In Bath, a little city flush with fine Federal, Greek Revival, and Italianate architecture, there are many men involved in the industry of boatbuilding. On Front Street, the city’s main thoroughfare, there is one man involved in the industry of food: Esau A. Crosby II. In MH+D’s March Feast feature, “Layers of Flavor,” we explore story behind Solo Bistro Bistro and the visionary in its kitchen.
After bouncing around the country as the child of a military family, Esau Crosby landed in culinary school at Newbury College in Boston. By the time Crosby met his wife (who has Maine roots), he had fallen in love with New England. In 1987, the couple settled in Maine.
During his long career in the culinary arts (one that dates back to his teens), Crosby admits to having done everything from “building food skyscrapers on oversized plates to working the line as a fry cook.” At Solo, opened in 2005, he is obsessed with honest food, layered flavors, and fresh, fresh, fresh—to this last point, consider the fact that the sweet, pungent basil in a recent cinnamon-basil vinaigrette on the menu was plucked directly from Crosby’s own garden. “There’s not much I do in this kitchen that involves cans or the freezer,” he says with a smile.
By combining all these obsessions, Crosby is capable of creating dishes that rise to an epiphany-inducing crescendo. Even in an entire lifetime, these sorts of monumental epicurean moments are few and far between, and often unforgettable. For example, I vividly remember the early summer day when, on the patio of a nearly empty trattoria in the little Tuscan town of Cetona, I first sipped from a glass of Brunello di Montalcino. The flavor was so unique, so rich, that it felt like the first time I’d ever truly tasted red wine. During a meal at Solo Bistro in January, I had a similar experience.
I have rarely been disappointed over the years when I’ve put my dining experience wholly in the hands of a talented chef. So, when Crosby urged me to try his braised veal cheeks, I closed my menu and said, “It’s settled.”
Crosby’s veal cheeks (braised on the grill, not in a pan) have a complex earthy flavor—they are cooked in a red wine and veal stock reduction, and then finished with a bit of sherry. The mingling flavors are both rich and delicate. The veal is so tender it collapses at the slightest touch of a fork. Beside the veal, in a lovely puddle of juices, is Crosby’s creamy polenta with white beans and finely-diced roasted delicata squash. Like the sensation of Brunello first crossing my lips so many years ago, when I sunk my teeth into Crosby’s braised veal cheeks, it was as though I’d never tasted meat before that moment. Heaven…
Joshua Bodwell, Associate Editor
