praise that the main dining room continues to receive.
I can’t wait to go back! (And in the meantime, I’ll still keep sending in my annual postcard– because, as I now know firsthand, food this good is worth the wait.)
***
For more information on The Lost Kitchen, The Little Lost Kitchen, or any current and future pop-ups, visit The Lost Kitchen’s website. (<—They also have a great online shop!)
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