Autumn is my favourite season. I love the brilliance of leaves at peak colour. And I love the sepia wash that chilly rain and wind, presaging winter, paint upon fields and woodlands, gardens and neighbourhoods. This year, the season has brought our family extraordinary joy – the birth of our first grandchild – and profound grief – the death of a beloved sister.
By mid-October, we sought a fitting antidote for the intensity of the preceding month. And so, I planned quiet drive through the countryside and comfortable dinner within view of the Georgian Bay for Mike and me.
Between Walkerton and Georgian Bluffs lie long stretches of rural countryside. We spoke little as we drove. Overhead, sunlight and rain contended across the sky. Just beyond the sodden fields and copses, a scrap of rainbow appeared – forming, shrinking then extending until, with one final delighted reach, it arced over the curving fields before dissolving. An hour’s drive brought us within sight of the bay, dark, cold, and magnificent under in the failing light of evening.
Our destination was the Sweetwater Restaurant. To reach the Sweetwater, set deep within the Cobble Beach resort, one drives past contemporary homes set along the verges of the resort’s golf course, attending to signs directing one toward such amenities as the beach club or the spa and clubhouse. I admit that I am wary of such places. Perhaps, I worried, we would find the fare mundane. My concern was misplaced.
If fine food creates enabling conditions for joyful fellowship among family, friends, and community, it also possesses power to comfort in times when solitude and quiet are more dear.
This variation doesn’t aim to carry diners to the outside edges of their palate’s familiars, but to lift up that which sustains and shifts comfort to the sublime. The experience Mike and I shared at the Sweetwater was in the latter vein.
We were warmly welcomed into a spacious dining room. Patrons were carefully spaced to provide privacy. As rain clouds drew near and the sky darkened over the bay, we were seated at a table overlooking the water and greeted by our charming server, Tessa. Under the golden light of overhead and table lamps, we perused the menu as the garrulous laughter of late golfers slipped the bounds of the bar and pealed across the restaurant. From Tessa, Mike ordered a mushroom bisque topped with just a smidge of apple and red pepper relish.
I ordered a crispy pork belly topped with sour cherry, mint, and sunflower shoots. Then, we shared. Both were delicious. The bisque was silky with rich umami flavour that was lightened beautifully by the bite of the relish. The pork belly was perfectly cooked with crackling skin. The sour cherry and mint were a delicious and enlivening compliment.
As an entree, I ordered the bison strip accompanied by whipped potatoes and charred cherry tomatoes, broccolini, and king oyster mushrooms. Mike chose the beef tenderloin. Both dishes were beautifully plated, their rich, autumnal reds, purples, browns, and green underscoring the bountiful harvest from which their ingredients were gathered.
The flavours were simply divine: comfortable yet complex, folding along the tongue singly and together in deep, unctuous harmony. I had ordered a glass of cabernet (Echiverria Reserva from Chile) that was the perfect accompaniment. And so, we dined, talking quietly into the evening of matters both sacred and mundane.
When we had finished the main portion of our meal and, nearly satiated, Tessa stepped in to offer dessert. Every option she mentioned sounded good but, ultimately, we plumped for the maple butter tart with a small scoop of ice cream as an accompaniment. We shared again and found the end to this gentle meal as lovely as its beginning.
Exchanging stories and laughter with Tessa as Mike polished off his coffee and I packed the remnants of my meal to take home, I was struck once more by how much kindness there is in the world – especially in those sacred spaces where table and commons meet – where strangers, new friends, and those who are beloved to us break bread together.