Michael Statdlander’s improbable success here is in large part due to his willingness—no, enthusiasm—for breaking every last rule in the guidebook for business success.Location? It’s awful. More than two hours from Toronto without any place to stay nearby. Hours? Decided at the chef’s convenience. Wine list? None. Décor? Homemade, largely from scrap and junk. In other words, ghastly. Art? Well, there is a painting in the bathroom of a chicken in a bikini. But all that aside, there is something he gets exactly right. Wipe your boots clean in his mud room, and clamber up to the dining room, take a seat at the table, and there it is. Beautiful, classic northern European cuisine, prepared with haute cuisine finesse. Often it starts with animals he has raised himself, dressed up with ingredients foraged in the local woods. Think smoky German ham, catfish from his pond served in tomato broth, fire-roasted duck served with its skewered gizzard, a tiny, perfect pork chop from a porcelet whose brother squeaked at you as you parked the car outside. You cannot confuse a meal here with one enjoyed anyplace else.