$500/seat benefits the Yamhill Enrichment Society entirely, the ultimate “experience” gift! New York Times rules ban their star reporters from doing fundraising events, except for their own hometown, and only to benefit education. We’re delighted to welcome Mr. Kristof home to Yamhill, and delighted he has chosen the Yamhill Enrichment Society to support.

Lunch will be at Cuvee Restaurant in Carlton, with Kookoolan Farms 100% grass-fed beef being turned into classic Beouff Bourgignon by chef/owner Gilbert Henry, and spectacular Yamhill County wines donated by the Yamhill Enrichment Society.

Email Sarah Lessen of Y.E.S. to buy your exclusive luncheon seats!

Classé parmi les 100 meilleurs restaurants des USA par le Conde Nast Traveler Magazine, une référence incontestable en matière de bon goût aux Etate-Unis, le restaurant WINTERBORNE à Portland/Frémont compte parmi les meilleures tables de la ville de Nike. Teni par un Alsacien de Fréland, Gilbert HENRY, au talent sûr el à le parfaite maîtrise de son art, assisté en salle par un diable de nomand charmeur du nom do marc MICHELLE, cet établissement propose dans une atmosphère romantique quatre soirs par samaine, du mercredi au samedi, une fine cuisine élaborée à partir de fruits de mer frais et variés. Cassoulet de la mer, clams, saumons locaux d’anthologie, gambas à la noix de coco, tout n’est ici qu’invention et équilibre pour un régal du palais dont les autochtones ne se lassent point, applaudissant chaque soir le savoir-faire du chef et la réputation de la cusines française.

The strange thing, of course, is that Alsace has no sea coast.

And hardly any border with Thailand.

But two years after taking over the Winterborne restaurant, Alsatian Gilbert Henri has put his own impressive mark on one of Portland’s seafood specialists – and his mark extends so spicy Thai prawns. Now, he has overhauled not only the menu but the dining room as well, giving it a warm, friendly feeling.

The menu is even friendlier.

Henri has kept many of the specialties that for years have drawn maritime munchers to Winterborne – you can still start a meal with mouth-filling sauteed oysters and finish up with deeply dense Death by Chocolate. But, while keeping the menu as small as the dining room, he has also extended it – and he never stops experimenting.

The soup that accompanied the entrees one weekend, for example, was a pulsing, invitingly seasonal cream of pumpkin – already a switch from Winterborne’s traditional clam broth. But one evening it was lit up by cinnamon, and the next night, vibrating with clove.

The same throw-away-the-recipe spirit extends through the menu. A regular appetizer, fish terrine, shifts regularly; one night’s version, with halibut and salmon and a raita yogurt dressing, was strikingly briny and refreshing. Oysters, available as an appetizer or an entree, are admirably crisp and fresh, standing up to whatever sauce Henri has devised for the evening.

Other frequent appetizers include deftly steams mussels, glowing in white wine, and Escargots Alsacianne. “Alsacianne” apparently means “with a whole lot of garlic,” and a fine definition it is.

The spicing on the Thai prawns varies with Henri’s mood; they can show up fairly hot, though not angry enough to overpower the basil and lemongrass that set the dish off. The treatment of the large hunk of halibut regularly offered also varies; one night’s application of a spicy orange glaze set off the impressive moist freshness of the fish.

Each evening Winterborne offers and $18.50 prix fixe dinner – special entree, soup, salad (both included with all entrees), and either appetizer or dessert. One evening, lightly sauteed sea scallops had a vivid crustacean flavor, benefiting from gentle and subtle handlings. Another nights saute of scallops, bay shrimp, and smoked salmon was less successful; the salmon’s muscular takeover of the dish might have been foreseen.

Any entree is a good lead-in to some forceful and skillful desserts. Death by Chocolate still has its powerful chocolate intensity and a firm but inviting flourless texture – although it might be accompanied by a strawberry coulis, or just some honey whipped cream. A silken creme caramel can take on an entirely new identity with an infusion of orange. And Henri’s addictive chocolate mousse is far from gentle, creamy versions – it’s on the other end of the textural spectrum, toward the place where the needle reads “Brownie.”

Most entrees run between $12 and $14, and taking advantage of the prix fixe could limit costs even more. A small wine list concentrates on bottles under $20; two people could eat happily here for $60 to $70.

The mood is encouraged by the new warm gold walls, with wrought iron lighting sconces. There is some loss to the prints on the wall, which in between the lights come to resemble small squares of darkness. Even that is overcome by amiable service from people who seem happy to be doing what they’re doing – and serving the food they’re serving.

Alsace still doesn’t border on Thailand or even the sea.

But with Gilbert Heni, it’s got a solid beachhead in Portland.

There are a lot of really great restaurants in the Yamhill/Willamette/Tualatin Valley area thanks in part to our robust wine industry. Up until recently, I had focused most of my time dining at restaurants in the Portland area, there are so many great places there, you could go out every night and never run out. Having recently moved out of the area has given me the excuse to branch out a bit and boy was I ever happy to have given that chance after enjoying an unforgettable meal at Cuvee in Carlton, Oregon.

The restaurant resides on the main street of Carlton, about halfway through the one stop sign town in the heart of Oregon’s wine country. It offers dinner on a prix-fixe menu, letting you decide soup/salad, a main entrée and a dessert or a starter. I had been wanting to go for a while. So when I happen to be in town for an event with a friend we jumped at the chance to eat dinner there.

Everything looked too amazing to choose. So we chose to share, I chose the asparagus leek soup (hot) it was amazing. We shared pomme frites, even more amazing. Then we split the salmon and lamb stew, saying the entrees were a religious experience would be an understatement. The sauce on the salmon was quite literally the best thing I have ever eaten. And the lamb stew was so tender and full of flavor I think both of us nearly passed out from sheer ecstasy.

By the time our entrée rolled around we were already full but we pushed ahead anyway because it was too good not to, and then we pushed ahead again for the dessert we chose to share which was a crème caramel. I have never tasted anything so rich and so light at the same time. It was gone in an instant and we have both been dreaming about going back ever since.

Aside from the exquisite food, the waiter was incredibly kind and friendly. The dining room was bright and quiet. I could not recommend a better French Restaurant in Oregon and think even a drive from Portland is worth it.

Read Sasha’s Food Blog here.

Thank you! Sasha, for such praise.

But first, a word about our honored celebrant: I, a most humble observer, am convinced that Henri truly is an old soul. Just look at him! No one would say he is fifty ~ he looks FAR beyond that in years. And when I say OLD, I mean OLD ~ I am speaking of Medieval Franco-Austrian heritage from the 1300 and 1400′s! This is a time when troubadours wandered the countryside in search of anyone who would listen to their very specific and pointed opinions and more importantly, a listener who would pay for these insightful and reasoned opinions with a morsel of food and a warm place to sleep. These wandering souls lived close to the edge… in constant search for a loophole, the way around the rules and a means to get something for free. They were always testing the system to see how close they could push the envelope and get what they needed. Roughly translated, mange le main is to “bite the hand that feeds it.” That certain Je ne sais quoi is particular to the heritage of Henri: the ability to take, accept and complain at the same time.

So: the story of Henri is about one who can test the benevolence and patience of the listener (as well as this storyteller) and still get what you want, or indeed get what you need. Over 15 years ago, and only a few months after moving to Portland, we began to inch up the Henri/Barksdale social scale. We still were ranked in the M’s and L’s, and this was long before we were considered for the long-vaunted Clubhouse, the omnipresent hors-d’oeuvres and the mythical tele-cocktail… we had a chance, if we played it correctly, a scant opportune moment to shine in the eyes of Henri

As he most likely would put it, even though we lived in the same neighborhood ~ indeed across the street ~ we were Détritus Blanc, the white trash of the Market Street. Every night, dressed in our cleanest burlap, we left our home for the night shift work needed to make ends meet. Climbing the 127 stairs to street level, we could hear the merriment just beginning in their chateau perched across the street. We would peer longingly at the invited guests arriving in their finery, armed with nothing but themselves and hostess gifts. Because to be invited to the Henri/Barksdale residence was pure simplicity itself… show up with a gift, and you were treated like kings and queens, indeed Le Roi, of Market Street. The rest of the soirée was provided by the master and mistress of the chateau. Oh, to have just a chance to feast from the gutters of this house! We even longed for the scraps left from the certainly purebred collies that roamed the grounds of the chateau with impunity.

But this magical night was special for us ~ my Mother had come from many miles to visit and she offered to work with us at the mills. That night, we left for the textile works and steel foundry and after the 20-minute climb up the stairs, we arrived on the street to find another bout of festivities well in hand at the Henri/Barksdale estate. We stared at the bright lights shining through the sheer curtains of the front window. The music was spellbinding, the food looked tempting and boundless, and certainly, the wine must be flowing. Suddenly, the front door was thrown open ~ the very same door we had never been through, much less peered into ~ and out staggered a clearly inebriated Henri. We crouched behind our small ’72 Datsun that was barely large enough for two people and watched as the ersatz troubadour wandered up and down the street. Clearly, he was looking for something, but we did not know what. Several minutes passed before I worked up the courage to approach Henri. Against the fears and protestations of my loving wife and worried Mother, I stood and confidently approached Henri. He turned to face me, with a surprised look upon his face.

“Bon Soir, Detritus Blanc!” he exclaimed and threw his arms around me. I hardly knew what to do as he mumbled on. Ellie, with her excellent knowledge of French, learned through watching old Jean Cocteau movies, translated that they seemed to be out of wine. Mon Dieu! He went on that since it was merely a D-list party, he would not consider raiding the celebrated holdings of the Henri cellar located a mere four stories below the street. And even though it was parked in the estate’s 8-vehicle garage, Henri said he could not find his car. Certainly, he would not be driving and their festivities were in grave peril!

The moment had come for our chance to shine in the eyes of our benefactor. Ellie was concerned we would be late for our shifts at the mill, but I had a plan: take Henri down to Zupans, stock up on some cheap Italian wines (red only), and quickly return him to the party before he was missed. And perhaps he would reward us with one bottle of wine to accompany our meager meal later that evening! Thus decided, the four of us piled into the Datsun with a shoehorn, thankfully the engine lurched into life, and we began our journey down the hill to Zupans. In retrospect, I should have checked Henri’s wallet before we left the street. As we approached the checkout counter with a case of cheap Italian reds, the telltale patting of the pockets ensued ~ and it was then that I realized our opportunity positively overflowed with potential and was rife with possibility!

As I signed the charge slip for the wine, I knew the Party was Saved and nothing more would be mentioned of the night’s sordid tale. We went up three levels in the Henri/Barksdale scale that evening, and all was well on Market Street once more!

Gilbert moved to the US when he was 27 years old to be with his future wife Susan, my great aunt.  His most prized possession was his saxophone.  He played it a lot when he first came to the US, he wouldn’t have left France without his saxophone.  Once he arrived in Portland he found that the climate in Oregon was the same, which was surprising to him because he thought it would be different.  But it turns out the seasons are the same in France as they are in Oregon.  Perfect weather for his other passion, cycling.   He can ride for miles and miles.  Gilbert opened a French seafood restaurant in Portland and after several years he closed it and moved to the Oregon wine country.  He ended up in Carlton and opened another restaurant called Cuvee.  Today Gilbert lives in his happy home with Susie and his dog Duncan.  You can find him either on the road riding his bike or most likely at the restaurant any time of day serving up French dishes like creme brulee, escargot along with champagne and cheese!  And of course, his strong French opinion!

– Written by Chef Gilbert Henri’s 9-year-old niece Riley

-Best of City Search, 2003.