At sunset on Nov. 1, the historic halls of St. John’s Abbey filled with a deep reverence toward the Benedictine laws and principles on which it was built. Low lighting and long candlelit tables stretched under arched ceilings dressed with jars of hand-made pickles, local ceramic-ware, and a healthy share of Brother Justus Whiskey. Around 250 guests gathered to celebrate The Storied Table’s inaugural harvest dinner: a five-course feast envisioned by James Beard-nominated author Jody Eddy and brought to life by 2025 James Beard Best Chef (Midwest) semifinalist Chef Mateo Mackbee and Pastry Chef Erin Mackbee, a duo whose food honors both ancestry and earth.
Photo by Tay Elhindi
The dinner served as a meditation on community, craft, and care. A reflection of how far the Mackbees have come since they opened Krewe Restaurant and Flour & Flower Bakery in nearby St. Joseph five years ago.
When I first met Erin and Mateo in 2020, they had just opened Flour & Flower Bakery and Krewe, their ode to New Orleans cuisine and southern hospitality, in the small town of St. Joseph. The world was in flux, none of us knew what life would look like in a few years, let alone how a small-town restaurant and bakery would survive. It was an act of faith and self-determination. Their goals were simple but radical: build community, confront rural racism, connect with minorities in the area, and re-establish land-based food traditions in central Minnesota.
Five years later, I found myself in the back halls of St. John’s Abbey, in the original dining hall that has fed monks for generations, watching the two plate tender braised short ribs over a fluffy bed of wild rice pilaf, family-size bowls sweet corn grits, and crispy, juicy three-day roasted chicken just before stepping onto the dining floor where they are greeted with a standing ovation. It’s this beautiful full-circle moment and testament to their vision all those years ago.
“Erin and Mateo have become like family,” says dinner guest and frequent Krewe diner Patti Savoy. “They’ve brought so much to this community, so many new ways to get involved.”
While the chefs aren’t particularly religious, Mateo describes “feed thy neighbor” as a steady undercurrent in their work. “The idea of turning water into wine, or the story of fishes and loaves are teachings that guide us,” he says. “It’s not something we preach, but it’s definitely a silent driver.”
Photo by Tay Elhindi
That reverence extended into the evening’s menu, highlighting local apples, mushrooms, maple syrup, monastic honey, and freshly baked bread from the monastery itself. “We wanted it to feel familiar,” Mateo explains. “Nothing obscure, dishes people could revisit or even recreate at home. Old-world tones with new-world twists.” The menu serves as an homage to the land’s abundance and ability to produce sustenance, one of the many reasons the monks settled there all those years ago.
Everything, down to the smallest detail, was curated: family-style dining, pairings of Brother Justus Whiskey, and pottery crafted by Prairiewares—800 pieces made specifically for the event. “Gathering all the local resources and bringing them together is what makes it special,” Mateo says.
For Erin, that story lives in the bread and desserts, the foundation of the meal and, in many ways, of their story, nourishing through the food as well as the experience.
Photo by Tay Elhindi
In the years since Krewe and Flour & Flower first opened, the Mackbees have deepened both their craft and their connection to each other. “We got deeper,” Mateo says with a small laugh. “We got married, we learned each other’s strengths and weaknesses. Learned how to make space for one another both in and out of the kitchen.”
Their independence, too, is a point of pride. With no investors at play, the duo has the freedom to make every decision themselves, using their platform to speak out against injustice and step up for change. “The world is wild right now and to be able to have a net that catches you and supports you and wants the same safety is incredible. I just think it validates this moment,” Erin shares.
Photo by Tay Elhindi
As the night wound down, guests lingered over dessert, serving each other Erin’s warm spiced apple galette with dollops of light, fluffy whipped cream, and sharing in a spread of classic church desserts, scotcheroos, caramel squares, and more. “I’m so full, but I just have to have one more,” was a popular sentiment at our table.
Brother Aelred Senna comes to the microphone, thanking guests for their attendance and offering this, “One of the Benedictine laws is hospitality. We are to greet everyone who walks through those doors as if they are Christ himself, and that means everyone.” In the glow of candlelight and conversation, it was easy to see what The Storied Table hopes to offer: not just fine dining, but communion.
Five years ago, I sat across from Erin and Mateo in their newly opened bakery and restaurant, watching them articulate their hopes with a mix of determination and uncertainty. They spoke about community and courage, about wanting to use food to confront division and build belonging in a small town that didn’t always feel welcoming. Back then, it was a vision; today, it’s a living, breathing reality.
At St. John’s Abbey, that community they hoped to reach was sitting all around them, repeating their mission back from the other side of the table.
When I asked how they were feeling after the dinner, they paused, both visibly reflecting. “I have no words,” Erin said. “The night couldn’t have gone better. We obviously have food left over, but that’s how it goes. We feed the family that way.” Mateo nodded beside her, still smiling. “It’s incredible. The people that came out tonight. Some drove an hour or more just to be here. I’m just grateful. To do what we love and have this kind of response is what everybody dreams of. This is a Super Bowl moment for us.”
I asked what it felt like to see their goals reflected back at them through this kind of community response. Erin considered for a moment. “It’s just validation,” she said. “Validation for getting up every day and speaking truth. There’s so much empowerment happening, so much connection. None of this was planned, we couldn’t have written it down four years ago and expected to be here.”
Photo by Tay Elhindi
“We want people to feel welcome, included, youthful, and satisfied,” Mateo said earlier that evening. “I want them to leave with a little more purpose, maybe wanting to connect with someone new, or someone from their past.”
At St. John’s, that hope felt fulfilled. The meal was, in every sense, a prayer answered. Affirmation to everything the Mackbees set out to do five years ago: build a community that feeds each other in every sense of the word.
