Love Farms, Taking Shape

Some restaurants arrive fully formed. Others take shape in public, refining themselves dish by dish, service by service.
Love Farms is firmly in the second camp — and far more interesting because of it.

A few weeks after opening, the noise has thinned and the signal is clearer. What’s emerging here isn’t a concept chasing attention, but a kitchen calibrating its voice: proportion over abundance, pacing over flourish, and a steady confidence in knowing when to stop. Those choices rarely read as flashy. They read as lasting.

Openings reward volume. Maturity rewards judgment. At Love Farms, the judgment is starting to show in the margins: how heat is managed, how richness is checked, how plates end before they tip into excess. The room still moves fast — three dining rooms, two bars, the market humming — but the cooking feels increasingly deliberate, increasingly sure of itself.

The lobster deviled eggs are a quiet tell. They resist ornamentation: lobster folded in with care, seasoning clean, richness kept in line. No garnish theater. No extra fat. They disappear because nothing competes for attention.

Pizza follows the same logic. Thin, blistered crust with structure and snap; sauce used sparingly; cheese as support, not a blanket. These are pies built on heat control and proportion — closer in instinct to Europe than to coastal indulgence.

Breakfast may be where the kitchen feels most settled right now. The smoked brisket Benedict shows uncommon discipline: eggs cooked precisely, hollandaise warm and balanced, brisket smoky without overpowering the plate. The English muffin arrives crisped in butter — not softened by steam — and the roasted potatoes with housemade ketchup complete the dish without excess. It’s a plate that rewards attention.

Not everything has finished finding its footing yet. That’s expected. What matters is direction. This is cooking designed to improve with repetition, not peak on opening weekend.

Which makes this Saturday especially telling.

This is the first evening Love Farms steps away from à la carte service and presents a composed, start-to-finish experience.

The Harvest Dinner unfolds deliberately. It opens with a warm welcome mocktail — winter berries, farm rosemary tea, mandarin foam — aromatic and measured rather than sweet. Passed bites establish confidence early: oeufs Jeannette, grilled clam with country ham, camembert butter with radish, alongside breads, pickles, and crudités. These are familiar forms handled cleanly, without commentary.

From there, the menu leans unapologetically winter-forward. Bitter chicories balanced with confit pork and pomegranate. Razor clams in white wine broth with ham and herbs. Hearth-roasted carrots layered with lentils, goat cheese, and allium crumb. The main courses arrive with assurance rather than flourish: a composed parmentier of cod, haddock, and halibut, followed by a whole roasted pig served family-style — intentionally late in the meal, anchoring the evening with generosity and calm confidence. Dessert closes quietly: chestnut, cranberry, pear — flavors chosen for season and tone, not contrast for contrast’s sake. Wine pairings support the arc of the meal rather than competing with it.

This is not a dinner built around options.
It’s built around sequence.

Plan on 2.5–3 hours. The pacing is the point.

These aren’t flaws so much as signs of a place finding its equilibrium in real time.

À la carte dining shows capability.
A composed menu reveals intent.

The Harvest Dinner is the clearest expression yet of what Love Farms is becoming — a kitchen with a point of view that unfolds over time rather than declaring itself all at once. For anyone who’s visited during lively daytime hours and sensed there was more beneath the surface, this is the version meant to be read start to finish.

Seats are limited. There is only one first.

Food sets the foundation. Then the afternoon opens out.

The progression feels considered — and right.