A review from The Lakeville Journal, June 2002
From across the kitchen Brandon Scimeca catches something wrong, something that pierces his sensibilities. The rhubabb-strawbery shortcake bathed in creme fraiche is lacking that final fillip, a shake of powered sugar, as it is readied for the woman in the lavender sweater set at table five. Scimeca, slim as grass and prim in chef's whites, steps on to sugar creation. He wipes the clean plate with a clean towel and off it goes, shining, perfect.

This 20-something graduate of the Culinary Institute of America is revamping the Morgan's at Interlaken Inn kitchen. Along with guest Avi Szapiro he has dumped a menu heavy on fried mozzarella, barbecued pork ribs and mud pie, and introduced to sweetbreads, fava beans and lobster risotto. And like any recently trained and culturally alert American chef, Scimeca lusts after things grown nearby - food that speaks of the land outside the window. He wants local herbs and vegetables, local poultry, local cheese, local wine. He is augmenting the ragged kitchen garden of mint and blooming chives with a newly-tilled stretch near the tennis courts for chervil, lemon grass and sorrel, 20 kinds of tomatoes, peppers, salsify, eggplants, flinty greens like arugula, sweet beets, and a favorite on his menu, kohlrabi. He's getting fruit trees planted. And he's on the lookout for local farmers as suppliers of everything from wild morels to gently-raised pork chops.

"Here, try this butter," Scimeca urges. It's the high fat kind that tastes like cream and melts very slowly on the tongue. "It's form Vermont."

Of course.

Change has hit the dining room too. Not only does the meal begin with an amuse-bouche - a single bite of something tasty such as a morsel of deep-fried brandade - but the chef may bring it to the table himself. He will chat for a few minutes before returning to the fiery Vulacn, and he may be back again for another surprise before dessert, a small blob of Brillat Savarin in a pool of fruit puree.

"People are not expecting it," Szapiro, Scimeca's colleague, said a few weeks into the big switch. "But it's important to develop a relationship between the clientele and the chef." So in addition to the usual culinary skills of organization, timing, speed and taste, a chef has to charm the dining room. "That's what it takes these days."

And Kevin Bousquet, manager and part owner of the Interlaken, says both Scimeca and Szapiro were born to ell the food they cook. "They love coming out front and talking to the customers."

But why all of a sudden does a restaurant in a small, ordinary country inn have to wow it's diners with urban polish? New England is famous for indifferent food and casual service. Why change now?

The reason, Bousquet explains, is because his business has to draw people accustomed to trendy menus and wait staff that knows salumi form salami. "The local market isn't enough. We can't just cater to the locals. We need outsiders. And outsiders want something special, not a burger, not a steak. And they want to meet the chef."

Also they want dishes they read about in The New York Times Wednesday mornings.. And they want attention. So that's why Bousquet brought Szapiro and Scimena in and why bacon-wrapped scallops has been replaced on the menu by crab fritters with mango, avocado and Thai chili essence. Food fills rooms and attracts corporate conferences: it draws family reunions: it brings travelers back again and again. Good food, good trendy food, is just good business.

Of course change isn't easy. Some regulars are missing the slabs of beef, the hambugers, the Yorkshire pudding, the potato pancakes, Bousquet says. But he is running a $4 million a year business with food and drink bringing in a third of that. So he is willing to face a few disappointed customers if it means delighting a great many more.

As for the chefs, they've got the full picture. An article on grass-fed cows from The Times tops a pile of parers in the kitchen office. Maybe that rib roast will be back yet.