Category: Restaurants & Stores

Friendly Toast part II comes to Kendall Square. YUM.

We got a hot tip from a pal that someone at the Boston Globe had gone so far as to say that a new Cambridge burger place had the closest thing to In-N-Out on the east coast. Obviously we were going to check THIS sort of thing out in detail.
The place in question is Flat Patties, a spot in the Harvard Square Garage that appears to be run by the same people who run Felipe’s Taqueria, which I’ve heard good things about but never yet tried. The folks behind the counter are friendly, and the burger is good, but in our highly unofficial head-to-head competition with Four Burgers in Central Square, they went down hard.

No contest. That Four Burgers burger is pretty damn close to In-N-Out, actually, and has tons of burger flavor. I didn’t even put ketchup on, and I ketchup the hell out of burgers as a general rule. I have no idea what J. Kenji Alt was smoking that day, when he called it flat and flavorless.
In fact, that was the main gripe I had with the otherwise perfectly nice Flat Patties burger: it lacked flavor, even with Swiss and avocado and “special sauce”. I ketchuped the thing, then put on relish.

Given that Four Burgers also had better fries, Coke Zero in the fountain, AND sources their meat from crunchy granola safe-meat farms, it’s a no brainer for me: the superior burger can be had at Four Burgers. If you’re in Harvard Square, by all means have a Flat Patties, but for the closest thing to In-N-Out, you gotta go one more stop inbound on that Red Line.

Tonight I am in Skokie Illinois. I was running around like a chicken with its head cut off because my 4pm client meeting ran well over 2 hours and I barely made it to the car rental shop before it closed at 7, AND i’d left both cell phones in my cube at the office. Dumbass.
Anyway, I was hungry and had a car and couldn’t think where to go, so I thought about it for a minute, to try and remember what I really, really missed about Chicago food that was a) not Perez, b) not Blackbird, and c) vaguely might be sort of near or on the way to Skokie. And then I remembered my last trip to Hecky’s on Halsted, which wasn’t really a Hecky’s despite the desperate baldfaced lies to the contrary from the manager.
The One True Hecky’s is now the one in Evanston… a 10 minute drive from Skokie. Yay!!
I just finished off most of a half chicken and some cole slaw, and it was as dreamy as I remember it, just as spicy and tangy, the meat just as moist, and perhaps even smokier than the Halsted shop’s. I scored a bottle of the sauce to bring home, to tide me over till the next visit — hurray for having to check luggage anyway!
And I think I might head back tomorrow night, to get some rib tips… the adorable cashier kid at Best Buy busted into the hugest grin when I told him I was headed to Hecky’s, and told me that the rib tips are at least as good as the chickens. I personally have never gotten past the chickens, so I think it’s worth a second trip while I am trapped here in the northern burbs. In the name of scientific research and the greater good of humanity, of course.
(Update: the rib tips are pretty good. lots of bone and connective bits, with little nibbles of meatiness and the usual sauce. perfectly worthwhile, but I still prefer the extraordinary chicken.)

There is clearly balance in the universe, because to make up for last night’s astoundingly, embarrassingly bad dinner, Blackbird just served me one of the most successful dishes I have ever eaten.
I walked over there from the hotel — I almost didn’t even go for dinner because by 8:30 I had only the barest imaginings of hunger after the yummy carne asada plate I had for lunch at Perez (wooooo!). I had what seems to be my usual table, 4 or 5 in from the window along the wall, and I had a very congenial waiter, willing to indulge my nerdy questions and goofy enthusiasm.
The amuse-bouche was half a shrimp, topped with a mix of queso fresco and chives, in a very mild cilantro cream and topped with a fried shaving of trumpet mushroom. I liked the mushroom, and could happily eat them by the handful if they were sold as a snack, and the shrimp and toppings were good too, if not as exciting as some amuses I have had at Blackbird.

My starter was a duck tartare with dried strawberries, A1, and tater tots. I think there was supposed to be celery but I didn’t notice any. Apparently they cook the duck at 104F for 4 hours, then mix it with a duck-skin aioli, which gives it a creamy effect so it sticks together like real tartare. The A1 sauce was gelatinized so it would not pool out on the plate, but rather stand up in little piles. There were reconstituted dried strawberries and freeze-dried pink strawberry shards, 3 tater-tot cubes, and a strewing of microgreens. (For some reason, the mania for garnishing with microgreens bothers me not at all, while the 90s-esque garnishing of plate edges with chopped whatever makes me homicidal. Go figure.) This dish sounded so off the wall that it had potential to be awesome, and who can resist a tater tot?

The tots were indeed excellent, and the duck was delicious alone and with the strawberries, and with very small bits of the A1. Too much A1 nuked the taste of the duck, but carefully deployed it did work with the flavors of the rest of the dish.
But it was the rabbit and turnips that really blew the doors off. It was billed as roast rabbit with blood sausage, baby turnip, sourdough, pickled ramps and mustard. Very nice for spring, delicious when well executed, and just the thing for me, who LOVES turnips and ramps. Sounds like a straightforward Germanic-American sort of dish, yes?
And so it seemed at first glance, and even at first bite. The turnips were shaved on a mandoline and served with a braise of their greens. The mustard was presented as a dried, crispy tuile stuck into the slices of rabbit. But then I noticed that the microgreen garnish, which had been innocuously flavorless on the duck, was in this case micro-shiso, giving a distinctive floral twist to things. And then I noticed that the exquisitely delicious sauce soaking the bread had a familiar flavor to it… something I’d eaten recently… and then I realized the sauce was based on dashi. And then it all fell into place: shiso, dashi, turnips, pickles, mustard — all of these are iconic Japanese ingredients, even while turnips and mustard and pickles are also standard mittel-european ingredients. The whole thing had been reimagined as a Japanese-flavored dish.

And it was perfectly done. Every bite was delicious, every combination of flavors worked, everything serving together to create a perfect, harmonious whole, made just that much better by the wit of the presentation and the genius of the idea.
I was so giddy over this that I ended up ordering dessert too. I’d been tempted by the pear-cider donuts with hazelnut ice cream, and distracted by a pineapple-rhubarb sorbet with dark-chocolate hazelnuts, but I got talked into the banana cremeux with Gosling’s rum/milk chocolate and molasses ice cream and a few bits of crisp-caramelized banana. I didn’t regret it.

(yes, that is dill as the garnish, and no, it didn’t work with the flavors. i tried, but it just looked pretty.)

There are LOTS of Hawai’i posts to come, because we ate a ton of good stuff out there. But tonight I am in Chicago, having flown directly here from the islands for work, and I was too tired to go out for dinner — and I KNOW I’ll be eating at Perez at least once for lunch this week, so even walking three blocks didn’t seem strictly necessary, and I figured I’d try out Dine, the 1940’s-brasserie style restaurant here in the hotel Crowne Plaza at Madison and Halsted.
FAIL.
OMG, I haven’t had a restaurant meal this bad in years. YEARS. Shudder. I am eating Trader Joe salty chocolate almonds right now to get the taste of old, stale, jarred garlic out of my tongue.
Breadbasket consisted of a pretzel roll and a sesame roll, which seemed promising, but they were both pretty bland and probably either parbaked or industrially sourced. Oniony butter wasn’t too bad. Both were about what I was expecting, to be honest, and so I wasn’t prepared for the next two dishes.
A roasted asparagus salad with shaved parmesan and a roasted-garlic lemon sauce had nice enough asparagus, fresh and tender and not too charred, and a boatload of cheese and chives, but the sauce was somehow off. I couldn’t quite place it, but it tasted funny and detracted from the otherwise perfectly acceptable asparagus and cheese. In retrospect it was probably the garlic…
…because the second dish had the same problem, 10 times worse. A tepid, faintly gelatinous braised veal cheek without much flavor was on a bed of “caramelized cauliflower puree” — which should be delicious — that was so nasty I couldn’t bring myself to eat it. Not only was it reekingly sharp with the stale jarred garlic flavor, but it was strangely pasty and runny at the same time, overprocessed to a deranged smoothness. There was a “parmesan broth” that didn’t manage to make much of a dent in the overall effect of EEEEEW.
I finished the salad, leaving as much sauce behind as possible (and those of you who know me know that i will lick sauce from plates at the least provocation), and I finished the veal but couldn’t do more than a few forkfuls of the cauliflower, and that honestly only to make sure I’d accurately identified the nature of the ick.
Good grief. This place has been open well over a year, I can’t imagine how they can still be this far beyond the pale. At 7:15pm on a Monday, the place was deserted, and the handful of diners were all hotel guests from what I could overhear. No wonder, really, given that Chicago has plenty of good restaurants and lots of them even within walking distance — but I figured at worst I’d be getting a pedestrian but adequate meal, not the unmitigated horror that arrived. How can it stay open?

The first leg of our whirlwind vacation was the originally planned trip to San Diego for the Balboa Rendezvous. It’s pretty awesome to dance in an old ballroom with a few dozen of the original dancers from the 30s and 40s hanging around watching, knocking back cocktails, and dancing themselves. We danced, we learned, we have very sore feet now.
We also ate a lot of tacos.
We didn’t really know the city and we really didn’t know what was good nor did we have much time to find out. And we didn’t want to eat big heavy meals right before jumping on the dance floor. So we went with Adalberto’s Mexican Food, on the highway en route, which looked appropriately open and divey. Everything was good, though the horchata was almost certainly out of a bottle or a mix, but the carnitas taco was a treat. They just scoop out refrigerated carnitas straight onto the griddle and ladle over a little oil… and it comes out succulent and crispy, ahhhh. And the taco is huge, full of pico de gallo and lots of unexpected guacamole and overflowing with meat. The adobada is also worth a try, in a taco or a torta. Yums. Cheap, fast, yummy and open late.
The last afternoon we had a little free time, and I finally remembered that San Diego is famous for FISH tacos, which I love when properly executed. So we did a little googly-moogly and found a recommended place not too far from our hotel.
El Zarape is right smack in the middle of a gentrified strip of University Heights, but fear not, them fishy tacos were very very tasty. The scallop taco was OK, interesting and good once you put on a bunch of lime juice, but the fish taco is for sure the draw. Super-crispy batter fried fish with shreds of cabbage and a light creamy sauce. Stays crunchy till the very end! Excellent alone, or with a spritz of the lime, or with a li’l droplet of the avocado-cilantro salsa. That salsa was awesome, and I drank the last bit out right out of the cup when I ran out of things to dip into it. Don’t bother with a plate meal, the rice and beans are meh at best — get chips and guacamole and as many fish tacos as you feel like eating. Just the ticket to fuel a drive up to Balboa Peninsula and a night of dancing to one of the best swing jazz bands in the land. Wheeeee!
(pictures coming — i left the cable in the car and we won’t have intertubes while on kauai… i’ll post ’em as soon as i can!)

I was in the Bay Area last week for a company event, and I went up to the city for a brief visit afterward. It was sunny and clear and warm and gorgeous the entire time — unlike last year when it poured rain the entire time — and I somehow got California cuisine on the brain. Vegetables, salads, new american what-have-you… that’s what seemed good to me. So we went to a place that my friend R knew about, which turned out to be the place down the block from Bakesale Betty’s that I’d drooled over last year, as i pressed my nose to the glass and read the menu: Pizzaiolo.
Apparently run by one of the horde of ex-Chez Panisse workers, this is a mid-size room done up in low-key but comfortable style, with gorgeous modern bent-wood chairs and really weird art and a wood-burning oven for the pizzas. We figured it would be good: how could it miss, really? But this was one of the best meals any of us had had for a while — everything was spot-on perfect.
We had two salads, a dungeness crab with shaved fennel, blood oranges and oro blanco grapefruits, and a grilled squid with rich spices, more fennel, meyer lemon and mint.
Then came fluffy-chewy potato gnocchi with a ragu of Berkshire pork — I expected a tomato base but it was just a pork braise, unadorned and absolutely spectacular — and ricotta ravioli topped with wild nettles and black trumpet mushrooms, delicate but vibrant in flavor, just enough to complement the remarkable tender, toothsome texture of the pasta.
There was a short rib of beef with big pillowy cannellini and kale and a sparkly green salsa. I kept mistaking that salsa in my mind for gremolata, because it was so perfectly lighting up the savory richness of the beef. This dish was so perfectly executed, it kept blowing my mind: braised short rib can be heavy, even when it’s delicious, but this had some quality to it that was light as a feather, and there were nuances of flavor to it that I couldn’t pin down.
We finished with two pizzas, since the place is known for its crispy-crust pies. These were indeed excellent, but certainly no more so than anything else we tried. We got a long-cooked-greens & sausage pie, which was a well-balanced and sophisticated rendition of the classic dish, and a wild mushroom-caramelized leek-gremolata pie, which was just insanely good.
They’ve got a small but useful beer list, and they recommended me a solid choice of red wine (I think it was a Barbera but honestly I’d forgotten what it was within about 30 seconds of ordering it). We skipped dessert because we were full and we knew they’d be wanting the table; service was leisurely, and we heard something about the pizzas being backed up, but we never felt neglected or without something delicious to be eating, so they handle that pressure well. Any other night, we’d have ordered desserts anyway, as they were absolutely compelling in their descriptions: chocolatey something with pistachio praline, persimmon ice cream, and so on.
Should you find yourself anywhere in the East Bay, I’d recommend this place without hesitation. You can be dressed up or down, hungry or just wanting a snack, and you’ll be fed with the very best the Northern California breadbasket can provide. Just make sure you get in line by 5:15pm if you’ve not got a reservation; they open at 5:30, and you do not want to be standing outside being tantalized by the smells wafting forth.

I read a couple of glowing reviews of Taqueria La Mexicana, and I’ve been meaning to go there and check it out for a while. I am constantly waylaid by the delights of Wu Chon House whenever I am in Union Square, though.
But today I was headed for the Reliable Market, to buy more kimchi, having used up the last of it yesterday, putting our household at risk of having to eat its spicy ramen without adornment. And I was hungry, which is never a good plan for me when I am heading into a food store. So I took the opportunity to scratch the taco itch that’s been plaguing me of late, an itch made all the worse by thoughts of Chicago and a friend moving there next month.
I got one pork taco and one potato & chorizo taco, since the latter was touted by one of the reviews. Potato & chorizo is fine, but the pork is where it’s at: a truly moist, meaty carnitas that’s flavorful enough to stand up to a pair of tortillas. The tortillas are store-bought, but freshly warmed on the griddle. The pico de gallo was just sad, beige tomato dice with barely a dusting of cilantro and onion. I brushed most of it off, and next time I will ask for just cilantro and onion. There will be a next time, on the strength of that carnitas, though overall it doesn’t hold a candle to the delights of Chicago Mexican. The new Cantina La Mexicana next door, though, is really quite a nice space, all dark wood and sparkling glassware at the bar, and with perfectly adequate Mexican food like this, it should do just fine in the Boston market.

Sofra. Ana Sortun’s new cafe/takeout place in Watertown. Go there. Now. IMMEDIATELY.
Why are you still reading this, did i not tell you to go eat at Sofra this instant? Turkish and North African mezze and pastries, all wrapped up in a fabulous green-enameled vintage building that I loved even before Ana filled it with tastiness.
Feta whipped with spicy pepper. Celery root turned into silky hummus with almonds and a whisper of garlic. Lentil and walnut mash drizzled with tangy pomegranate molasses. This is the stuff of a vegetable lover’s dream. It all makes for a gourmet dieter’s haven, assuming you can resist the exquisite-looking golden pastries and the smell of cheese borek. Damn.