Sheltering in place during the global pandemic doesn’t mean your senses are confined to your home kitchen. Send your taste buds on a holiday with flavors from far-flung destinations.
I grew up in Kentucky, and when I travel back to my “Old Kentucky Home,” I love to travel to some of its rural areas, including to the arches of Red River Gorge and to a beautiful organic farm bed and breakfast called Snug Hollow, owned and operated by Barbara Napier.
Snug Hollow is built sustainably on 300 acres of gorgeous, pesticide-free farmland 20 miles from the lovely college town of Berea, Kentucky, just an hour from Lexington and about 45 minutes from Natural Bridge State Park, which I first visited when I could still ride on my papa’s shoulders! Snug Hollow Farm is an escape into nature—partly cleared forest land that’s full of birds, wild animals, and gently rolling hills and brooks.
Barbara cooks up fresh-from-the-garden, organic, vegetarian meals for guests. With curtailed travel, you too can cook organic farm-fresh cuisine like that served at Snug Hollow.
And there’s good news for those looking forward to venture outside their homes: Snug Hollow is welcoming guests again starting June 1, 2020. With all that outdoor space on the farm, physical distancing is joyful, not a constraint. There are acres of forest to roam, so you can enjoy the sunshine and fresh air without worrying about bumping into too many other humans on your rambles around the property. (Encounters with wild turkeys, cardinals, deer, and other wildlife are an added surprise.)
Bowtie Pasta with Lemon Cream Sauce & Snap Peas
This quick and simple pasta dish reminds me of Barbara Napier’s delicious home cooking from the two visits I’ve made (so far!) to Snug Hollow Farm B&B in central Kentucky.
Makes 6 servings
Prep Time: 20 minutes; cooking Time: 5 minutes
12 ounces dry bowtie pasta
12 ounces (about 2 cups) fresh snap peas
7 tablespoons butter
2 tablespoons fresh lemon zest
6 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
2 tablespoons chopped fresh garlic
1 tablespoon chopped fresh herbs, such as basil or thyme
3 cups heavy whipping cream
½ teaspoon salt
¼ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1½ cups chopped fresh tomatoes
½ cup grated Parmesan cheese
- Cook pasta according to package directions. Drain and set aside.
- Steam snap peas in a steamer insert over boiling water or in a microwave oven on high (100 percent power) for 3 to 4 minutes. Plunge the peas into an ice bath to stop the cooking process. Drain and set aside.
- In a large skillet, melt the butter over medium-high heat. Add lemon zest and juice, garlic, and fresh herbs. Stir together and cook for 1 minute.
- Add cream and bring mixture to a boil; turn off heat. Stir in salt and pepper.
- Add cooked pasta and snap peas; stir thoroughly to combine. Transfer to a serving bowl, and top with chopped tomatoes and a generous sprinkling of Parmesan cheese.
From Barbara Napier’s cookbook, Hot Food and Warm Memories: A Cookbook from Snug Hollow Farm Bed & Breakfast.
Some Memories from My July 2013 Visit to Snug Hollow
The sometimes windy, sometimes narrow road from Berea, Kentucky, to Snug Hollow leads through hilly pastures and small residential enclaves. I drove past barns of all sorts—some weathered and tumbling down, some bright and new, some decorated with quilt-pattern blocks or black stallions. I wanted to stop to photograph each of them, but there was often an impatient local on my tail, so I couldn’t slam on my brakes when I encountered a picturesque one.
With rolling hills and valleys and lush knobs covered in dense forest, this is truly beautiful country. There are signs to Tater Knob pottery, and I stopped by to purchase an artisan quiche dish and some lovely bowls as gifts.
Finally I reached the turnoff for Snug Hollow and began the ascent up the narrow gravel and dirt road. I held my breath at every turn, wondering what I’d do if I encountered someone coming from the other direction. I hit a pothole hard as I was gunning the car to get up a particularly steep stretch. Occasionally a posted sign encouraged me: “Snug Hollow: Keep on Going.”
At last, after opening and closing a cow gate on the road, I arrived at a Snug Hollow sign beside an old-time, historic cabin. Another 20 yards and there was a place to park. Within moment, curly-haired innkeeper, visionary, and land steward Barbara Napier ran out to greet me. (We’d met back in 2008 when I visited as part of a brother-sister Kentucky nostalgia tour.)
Barbara feels a little like a soulmate to me; she’s a native Kentuckian who’s passionate about healthy eating and organic farming and preserving these rural hollows (prounounced “holler” in these parts). She’s built the structures on the farm using reclaimed and recycled materials, and she has a wabi-sabi knack for creating beautifully designed spaces with old, antique art and eclectic furnishings.
And boy can Barbara cook! As I got out of the car, I smelled lasagna cooking and onions sautéing on the stove. My first night, a group of 17 mothers and daughters who used to live in Berea were having a reunion dinner, and the screened-in back porch was filled with tables decorated by vases of fresh flowers from around the farm. The whole group dined on a heaping bowl of fresh-from-Barbara’s-garden greens, followed by veggie lasagna paired with sautéed carrots and crisp, sweet Brussels sprouts. For dessert: the most decadent chocolate tart you can imagine, served à la mode. It was a locavore feast!
“The Gathering Place” Cabin
I stayed in the very private cabin up the hill from the main house and the historic cabin. Designed for families or for small group retreats, yoga classes, corporate retreats The Gathering Place is huge (for little me at least) with a capacity to sleep six. The cabin had a wrap-around porch, including a porch swing, an old-fashioned glider, and outdoor rocking chairs. Blooming mimosas scented up the room with sweet fragrance.
Inside was airy and woody: knotty-pine ceilings and wall paneling, loads of windows with good screens (to keep the skeeters out!), and a smooth oak floor with handmade, braided rugs. It was all one open space, with four ceiling fans to circulate air and keep it cool.
There was a living-room area with an upholstered sofa, love seat, and chairs—plus a rocker and small table. The farm is far away from summer-sweltering steel-and-concrete cities, so I never needed the window-unit air conditioner. (For winter guests, there was a gas stove for warmth.)
The dining area was outfitted with a table for six, and it was adorned by a lovely flower arrangement in a vase made by a local potter. (During COVID-19 times, meals are taken in private quarters, not in the communal areas.)
A dulcimer graced one wall; other local artwork completed the simple, yet welcoming décor. The kitchenette was outfitted with a full-size fridge, dishes, coffee maker (with tea and coffee), microwave, wine glasses and bottle openers.
That evening I sat on the old metal glider on the retreat cabin’s deck. As the sun disappeared and the moon rose, the animals, birds, and insects of the night began vocalizing under cover of dark. It’s an unseen jungle here in rural Kentucky.
I heard Barbara’s Jack Russell terrier, Hillary Rodham, barking a few times at the main farmhouse. Hillary’s canine ears and nose told her what kind of wildlife was out there: but I could only imagine. At the pond, the bullfrogs brayed; another unidentified critter emitted twangs that sounded like a banjo string breaking in the distance. Fireflies—the biggest I’ve ever seen—twinkled in the clearing like floating stars. I was in heaven.
Some kind of bird screeched and chirruped away in the trees. A pair of bats swooped and darted in the cooling night air, eating an army of mosquitos—and for that I was grateful.
The night darkened, and a whippoorwill on caffeine whistled manically in the woods. How would I ever be able to sleep? This was anything but a silent night!
High above the din, a lozenge of moon radiantly crept across the horizon. In gratitude, I felt like the moon and all the creatures of the dark were watching me.
On the horizon were flashes of distant lightning; a shroud of clouds passed in front of the moon, and the reflected moon-glow created an eerie, reddish halo.
Not much later, it occurred to me that I’d better get to bed. My visit five years before had taught me that the avian chorus would crescendo at a pre-dawn hour.
A Day on the Farm
After fresh coffee and homemade waffles with berries for breakfast, I visited Barbara’s kitchen garden. She pointed out that some of the organically grown veggies were doing poorly this year because she had planted them just a couple of days before the farm got three inches of rain in one hour. Even so, she had raised a bounty of salad greens—with tomatoes on the way—and an assortment of other veggies.
Next I took a walk in the woods, following the trail markers. It was a nostalgic stroll, because my family used to camp in rural Kentucky almost every year during what we used to call “Easter Break” back then. I passed the pond and into the flowery meadows. The forest, shady and relatively cool, though humid, smelled like mushrooms, clay-rich dirt, and decaying leaves from last fall. Dewdrops evaporated off sassafras leaves shaped like mittens. I breathed in the green scents of this year’s foliage—the scent of moss and bramble.
Back at the cabin there was time and solitude to read book and work on a chapter of my novel set in Kentucky. I even took a nap, because I was free to do whatever I felt like on a lazy summer afternoon in a pastoral setting.
Evenings of Community: Dinner and Games
Barbara spoiled us that evening with cheese pie served with a stack of sautéed veggies—red cabbage, carrots, red bell peppers and onions—and accompanied by homemade vegetarian baked beans and cornbread. And no one could say “no” to fresh strawberries and whipped cream for dessert.
Several locals had come over for dinner—friends of Barbara’s who have known her since she worked at Berea College. The evening’s talk was about critters who live on their land. Donna (who was getting her MFA at Bellarmine) had a bobcat in her old barn. The conversation turned to occasional, mysterious sightings of a black panther in these parts, even though wildlife experts claim there aren’t any big cats around any more. I remembered that the school mascot of Louisville’s Pleasure Ridge Park Junior High/High was the panthers, and I wondered if one would be prowling around my cabin after dark.
After dinner, our group of six gathered around the living room table for “Fast Scrabble” played with three sets of Scrabble tiles. Nowadays it’s a prepackaged game called Bananagrams.
(I hope that sometime in the post-COVID future, guests will once again be able to mingle and share a communal table and after-dinner chats.)
When I returned to my cabin after dark, I basked once again in the light of the Kentucky moon. I remembered a song I’d learned as a kid at camp:
“When the moon shines so bright on little Red Wing / The breeze is sighing, the night bird’s crying…”
I fell asleep humming that song, and I will always dream of those days at Snug Hollow farm bursting with life in the lush woods of a place that lives in my blood.
—Laurel Kallenbach, freelance editor and writer
Read more about my visits to Snug Hollow organic farm B&B.