14 // COASTWEEKEND.COM
Coast Weekend’s local
restaurant review
SHELBURNE INN
Shelburne Inn a
historic setting to
savor local bounty
Rating:
4415 Pacific Way
Seaview, Wash., 98644
360-642-2442
Hours: 5 p.m. to 8 p.m.
Monday through Sunday
Price: $$$ – Most entrées are
around $30
Vegetarian / Vegan Options:
Suitable, flexible, teeming with
fresh produce
Service: Charming though not
always prescient
Drinks: Full bar, coffee, tea
Review and photos by
THE MOUTH OF THE COLUMBIA
MOUTH@COASTWEEKEND.COM
very hour, at about five till, the
Shelburne Inn’s grandfather
clock emits a metallic clang.
The clock, built in Glasgow by
Robert Robertson in 1780, predates
the Shelburne — Washington State’s
longest continually running hotel,
which began hosting guests in 1896
— by more than 100 years.
“Every piece, every gear of that
clock was made by hand,” beams
Shelburne co-owner David Cam-
piche.
Most everything in the dining
room and the historic Seaview hotel
follows suit: From the frosty stained
glass, to the light fixtures and furni-
ture, to the ceramic flower pots on
each table — almost all are hand-
made. A sense, not only of history,
but of lasting, artistic craft abounds.
Just stepping into the lobby is
transportive. Over the bulging floors,
nooks beckon — there are tales to
be told. To the south is the pub; to
the right, the parlor — named the
“Inglenook” — and through another
set of windowed doors, the intimate
dining room.
This review will focus on the
dining room; to me, it and the pub
are distinct entities.
On my first visit, the Inglenook
hosted a pianist twinkling on a baby
grand. While his playing drifted
into the dining room, the mood
was rather hushed. Couples spoke
in whispers and yet could still be
overheard. Many conversations were
inspired by the food.
My second visit was far more
lively. The loosening was due, in
part, to the presence of Portland
blues guitarist Terry Robb, who
performed in the shadow of that
E
The Dashi (seared albacore, broccoli, chantrelles, greens and rice in a broth)
The Roasted Maple Leaf Farms Duck
Breast
grandfather clock, his fingers gliding
and bending with transcendent facili-
ty over the strings of his 1947 Martin
guitar. Smooth, never rushing, he
plucked tunes like John Fahey’s
“Requiem for John Hurt,” as well as
a number by Hurt himself. Clearly,
Robb had put in his 10,000 hours
of practice and then some. He was
marvelous.
But the evening’s gracious,
reverent mood was also due to the
presence of Campiche, who served
as host and server during the rush.
As dinner wound down, he cultivat-
ed a salon, delighting as a roundtable
of well-fed artists and bourgeoisie
held bubbly court. (Note: Campiche
is a regular contributor to Coast
Weekend and was not consulted for
this review.)
Along with the regular menu,
dinner that evening included the
first prix fixe meal under chef Geoff
Gunn, who came aboard a few
months prior. Before taking the over
reins of the Shelburne’s kitchen,
Gunn was chef de cuisine at Asto-
ria’s esteemed Bridgewater Bistro.
“There is nothing we can’t put
on a plate or in a glass that can’t be
found within 100 miles,” Gunn said
in the Shelburne’s press announce-
ment.
That sentiment was realized in
the $60 prix fixe menu Gunn con-
cocted to coincide with the Garden
Tour taking place on the Long Beach
Peninsula that weekend. Chef Gunn
harvested the lion’s share of the pro-
duce for the evening’s special menu
at Ilwaco’s Biocharm Farm.
In keeping with the Garden Tour
theme, Gunn incorporated herbs
and flowers. Each dish had bright,
newly picked edible flowers. And as
I strolled out through the garden, it
came into focus like a movie with a
great reveal: There were the flowers
I just ate — they came from the
Shelburne’s own gardens!
Two of the fixed menu’s three
courses illuminated Gunn’s interest
in pan-Asian flavors (he came up as
a chef in Hawaii).
The meal began with a nattily
plated spring roll, with the requi-
site sauce swirls of soy glaze and
Thai peanut sauce. While it was
the freshest damn spring roll I’ve
ever had — thanks to the Thai basil,
kohlrabi and kale — it was mostly a
lot of vermicelli and herbs. I longed
for more protein; too many bites
were without the furrowed, dainty
Alaskan spot prawn.
And therein is one of my few
criticisms of the Shelburne: the
appetizers need work. The regular
menu’s choices, like asparagus and
fries (even if they come with duck
fat), were pricey and, in some case,
unenticing. Chef Gunn has room to
grow here.
Dashi — with seared albacore,
broccoli, chanterelles, greens and
rice in a subtle, mushroom-y broth
— was the fixed menu’s main
course. And if I were a professional
athlete with the bank account to
match, this is how I’d eat day-to-
day: lean, mean and local. The tuna
steaks were seared to form a divine
salty, crisp crust, while still buttery
and near-raw in the center (some
more so than others). A bed of lightly
seasoned, perfectly cooked rice hid-
den under the greens made the meal
slyly substantial. Besides the crust,
the best bite of the dashi was the
vivid orange flower that adorned it.
Within the center of its leafy, earthy
core were little capsules that gushed
with sweetness.
The dashi appealed as much
to outputs as inputs. As opposed
to death-row decadence, this was
healthy, thoughtful eating — the
kind of meal one bounds or floats
away from, rather than shuffling
with heavy eyelids. It had, in just
two courses, recalibrated my palate.
Such refinement was rewarded
with dessert: a guomi berry and
kirschwasser crème brûlée. The sud-
den reintroduction of fats, sugars and
creams came on like a tidal wave.
The shell, however, was a tad glassy
and overdone. I enjoyed the fresh
cherry and whipped cream topping
more than the crème brûlée itself.
On another trip, I tried the
Roasted Maple Leaf Farms Duck
Breast ($30), which featured a glaze
of Gunn’s creation that I found
deeply, vexingly pert and very much
KEY TO STAR RATING SYSTEM
Below average
Average
Good
Excellent
Best in region
the star of the dish. It took repeat-
ed questions to discern what my
palate couldn’t in the cherry-pome-
granate glaze: chipotle peppers.
(Gunn developed the recipe while
at Bridgewater.) The duck medal-
lions themselves were like the tuna:
some — the majority, in fact — were
perfect, but not without variation.
The Blueberry Dutch Baby
dessert ($9), though, was absolutely
unassailable. It pitted a sizzling,
still-cooking blueberry pancake
in a small cast-iron pan against a
cup of cooling, honey cardamom,
goat-cheese based ice cream (that in-
corporated chèvre from one favorite
producers in the area: Skamakowa
Farmstead Creamery). From the
cake and fruits vs. the creams, to the
heat vs. the soothing freeze, down
to the visuals — playing square vs.
circle — the execution was perfect,
the coming together of contrast.
While I lingered on dessert, the
old grandfather clock chimed for a
second time that evening. It made
me aware of time in the present,
the meal’s luxurious, leisurely
pace. If time is how you spend
it, then a meal that sees the clock
strike more than once is spending
it pretty well. CW