If I closed my eyes briefly, then opened them slowly, taking in the curious scene around me: the vintage, four-foot-tall stuffed stork perched above the entry, hovering, beady eyes watching, and the silver-haired, artsy, well-to-do hippy diners quietly raising forks and paper thin wine glasses to their lips, I swear I would have guessed where I was.
I gazed around the series of high-ceilinged rooms, the intentionally sparse, rustic-modern farmhouse meets Victorian-Gothic design betraying the age and even the location of this place. Tangles of towering twigs in a massive earthenware pot are artfully displayed to look casual or just thrown together, but are more than likely painstakingly arranged to look just so.
I could have easily been in a hip, big city spot if I guessed merely from the servers’ cool uniforms: buttoned up woolen vests and black ties that were more than likely leaving them utterly miserable on that too-warm evening. The many tiny antlers, the random taxidermy, the wide wooden plank floors, or the owner’s long, hemp-colored, folksy linen apron hinted that I might have been in a backwoods hunting lodge or maybe a Quaker family dining hall, albeit a tres chic one.
But, here I was. In Marin. Olema to be exact.
The Olema Inn, perched rather quietly on the edge of the Point Reyes Seashore since 1876, quaint white picket fence and all, has reopened — not so quietly — as Sir and Star at the Olema, with the quirky yet talented team from Manka’s Inverness Lodge now at the helm. The restaurant has garnered many early raves and will inevitably soon be every Bay Area hipster’s newest destination dining spot. I figured I better check it out while I could still get a reservation.
It seems I was already too late, given my take-it-or-leave-it 5 p.m. reservation on a recent Friday evening. Never having the opportunity to dine at Manka’s before it sadly burned down, I was really excited about the evening, the whole day really. We spent the scorching afternoon exploring the isolated beaches along Tomales Bay, snoozing in the shade of a heavenly smelling cluster of cedar and redwood. By the time we reached Olema, I was more than ready for a really cold glass of something, happy now that we’d scored that early table.
The day, even out on the coast, was really warm. Our group agreed that nothing sounded more delightful than a bottle of bubbly to start, sipped while agonizing over what to choose for dinner and while listening to the strange, rather haunting tinkering from the weird baby piano that served as that evening’s entertainment. They have dubbed Sir and Star as ‘a Roadhouse at the Crossroads,’ but is only a roadhouse in the loosest sense of the word. Only in Northern California do ‘roadhouses’ have fancy wines by the glass and 20 dollar entrees. The menu boasts ingredients from ‘within reach,’ most from right there in West Marin. If you are going to swear by an eat local credo, than you couldn’t possibly do so in a more ideal locale. Marin is simply jam packed with culinary artisans and farmers.
Everything on the smallish menu sounded divine, Not ordering everything was a challenge, but we made do with quite nearly everything. An order of house-baked rolls seemed to be just the thing to nibble with our sparkling wine. The fluffiest pillows of dough were reminiscent of Parker House rolls, meant to be pulled apart and slathered with butter sweetened with wild West Marin honey. Crystals of salt graced the golden tops, addictive, so an additional order was a must.
Baked local sheep’s milk ricotta was lovely, the southern gal in me couldn’t get enough of the creamed sweet Delta corn in which the ricotta was perched. A scattering of ‘rocket’ — or as we say here in America, arugula — was an uninspired garnish. Agretti, a type of wild sea green, was said to have been ‘pillaged’ from the Point and we believed it, having spotted some in the shallows during our beach walk that very same morning. It arrived paired with little gem lettuces in the otherwise uninteresting ‘Fraternal Twins Salad.’ A prettier dish of Trumpet mushrooms were sliced paper-thin and tucked into shavings of summer squash and Pecorino-crisped brick oven breadcrumbs.
As the glistening server expertly opened our dry Marin County Riesling, and we eagerly awaited the arrival of our main courses, the restaurant continued to fill with happy, mostly Marin-looking diners. I couldn’t help but notice Owner Margaret Grade inspecting each table, ensuring every place setting was pristine before guests were seated. Obvious passion has gone into every aspect in the dining room here, from the casually impeccable service, to the sweet chunky water glasses and Heath dinnerware.
My Neighbor’s quail arrived to oohs and ahhs from the table. One perfect specimen was lacquered a stunning, golden brown, one lady-like little leg tucked daintily underneath. It was cooked nicely and filled with a stuffing of dark green kale. A lush reduced stock mirrored the plate, the whole concoction ideal for the exception of the paltry portion. Michael Bauer said after eating this dish, “I could not ask for anything more with this dish.” But I could. I could have just asked for more.
A cozy vegetable Bouillabaisse was tasty, obviously ‘gathered from local gardens.’ Thin green beans, tender cauliflower, zucchini, and sweet kernels of corn were as satisfying as any meat dish, especially when eaten with a spoonful of the elegant broth and a bit of the lush, homemade aioli. I could have easily devoured the crisp Bolinas rock cod, which was ‘fit for two.’ The whole fish, easily the evening’s favorite, was perfectly fried. Its glistening white meat flaked off in beautiful hunks, utterly yummy even without the decadent pot of beurre blanc for dipping.
A selection of sides were tempting enough to be made into dinner themselves. I don’t know who Mr. Little is, but I am devastated that I didn’t have room for his crisped Nicola potatoes with a Bernaise of wild stinging nettles or a fairy-tale-sounding bowl of porridge made from rye, Toma cheese, and thyme. I was heartbroken to hear dessert was merely a selection of Straus’ fabulous, soft serve ice cream. I seriously considered one last order of those buttery rolls instead. A restaurant like Sir and Star couldn’t exist anywhere else and lucky for us it does right here.
For more information, location, hours, and to make a reservation visit sirandstar.com or call 415.663.1034.
Kristin Jorgensen is one of Sonoma’s most passionate, food obsessed residents. In this weekly column, she covers all the delicious happenings, foodie events and restaurants in Sonoma, the rest of Wine Country and beyond. Email her with comments, questions, or your food related events at foodandwine@sonomasun.com.
