I have one piece of advice following my dinner at the Glasbern last week.

Try the gumbo.

Of course you won’t go wrong with the house-cured meats, the Glasbern-raised greens or any of the other homegrown goodies chef Stephen Browning transforms into pure delectability. Or should I credit the sun?

House-cured Meats

From the brandy-glazed chicken liver pate to the garden greens to the crème brulee, the meal was photosynthetically driven. Cattle, hogs, and chickens thrive on the grasses and weeds that contain that remarkable pigment, chlorophyll, which (to make a long story short) absorbs solar energy so that plants can make their own food. Whether we pick and eat that food directly, or consume it secondhand through meat, milk, or eggs, we are taking advantage of the largesse of the sun—which, thankfully, has energy to spare.

You may recall that I’ve admired the shaggy tresses of the Highland cattle and the cute curly tails of the Berkshire pigs. Despite Sadie’s stern warnings I’ve stood entertained by the chickens as they forage for insects (that feed on bits of detritus once powered by the sun). But the fact that all of these animals contributed to my dining experience was not upsetting. On the contrary. It was humbling.

When I asked Browning about that—whether using familiar beings in his craft caused him to think twice—he reacted as a chef should, that is, with matter-of-fact realism. “I appreciate the quality of the ingredients,” he replied staidly. But then he told me about the time when, walking from his apartment to the inn, he noticed a young bull with a (and I quote) “green crown of grass” on his head and a mean sparkle in his eye. When the bull began stomping the ground Stephen knew he was in trouble, so he did the sensible thing. Ran like hell! The next day, he related, the young bull was a young steer. Does he think about this as he braises the brisket? He wouldn’t say.

But, back to the meal … Browning credits his amazing gumbo to his former mentor, New York chef Eric Lind, who came by the recipe honestly when he lived for a time in Louisiana. But Browning has made it his own by adding smoked poultry in addition to the traditional ingredients. The spicy Andouille sausage is made, naturally, on site. Gumbo starts with a roux, he says, and is cooked down until the color and texture are like “Mississippi mud.” He adds okra, of course, and certified organic heirloom Carolina gold rice from Anson mills, then lets the Creole stew age and … ok, I’ll stop.

The Amish-style ham loaf recipe I tried as my main course was passed down from his mother, who got it from an Amish friend. Served with a delicate mix of just-harvested baby fennel and braised red cabbage, and swimming in a tangy “gastrique,” it was a revelation. This was ham? Smoking and curing meats is Browning’s current obsession, and the menu reflects this. Andouille sausage, smoked salmon, pork terrine, prosciutto … and did I mention the gumbo with smoked chicken and turkey? Speaking of the chicken, you may or may not know this but it is a fact: there is grocery store chicken and there is free-roaming, seed-scavenging, insect-foraging chicken. And there is a world of difference between the two. Full of rich taste, with just a trace of the gaminess of the modern chicken’s ancestor, Glasbern chicken does not “taste like chicken.” Next time Sadie barks at me I will thank her for protecting these wonderful broilers from high-flying hawks and roving foxes.

Being an omnivore had never quite felt so good. It was partly because of Browning’s talent, but also because knowing that the meats and vegetables were thoughtfully raised and respectfully prepared saturated the experience, just as the sun saturates the grasses that miraculously convert its energy in order to feed the cattle and the pigs.

Oh, just try the gumbo.