It was Ed’s Abbey. It was Brews Brothers. After a marauder makeover, it became The Plank. Now the newest incarnation at 650 S. Vista Ave. isWoody’s. No matter what its name, the establishment has always been a laid-back neighborhood pub that seldom lacks patrons. Busy though it may be, Woody’s is visually quiet inside....
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Here’s the full list of the foods people ate yesterday, on The Day of Idaho Food. Although the plan was to ask folks to include at least one Idaho-grown item in their menus, you’ll see that many of them found it easy enough to make their menus all-Idaho and nearly always local. And the...
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On Labor Day and the Day of Idaho Food, it seems fitting to post an audio slideshow of images that illustrate the commitment of those who grow, market and prepare the food that makes Idaho’s local food scene so diverse and vibrant. But before, here’s a fitting excerpt from “Honoring the Hands that Prepare Our Food” by...
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The morning sun had barely cleared the cottonwood trees along the Boise River when the nine of us began to sip gin. The group called itself a “ginsmithing panel”–which certainly sounds more respectable than a breakfast cocktail party–and Scott Probert, the head distiller at Bardenay in Eagle, assured me we were gathered in the distillery...
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In B-dubsville, we’ve been celebrating the Year of Idaho Food all freakin’ year. Writer Guy Hand has turned out one insightful article after another chronicling the local-foods movement in the Potato State. Why then, might you ask, are we psyched for the Day of Idaho Food, when we’ve been donning our local party hats...
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If you grab a plastic tray and shuffle through an Idaho school lunch line this fall, things will look a bit different than you might remember. In addition to whole grain pasta and brown rice, you’re also likely to find a Healthy Choices salad bar and bright posters advertising “incredible edible Idaho” grapes or...
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Between the rushing gurgle of the Boise River and the bee-like swarm of bike tires on Greenbelt asphalt, I hit the jackpot. Reaching skyward, I pulled a small ripe purple orb from the bent branch of a wild plum tree, hunched like a street urchin under the weight of its fleshy bounty. Mid-August is...
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