Every year, as the sun sets on Martha’s Vineyard and fireworks bloom over the harbor, we pause. We gather with friends, fire up the grill, pass the corn and clams, and take part in something both old and ever-evolving: an American tradition.

The Fourth of July is more than just parades and popsicles. It’s a reminder of where we came from — and how far we still hope to go.

Along the coastlines of Cape Cod and Martha’s Vineyard, the tide tells you what’s for dinner. One look at a local table — steam rising from bowls of littlenecks, bay scallops glistening with lemon butter, or oysters resting on crushed ice — and you’ll see it: shellfish isn’t just food here. It’s heritage.

At Woods & Waters MV, we work with the ocean, not against it. That means paying close attention to the waters where our shellfish come from — and honoring the hands that harvest them.

In the golden morning light of Paris, there’s a ritual older than modern memory—a quiet devotion to the humble croissant. Beneath the domed glass of a boulangerie case, they glisten like golden relics, whispering tales of butter, time, and tradition. But behind that delicate, crisp shell lies one of the most technically demanding pastries in the world—and a culinary journey that spans continents, centuries, and cultures.

To be a chef is to carry the weight of a thousand details—while making it all look effortless. It’s early mornings spent building menus in your head before your feet even hit the floor. It’s late nights rinsing salt from your forearms, staring at the clock, trying to remember if you ate that day. It’s broken fingernails and burned fingertips, and a body that talks to you in creaks and aches—reminding you of the hours, the years, the decades you’ve put in.

While most think of Surf & Turf as a steak-and-lobster kind of affair (and that’s not wrong), its roots are less about fine dining and more about flair. The term gained traction in the 1960s—somewhere between the Vegas Strip and a high-end supper club—when the pairing of filet mignon and lobster tail signaled status and indulgence. It was an edible exclamation point.

From beach plum blossoms to goldenrod, Queen Anne’s lace, and black-eyed Susans, the Vineyard is rich with native blooms. These aren’t manicured garden varieties — they’re wild, weathered, and vital. They grow in the cracks, along the dunes, in back fields, and roadside edges, offering nectar, pollen, and shelter to creatures that sustain our food web.

Many of these wildflowers thrive without help. No fertilizer, no irrigation — just soil, sun, and salt air. They’re resilient, and that resilience is something we aim to echo in our own work: ingredients that are real, strong, and rooted.

Tipping was once a quiet thank-you — a token of appreciation for a job done with care. A few folded bills left behind after a meal. A handful of change dropped into a jar by the register. It was discretionary, personal, and humble.

Boston’s Chinatown isn’t just a neighborhood. It’s a rite of passage. A comfort zone. A sensory experience that keeps evolving, but always holds onto its soul. For anyone who’s spent time in the restaurant scene — behind the line, at the host stand, or just belly-up to the counter after a double shift — Chinatown was the after-hours kitchen that kept the city alive long after the lights dimmed elsewhere.

Before we plate a single dish, before the menu is even finalized, we’re already in conversation—with the farmers, the fishers, the foragers, the bakers. We’re asking what’s growing, what’s running, what just came in off the boat. Our menus start in the field and on the dock, not in the kitchen.

Martha’s Vineyard might seem small on a map, but it’s home to a vast network of fiercely talented growers and producers. People who dig their hands into the dirt, rise with the tide, and tend to flavor the way others tend to flame. It’s a community we’re proud to be part of—because without them, Woods & Waters MV wouldn’t exist in the form it does.

This post is a love letter to those hands behind the harvest.

There are few pleasures simpler—or more soul-satisfying—than eating outside with the ocean in sight. The waves are steady, the sun is low, and the breeze carries the scent of seaweed, dune grass, and whatever’s roasting on the breeze. A picnic might be the most unpretentious of meals, but when it’s done right—really done right—it becomes something unforgettable. Not just lunch by the water, but a full sensory moment, grounded in place and elevated by care.

In the traditional American farm setting, the rooster serves as the vigilant guardian of the flock. He’s not just there to fertilize eggs—though that’s a primary function for anyone raising chicks—he’s also a natural protector. Roosters are known to be fiercely defensive of their hens, keeping watch for predators and sounding the alarm at the first sign of danger.

There’s a thrill in finding something edible where most people see nothing. A cluster of glossy beach plums in the dunes. A patch of wood sorrel peeking through the understory. The sharp green spikes of wild garlic at the edge of a field. When you start to look closely, Martha’s Vineyard becomes a living pantry—full of flavor, full of history.

At Woods & Waters MV, foraging isn’t just about finding ingredients. It’s about connecting to this land—its seasons, its subtleties, and its secrets. We forage for taste, yes—but also for meaning. It’s one of the ways we make meals here feel like they couldn’t have happened anywhere else.

So let’s take a walk through the wild edges of the Vineyard. Let’s talk plants, purpose, and how foraging turns a private dinner into something primal and poetic.

There’s a particular kind of silence that falls when the fire catches. You hear the wood shift, then crackle. The smoke rises slowly, curling through salt air. The first real flame licks up against the pan, the grate, the cast iron. Maybe someone opens a bottle. Maybe someone leans in, mesmerized.

What is it about cooking over fire that feels so… essential?

For us at Woods & Waters MV, it’s the heartbeat of everything we do. Whether we’re searing oysters over hot coals by the beach, slow-smoking pork shoulder near the edge of a field, or caramelizing peaches over an open flame at sunset, the fire is never just for heat. It’s part of the story. It’s the first guest to arrive and the last one to leave.

Let’s explore why open-fire cooking still holds such power—and why it’s become a defining piece of the private chef experience we offer on Martha’s Vineyard.

Start your morning at the West Tisbury Farmers Market, and you’ll feel it: that energy, that green abundance coming back to life after the long winter. You’ll see the season’s first real colors—the vibrant pink of strawberries, the soft green curls of pea tendrils, the sharp purple of chive blossoms.

Ancient Origins: Earth Ovens and Coastal Ingenuity

The earliest known lobster bakes weren’t called that at all. Long before European settlers arrived in New England, Wampanoag and other Indigenous peoples along the Atlantic coast were cooking seafood in “earth ovens”—shallow pits lined with hot stones, layered with seaweed, and covered to steam fish, clams, corn, and roots.

This was not a special-occasion meal. It was daily life. Lobsters, back then, were plentiful, easy to catch, and considered lowly fare, often gathered from tidal pools or tossed to crops as fertilizer.

Fermentation is one of the oldest and most magical culinary practices we have. It’s alchemy in a jar — a living, bubbling transformation that turns humble vegetables, dairy, or grains into probiotic-rich, flavorful powerhouses.

Before refrigeration, fermentation was survival. People preserved cabbage as sauerkraut for winter, milk as yogurt for longevity, and soybeans as miso to stretch a harvest. But fermentation isn’t just about extending shelf life — it’s about deepening flavor, improving nutrition, and inviting a microbial ecosystem into your kitchen.

At Woods & Waters MV, we honor these old ways. Fermentation speaks to self-reliance, seasonality, and sustainability — all values close to our heart. Whether you’re preserving a garden glut of cucumbers or culturing yogurt for breakfast, the act of fermenting ties you to time, place, and even ancestry.

At Woods & Waters MV, we believe that every ingredient tells a story—and the story behind our coffee is one of sustainability, stewardship, and respect for the interconnected ecosystems that nourish us all.

We’re passionate about supporting the health of three essential pillars: the farmer, the consumer, and the environment. That’s why we exclusively source shade-grown, organic coffee—a choice that goes far beyond flavor.

There’s something ancient and almost sacred about the way we love our pets. From the thump of a dog’s tail on the floor to the slow blink of a sleepy cat curled on a windowsill, these quiet moments wrap themselves around our hearts and never quite let go. But what is it, really, that makes our bond with animals so powerful?

🥣 From Hearth to Table: Colonial Staples

In colonial kitchens, meals were often cooked over an open hearth. Without modern luxuries, preservation was key. Salt cod, smoked meats, dried cornmeal, and root vegetables formed the backbone of daily meals. Indigenous knowledge — like using ash to nixtamalize corn or tapping trees for maple syrup — played a central role in survival and flavor.colonial