Some dishes unevenĬonsistency also wavers, although with such good intentions coming from the clattering kitchen it's difficult to grumble. Like home cooking, some dishes can be unsophisticated, and this isn't the place to complain if tater tot pie is perhaps an idea better chuckled over than eaten. It won't be fancy, it will be filling, and with few exceptions, it will be satisfying. It leads to anticipation as guests pick up a paper menu: I wonder what will be for dinner tonight? Essentially anything that can be stuffed into pastry is fair game, with a short lineup that changes weekly. Norwitt, who was previously a bread baker at Petaluma's Della Fattoria, leaves most of the cooking to his fiancee and co-owner Miriam Lee Donaldson, supported by his sister, Brook McCann, and her husband, Dan McCann. ![]() The kitchen is unassuming, viewed from the restaurant's primary booth, and contains a freshman team of cooks. And if the bar is busy, he'll stay late, often serving until 2 a.m. Want to join the party there? Norwitt happily trots over full meals, serving 14 seats at the bar and a dozen at the lounge tables. The later it gets, however, the more the bar intrudes, with guests overheard colorfully narrating presidential debates shown on a TV above the bar. Most of the time the rowdy partnership isn't too distracting, and on one visit there were children enjoying a homemade pretzel ($5), a thick, chewy twist the size of dinner plate. It shares an open doorway with the Black Cat Bar, an alternative lounge with live music and a flurry of tattered bras hung from the ceiling, which can be admired from Humble Pie's front tables. An old record player spins scratchy vinyl an LP stand is decorated with a jar of tomatillos, a few squash and that night's pies. ![]() In a 19th century building overlooking the railroad tracks, it's a tiny no-frills space of black-, pink- and blue-speckled vinyl floor, pale blue walls accented in black window trim, and a mishmash of old black-and-white photographs. No-frills spaceįirst off, Humble is indeed that. "We got what you want, baby," restaurant co-owner Joshua Norwitt banters, and so the convivial Humble Pie experience unfolds. "Josh, I need my fix," moans a customer one evening, sliding into a well-worn wood booth, resting his hands on an antique wood table. However, in the case of the six-table Humble Pie, the buzz has the potential to put Penngrove on the culinary map. Suffice it to say that in Penngrove, the opening of a new restaurant, such as the debut of Humble Pie in July, can get the entire community abuzz.
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