Dine out

     At one point, Urie made a beeline for a sparsely laden table and snagged the last few bunches of fresh asparagus. A few yards away, Shields was stuffing stalks of rhubarb into a canvas bag. I wrongly assumed that the rhubarb would end up in one of Urie’s desserts. “We always fight over fruit,” Shields admitted, staking a claim. Though Urie is the official pastry chef, the couple is known for meticulously crafted dishes that combine sweet and savory, sugar and acid in constantly surprising ways. Honey and lavender might just as likely end up in a dish of white asparagus or razor clams as in one of the restaurant’s multi-faceted desserts, which could feature not only chocolate, marshmallow custard and crab apples, but also bacon, basil, carrots and coriander.

     “Two minds are better than one,” said Shields at the market. Indeed, from their 200-year old farmhouse home to the farmers’ market and, ultimately, in the kitchen, it’s clear that these chefs and life partners enjoy sharing ideas, blurring boundaries and creating unforgettable culinary experiences together. As we were to discover later that day, when it comes to Town House and the cuisine of Shields and Urie, it’s best to expect the unexpected.

     About as far as you can get from the Las Vegas Strip, downtown Chilhowie was as desolate as a movie set when we parked in front of the early-20th-century brick building that houses Town House. Not a pedestrian in sight. But as soon as we walked through the restaurant’s front door, we were transported to an intimate, tranquil, almost spa-like dining space: brown and olive earth tones on floors and walls, a high, cream-colored pressed-tin ceiling, glowing amber light fixtures and only 10 or 12 tables in the calmly humming room. Sommelier Charlie Berg, wearing a velvet jacket and sneakers, greeted us warmly and escorted us to a round, copper-covered table. Since we had requested the chefs’ tasting menu and put total trust in Berg’s eloquent wine pairings, there were no real decisions to make. It was time to simply sit back and let the multi-course meal unfold before our eyes.

     Lemons and olives starred in the first act—together with a glass of prosecco. An astounding trio of black olive cookies and olive-oil jam wore fluffy halos of shaved Parmigiano-Reggiano. Lisa begged for my cookie, but even though she’s my big sister, I just couldn’t comply. Next came cotton candy—not the sweet, pink, artificial-looking stuff—but cotton candy as nature would have intended it: cotton-white with an edible yuba stick handle, sprinkled with Japanese seasoning and dotted with pieces of black olive and candied lemon. “This looks like something that came off a tree,” Caroline observed.