My last trip to Galiano ended in tears, or close enough. I'd come over on my bicycle with a group of competitive cyclists for an overnight jaunt and some laughs. I had done trips to Galiano, Saltspring, and around Vancouver Island on my bicycle by myself up until this point, all very enjoyable, slow-paced with little exertion extended on my end. I'd plan my routes along the flattest terrain (all but impossible on Saltspring, but I got by) with the coffee shops bakeries and somewhere to jump into some water along the way. This group of lads I found myself with had different ideas all together, I should've known by the size of their calves as we peddled casually down the Lochside trail on the way to the ferry; chatting excitedly, me desperately sucking for air with my panniers swaying in the wind. These dudes all had streamlined kits that fit perfectly within their bike frames containing the tiniest of tents, child-sized air mattresses, and toothbrushes cut in half to reduce the weight. Most importantly they all had padded cycling shorts underneath their cut-off jeans, as was the fashion of twentysomething bike-packers. This became a much larger issue than I ever would've imagined and nearly brought me to tears by the end of the trip. Having at least sixty pounds of body mass and twenty-five pounds of extra camping gear compared to my sprightly friends, I lost them all on the first climb out of the ferry terminal. I knew we were to meet at the grocery store down the road so I hunkered down for the first of many solo sections of the trip. Having felt confident I knew the island after a number of my leisurely excursions, I didn't bother asking any questions about our destination in fear my wobbly voice would betray me.
Up and down the numerous soaring hills and mounts of this particular gulf island my taint was aflame and I vowed to never do another cycling trip again, and haven't returned since. Until mu girlfriend stumbled upon an empty table at Pilgrimme at the end of March.
Although I'd heard quiet chatter about Pilgrimme and Chef Jesse McCleery for some years now I never would have expected I'd get to dine there and see what this chatter was about. Thankfully I have a girlfriend that is much more inspired than me to put down the tea and get out and do something outside of our Covid era routine.
Having caught the 930 ferry from Victoria (953, it's the gulf islands come on) we got into Sturdies Bay in time for an early lunch at the hummingbird pub; with its aged waxy wood, Keno, hummingbird themed stained glass and a heavily mustached local I knew the exact burger I was about to be served before I sat down. We found our table on the enclosed patio beside a wooden foosball table and waited for the server to finish feeding cheese slices to a dog out the back door. Our food arrived quickly with sincerity that we enjoy our meal. As with ballpark franks and their ability to punch above their weight class, the gulf island pub burger with its floppy pickle, house sauce, and thin tomato are underdogs fighting a winning fight. The chicken fingers were crisp, juicy and served with ranch, two ketchups, and a plumb, also perfection. With a draught cola, there is almost nothing better. From the pub to the Sturdies Bay Bakery for some confectionaries and a cappuccino we took our reprieve on a beach along Active Pass.
With the one, six o'clock seating at Pilgrimme that evening we were napped and showered, rolling into the parking lot with the other ten diners by five minutes too. Although I rarely succeed, I try to set no expectations going into small adventures like this, and still as we stepped over the threshold into the cozy dining room, with antlers on the wall, vibrant paintings, and warm earth-toned walls, possibly "mouse's back", the shoe gazey psych-rock made me feel as if I was walking into a friend's living room back in Toronto rather than one of the best restaurants in the country.
The inspiration and breadth of styles used over this11-course course menu were nothing short of outstanding. The gulf islands provide the majority of ingredients used on Chef Jesses' menu; smoked sunflower atop a chickpea tostada, savory swiss chard and sweet local grapefruit, dock shrimp, and early nettle stuffed into handmade dumplings foreshadow the alkaline charcoal noodles with black garlic dashi we were to have as our seventh course. The alkaline water left the noodles snappy in the mouth, a rich broth poured into our bowls at the table brought the scents and sensations of steaming umami. Lamb neck and evergreen huckleberry was a personal favorite. All the beautiful collagen and fats of the neck adding softness and an abundance of flavor with the tart-sweetness of the forest from the huckleberry were the perfect end to the savory portion of the meal. We finished the meal off with a local caramelized goat milk served with Galiano chocolate and bergamot, as well as a light and moist sweet potato cake with sea buckthorn and cedar isle oats. To ease the digestion of this massive meal of tiny plates, we were offered a fermented blackberry shoot and arbutus bark tea to end this culinary adventure; earthy, tart, and fighting for what little room I had left in my distended belly, I gladly excepted.
Having been blessed with two parents that are good cooks and a friend circle of talented chefs I've been exposed to great food all my life but the casualty of this experience from the music to the two lovely ladies serving and guiding us along made this so accessible and enjoyable. A meal of this caliber can be intimidating and stuffy, drinks were filled and spilled, napkins were dropped and laughs were had at each of the five tables. An inspirational meal and something not to be missed when the opportunity presents itself.
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