What “Seasonal” Actually Means When We Say It

Everyone says seasonal now. It’s on every restaurant menu, every meal kit box, every food blog. It’s become wallpaper, a word that sounds like it means something but has been stretched so thin it barely does.

So let me tell you what it means at camp.

It means I don’t write the menu in April

The camp is in early August. I won’t know exactly what’s ready in my own garden or the gardens of Vashon until I walk through it that week. I won’t know which farm has the best tomatoes until I taste them. I won’t know if the blackberries are perfect or if we’re pivoting to stone fruit until I check.

The menu takes shape in the last two weeks. Some of it in the last two days. That’s not disorganized - that's what makes is special. I’m cooking what’s actually here, not what I planned on a spreadsheet three months ago.

It means the garden is the first ingredient

Vashon Island is full of gardens. Herbs, greens, edible flowers, vegetables - some of what you eat at camp will come from the ground you’re walking on. Not all of it. I’m not going to pretend we’re fully self-sustaining. But when I say the salad was picked this morning, I mean someone on the island picked it.

The rest comes from Pacific Northwest farms and producers I’ve been working with for years. I know who grows the good stuff. I know whose bread is worth talking about. I know which fisherman to call.

It means dinner takes as long as it takes

A seasonal meal isn’t fast. The ingredients need attention, not shortcuts. A braise needs time. A galette needs patience. The bread needs to proof and rest and proof again.

That’s why dinner at camp is an event. It’s not a fuel stop between activities. It’s the activity. You’ll sit at the long table and the food will come out in courses and you’ll eat slowly because the food asks you to.

It means I handle the restrictions

Here’s the thing about seasonal cooking that people don’t talk about: it’s actually easier to accommodate dietary needs when you’re building from whole ingredients. I’m not modifying a processed recipe. I’m starting with a carrot, a handful of herbs, and a piece of fish. Gluten-free? Already done. Dairy-free? Let me reach for the good olive oil instead of butter.

I’ve been feeding people with allergies and preferences and strong opinions for fifteen years. Tell me what you need. I’ll feed you well. That’s not a tagline. It’s my job and I’m good at it.

What you’ll actually eat

I can’t give you the exact menu yet, see above, re: not writing it in April. But here’s what late July in the Pacific Northwest looks like on a plate:

Peak summer tomatoes. Stone fruit so ripe it stains your fingers. Fresh herbs from the garden. Wild salmon if the timing is right. Berries that you’ll eat standing up in the garden because you can’t help yourself. Bread that someone at the table will describe as “life-changing” and they won’t be exaggerating.

And coffee. Always coffee. The pot is never empty.

That’s what seasonal means when I say it. It means the food is real, and the place is real, and the weekend is built around both.

- heidi