The last time my wife and I ate at Peter Havens in the early 1990s, it had only been open a couple of years, and she and I weren’t yet married.
We were living in an attic in Brattleboro, freshly graduated from college, and we were working at menial jobs, trying to save for a European backpacking adventure. She had found a dress she admired for a bargain price, but it wasn’t the kind of thing you could wear to the bars and pizzerias we occasionally went to. Trying to beat the gloom of a New England winter, she proposed we splurge and eat somewhere where the dress would be appropriate. So we made reservations at the new place we’d heard our college professors raving about, and I put on the blazer I’d worn for graduation.
To be honest, while I remember my steak being thick, juicy and delicious, most of what I remember from that experience is trying to relax and stop worrying about the bill.
Last weekend, for our 15th wedding anniversary, we decided on a repeat visit. Dining there for the first time as an adult, I understood much more clearly why the restaurant is so honored by its patrons.
Situated on Elliot Street next to an old church that now houses a pharmacy, the building where the Peter Havens restaurant is located is modest compared to the Victorian brick buildings that make up much of the architecturally distinctive town. The windows are tinted and dark, and except for an awning with its name on it and a small handpainted sign by the door, at first glance the place almost looks vacant.
But as we stepped inside, that impression evaporated like Cognac on the tongue. A well stocked and lively bar greeted us at the door, and after wishing other, departing diners a good evening, co-owner and host Thom Dahlin welcomed us and showed us to our seats.
Quite often, it seems that the role of host is misunderstood in restaurants. Many employers appear to have given the job to someone who’s not quite ready for prime time waiting tables, and this results in a host who’s timid and only too eager for a professional waitperson to step in and take over.
But Dahlin’s confidence and warmth made the transition from street to table setting fluid, and inspired mounting anticipation for what was to come. Some reviewers have said that the mood in the restaurant is homelike, but it seems improbable to me that anyone is treated with the respect and zeal at home that Dahlin puts into greeting his customers.
There were only a handful of tables in the warmly lit and vibrantly painted restaurant, and though the space is small, it felt comfortable and uncluttered. Cheerful goodwill was abundant. My wife and I had read the menu on line and had a general idea of what we were going to eat; while we knew our food would be well prepared, we were both surprised to see that their standard offerings seemed a tad too standard: chicken, lamb, beef, fish.
But when Dahlin appeared at our table to tell us about the specials, I was struck again by how he’d taken a routine event and turned it into an opportunity to make our dining experience even more special. Even in fine dining situations, the announcement of the evening’s specials often seems like an endurance test for the servers: breathlessly they rattle off the list the chef gave them, attempting to run the gauntlet of difficult-to-pronounce culinary terms without having to refer to their notes. By the time they’re done, I can usually remember only the last thing they’ve said.
Dahlin’s recitation felt more like that of a friend trying to get us to read some of the books he’d been enjoying over the summer. Instead of just listing the meat and vegetable involved in each plate, he explained how they were all prepared and how the selection of ingredients and cooking methods would transform the food into a fine meal. Nothing was merely “standard,” and instead of simply offering a couple of special dishes, it sounded as if chef and co-owner Gregg Van Iderstine had assembled more new appetizers and entrees that evening than there were on the menu. When Dahlin was done with his presentation, without being prompted, he gave us the bullet points again. He left us agog, our preconceived menu choices seeming a lot less certain and the new options all sounding like good ones.
Ultimately, not being able to decide on one appetizer each, we went with three. We both ordered six oysters on a half-shell; we also got the duck pate. All was wonderful, but we were particularly taken with a vinaigrette that came with the oysters. Generally, I like a squirt of lemon and nothing else with oysters, but the vinegar in the sauce worked well with the salty sea water, bringing out flavors I hadn’t enjoyed before.
For dinner, my wife had the spare ribs, and—just as Dahlin had promised—the succulent meat crumbled from the bone into a dark and flavorful gravy. I had the rare tuna steak that came with wasabi and a horseradish sauce that was perfection. Seared on the outside but still pink inside, it tasted a little like sirloin meets sushi. I thought it was a fine pairing.
Hours after we had sat down, we left sated and aglow at how finely we’d been treated. Dahlin lingered with us at the door, wishing us well and hoping we would return soon. We hoped so, too.
Thinking back on our first visit to Peter Havens two decades ago, I remembered the George Bernard Shaw quote my father is fond of: “Youth is wasted on the young.” Financially speaking, our meals were not much more “affordable” than when we’d eaten there in the early 1990s, but after 20 years of dining out together, it was clear to me that a price can’t be affixed to the value of the dining experience Dahlin and Van Iderstine offer.