It Takes a Village: This New Cookbook Features Fare That’s Meant to Share
The Beekman Boys’ A Seat at the Table was inspired by the generosity and spirit of their Sharon Springs, NY, community.
THIS IS A LOVE STORY. From the moment we laid eyes upon the old Beekman manse in the once-grand resort town of Sharon Springs, New York, we suspected a seismic life shift might follow. And, sure enough, shortly after we bought the 60-acre estate in 2007, a prophetic letter appeared in our mailbox: “My name is John Hall,” the handwritten note read. “I am losing the place where I am farming. Could I please bring my goats to your property to graze? Otherwise, I will have to sell them.”
When we replied in the affirmative – granting a stranger use of our land, barn, and guesthouse – we had no idea he would prove to be our salvation. That same year, we lost our Manhattan jobs and came perilously close to losing our upstate home. John Hall and his 80-head herd inspired us to make goat-milk soap under the Beekman 1802 label. A decade later, the brand has grown to include artisanal objects crafted by local weavers, blacksmiths, and woodworkers. It’s also spurred several licensed product lines, a number of books, even a reality TV show called The Fabulous Beekman Boys. None of this would have happened without John. We still depend on each other for survival.
Among the other neighbors we owe a debt of gratitude to: Karen and Peter Cookson, a couple we met while having dinner at The American Inn, then the sole restaurant in Sharon Springs. The Cooksons steered us to the best hatchery for baby chicks and provided guidance as we raised Rhode Island Red hens for eggs. Veteran beekeeper George Jersey, from nearby Barneveld, talked us out of building our dream hive – a flight of fancy with a copper roof – and into the construction of 32 practical Langstroth models, which have already yielded some 18,000 pounds of raw honey.
One person would introduce us to another person, who would say you should call so-and-so down the road. We were desperate for knowledge and had no problem revealing the depths of our stupidity. People here just aren’t mean. They all responded to our cries for help. Well, we didn’t exactly ask Barb Melera, then-owner of the 233-year-old D. Landreth Seed Co., for assistance. She simply spied us installing raised beds and pulled her car over. An heirloom-plant evangelist, Barb has since exposed us to hundreds of varieties: ‘Mortgage Lifter’ tomatoes, ‘Cosmic Purple’ carrots, ‘Detroit Dark Red’ beets, and ‘Rosa Bianca’ eggplants.
The upside of our village-idiot status? NaÁ¯veté allowed us to see potential where others had become blinded by everyday-ness. Eager to share the wonders of this small town with the wider world, we rallied fellow citizens behind the Sharon Springs Harvest Festival, an annual showcase for the area’s farm-fresh food and handicrafts. That first fall, in 2009, 500 visitors showed up; last September, attendance topped 13,000.
Four years ago, after the Supreme Court found the Defense of Marriage Act unconstitutional, we got hitched atop a hill overlooking our Georgian-Palladian hybrid of a house, century-old barn, and verdant pastures – all the things we almost lost amid the recession. Surrounding us were the good folks who came to our rescue, bearing goats or seeds or merely the occasional home-made meal. In New York City, we had said hello to maybe one other tenant in our apartment building. Here, we invited all 547 inhabitants of Sharon Springs to our wedding – a populist, potluck affair. The dishes stretched out as far as the eye could see. John Hall brought apple spice cake. Karen Cookson’s potato salad sat near hard-boiled eggs from Martha Stewart’s hens.
Nobody, though, can hold a candle to Rose Marie Trapani’s cooking. Her way with food is joyful, effortless, instinctive. A native of Sicily, Rose Marie approaches every meal as if it were a big Italian family dinner. But since it’s just her and her husband, there are always lots of leftovers. We’d wager that everyone within a five-mile radius has a piece of Rose Marie’s Tupperware. Which is why we asked her to co-author our new cookbook, A Seat at the Table, devoted to crowd-pleasing fare that’s meant to be shared.
After photographing each dish for the book, we put the food on the porch and posted a come-and-get-it message on Facebook, literally feeding our community. Not a crumb went to waste.
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