2013 season: May 17 to October 27
Acadia's like a greatest hits album for Maine--both surf and turf are part of the experience. Hike the trails and there's a chance you'll hear a foghorn doing its damndest to help ships at sea just as you spy a black bear or deer in the forest. But before heading off on the trails, you'll need to eat. Take a seat at
Jordan Pond House. Unless you hate nature (and if so, why are you reading this?), that seat has to be outdoors, with the namesake pond and the Bubbles (a pair of mountains that, yes, will make teen boys giggle) off in the distance. Maine seafood rules the menu, but it's the popovers--made, we're pretty sure, of air and fairy dust--that you'll weep for after they're gone. The sherry, butter, and cream-heavy lobster stew requires a post-meal nap--a worthy reason for delay-of-hike (or, better, a starter for a post-hike dinner). Lighten your walking load with a green salad bumped up with dried local cranberries and topped with a crab cake or lobster meat. Or just go classic Maine: the lobster roll is wicked killah.
2013 season: May 15 to October 15
There's a very specific brand of snobbery that rules the North Rim; regulars say its crowded southern sibling might as well be part of the Disney family. The North Rim's out-of-the-way location, just south of the Utah border, doesn't attract the throngs of tourists that crowd the South Rim's Grand Canyon Village (which has six lodges of its own). It's the quieter, more intimate Grand Canyon experience. For the perfect pairing: pitch your tent at the rim-side campground and wander up to the lodge--a National Historic Landmark originally built in 1927 and reconstructed in 1936 after a fire--for a white-tablecloth dinner. (Just make sure you bring your headlamp for the walk back.) Whether you opt for the day's version of the Western rainbow trout or a bison flank steak, you should raise a North Rim lager toward the window to toast that beautiful hole in the ground. Make all reservations as far in advance as possible--it may not be Disney, but the place does fill up.
Open year-round
The lodge's weathered exterior blends into the often moody weather, but all that gray is far from a mood killer. Inside
The Creekside, do whatever it takes (beg, smile, wait a long time) to get a seat by the window. The water, the driftwood, the seabirds--they add up to a view that, really, makes it possible for a chef to coast. But that doesn't happen at Kaloloch. The kitchen sources most of its goods from Pacific Northwest farmers, ranchers, and fishermen, and the finished products--pan fried Northwest crab cakes with citrus remoulade, wild mushroom strudel with pickled beet salad, or smoked chicken and Cheddar quesadillas with Walla Walla onion relish--make it clear that the chef has great respect for their work. The menu does, too: it lists the farm source for most of the items. (So, no need to reenact this Portlandia sketch. Really.)
2013 season: June 1 to Labor Day
McCarthy Lodge is less in a national park than surrounded by one. The town of McCarthy--the go-to spot in the early 1900s for mine and mill workers in search of a drink--is a remote bush town 60 miles from any other ATM machine. (And keep in mind: McCarthy's ATM doesn't always work.) Head in by bush plane or take the three-hour-plus drive down the gravel McCarthy Road (beware: you could piss off your rental car company); when the road ends, you're there. Cross the bridge over the creek and walk into town or, if the shuttle van is there, pay for a ride. Keep in mind: if you drive, this is no spur-of-the-moment day trip. Book a hotel room in McCarthy.
Owner Neil Darish likes to change the place up every few years. The restaurant got quite a bit of attention for former chef Josh Slaughter's in-the-wild tasting menu and pedigree--he was trained by Thomas Keller. Since 2012, the kitchen has been ruled by a lifelong Alaskan,
Jim Nyholm, who turns out elegant dishes with a focus on local seafood--no matter how it's prepared, the Copper River red salmon will likely ruin you for salmon back home--and, when possible, produce from the co-op greenhouse. Like all top Alaskan chefs, Nyholm riffs on what's available--you can't just run to Whole Foods for ramps when you cook in the bush.
The sun can really snooker a hiker in Bryce Canyon. Rejuvenation awaits on the restaurant's deck. The heavy Adirondack chairs (each, it seems, made from an entire tree) make it difficult to sit forward and eat. No matter. Grab your locally brewed beer--a Wasatch Apricot Hefeweizen takes the edge off a hot day--and lean back. As your strength comes back, sit up and dip into your elk and red bean chili or go to town on the Bryce wings, served in a spicy prickly pear cactus sauce. Then sit back. More beer. There is no rushing here.
Open year-round
When dressing for dinner at
the Ahwanee, do not--whatever you do!--think that knocking the mud off your boots means you're looking good. One of the most formal dining experiences in the National Park system (and we applaud the devotion to its long-held standards), the Ahwahnee's dress code calls for resort casual: collared shirts and long pants for men, dresses or a pants/blouse combo for women.
Once you've buttoned up your collared shirt, settle in for a meal from one of the most devoted-to-his-park chefs anywhere in the National Park system. Percy Whatley, a 2008 semi-finalist for the U.S. Bocuse d'Or team, has helmed the Ahwahnee kitchen for 15 years. With the world coming to his tables, Whatley's menus--featuring baked vegan chickpea flan, grilled steelhead salmon with du puy lentils, and gluten-free brown rice penne with porcini and lamb bolognese--will make everybody feel welcome. In town on a Sunday? Don't miss one of the restaurant's most celebrated meals: brunch. Just don't climb the Half Dome cables after all that champagne. We don't want to have to worry about you.
Why haven't you planned a summer trip to at least one of America's national parks? What, the promise of majestic mountains, streams that twinkle in the sun, and bears isn't enough? Come on: bears! Okay, fine, some extra incentive: In or near these six national parks are restaurants that will convince even the pickiest locavores and most ardent urbanites to invest in an annual pass.
Chef Jim Nyholm, the McCarthy Lodge
4 servings
INGREDIENTS
4 6-oz. Copper River red salmon filets
1 cup lentils (preferably French green lentils)
1/2 cup red wine
1 Tbsp. chives
1 Tbsp. shallots
1 tsp. tarragon
2 Tbsp. Bordeaux mustard
1 Tbsp. lemon juice
4 Tbsp. unsalted butter, at room temperature
2 leek stalks, washed and cut into 1/2" rings
Salt and pepper to taste
PREPARATION
Cook lentils in 4 cups water and 3/4 Tbsp. salt until tender. Transfer to a bowl and set aside.
Sweat chopped leeks in butter. Combine with cooked lentils. Season to taste with salt and pepper.
Pan sear salmon, skin side first until crisp and then flip. Cook to medium rare. Transfer to a plate and set aside.
Deglaze the pan with red wine. Add shallots, lemon juice, and Bordeaux mustard. Bit by bit, wisk the butter into the sauce. Reduce the sauce by 2/3. Finish with fresh herbs and season to taste.
Divide lentils among plates. Top with salmon, skin side up, and drizzle with the finished sauce.
Note: This recipe has not been tested by the Bon Appetit Test Kitchen.
Jenna Schnuer writes for the National Geographic Traveler and Entrepreneur. She visited 12 National Parks (give or take) during a seven-month road trip last year.
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