Sometimes Less is More.

I bet when you read that headline, you thought that this posting was going to be about some meal that used beautiful, fresh ingredients and was spectacular by the very virtue of its simplicity (think: Insalata Caprese). Nope. It's about money.

A few years ago, Paul took me to L'Espalier for our anniversary and - there is no other way to say this - it was a huge disappointment. I think that it is fair to say that L'Espalier is considered to be Boston's finest restaurant. Zagat's has rated it it's number one choice in Boston for eight years running; chef Frank McClelland just won a James Beard award for Best Chef in the Northeast. To say that I was excited to go there was the understatement of the year. Here's the interesting part - I don't remember a thing about the food the first evening that we dined there (not a great sign). What I do remember is how painfully uncomfortable I was the entire night. It was stodgy and stuffy and ridiculously formal. The service was perfect, but in that highly refined way that makes you feel as though the servers are looking down their nose at you. I could not wait for the night to be over and I was never so sorry about a few hundred dollars spent on a meal.

I really had no intention of ever going back. Then, one night, I was talking about food & restaurants with some friends (surprise, surprise) and we found our way to discussing L'Espalier. After recounting my less than satisfying experience there, another friend piped in, "I go to L'Espalier all of the time - I love it." Sorry? I thought that the only people that were "regulars" at L'Espalier were seventy-year-old conservative bankers that lived in townhouses on the Ritz Carlton-end of Comm Ave? It suffices to say, this was not a description of the friend that had just uttered this line. Ok, I was intrigued... so I pressed for more.

Turns out, that our friend was devotee of L'Espalier's "Wine Mondays" and "Cheese Tuesdays." I had no idea such a thing even existed (the foodie shame was written all over my face)! Every Monday night L'Espalier offers a four course prix fixe menu, paired with wines, for $55! Every Tuesday they offer a four course prix fixe menu, paired with wines and finished with a robust cheese course, for $68! OMG. We were so going back. Now, as you might imagine, these events are super popular and you need to book early. Luckily, the friend that let us in on this little secret is very organized and we got reservations for four for this past Monday night.

I am the first one to arrive and I notice immediately that the tone of the staff is completely different on "Wine Monday" - the hostesses are young women who are friendly and easy going, and one personally shows me to the ladies room while I wait for my friends to get there. I decide to get seated solo at our table, since there is really no place to comfortably wait at L'Espalier. If you have not been there, L'Espalier is housed in this gorgeous Back Bay townhouse built in 1880. It makes for a spectacular atmosphere, but it is small. Rumor had it that the restaurant is set to move to much larger, much more modern digs in about a year. It seems a little sad to lose such a Boston institution from this uber-traditional setting.

Once again, the tempo in the dining room proves that Wine Monday is a totally different experience at L'Espalier. There are five groupings of tables for about ten people each, giving the room a communal, "family dining" feel. The room is about three-quarters full when I sit down and there is a loud din of talking and clinking of glasses. The diners are a wide range of ages, but everyone is well-dressed and fashionable, though not particularly formal. My friends soon arrive and we add to the increasing chatter in the room.

Wine Mondays always have a theme and this past week it was Bubbles, Bubbles Everywhere! As you might be able to tell from the goofy name, our meal is paired with four different sparkling wines, including one bona fide champagne. As the first course is being served and our first glass of bubbly is being poured, the restaurant's wine director Erik Johnson introduces himself. Johnson is younger and significantly more approachable (funny, even!) than you would ever imagine him to be. Before each course, he comments for a few brief moments about the wine we are about to drink, complete with a few details of its provenance, terrific anecdotes about the growers and vineyards from where it came, and simple, down to earth tasting notes. At one point, I had chance to ask him for advice for my upcoming wine tour of Long Island's North Fork. Unfortunately, he was not familiar with the wines of the region, but encouraged me to return to a future Wine Monday and report back on my findings - will do!

Our first course is cantaloupe with wild greens and prosciutto matched with a glass of Louis Bouillot, "Grand Reserve" Brut. The salad is simple, but a tasty balance of flavors with the sweet melon, bitter greens, and salty prosciutto, punctuated by just a scatter of tart pomegranate seeds. The wine is crisp, a good match for a salad course, but also sweet and soft on the tongue, pairing nicely with the cantaloupe.

The second course is "autumn rabbit cassoulet with braised red cabbage." Before tasting this dish, I have mixed feelings. Having lived in France on two brief occasions, I learned to love cassoulet - an earthy, peasant stew using local meats and seasonal veggies, all slow-cooked to fall off the bone deliciousness. However, I generally don't eat rabbit. I think it's something about eating an animal that I've actually owned (yup, two bunnies in my long roster of childhood pets - Houdini and Dudley). Plus, the one other time I did try rabbit, it was a bit gamey - one of my least favorite tastes with certain kinds of meat. This dish, however, is nothing short of spectacular. The rabbit is sweet and tender - almost smoky - and shredded to a confit-like consistency. The stew also contains small white beans, root vegetables perfect for an October dinner, and the tangy cabbage. This course is served with a Beaumont des Crayeres Brut Rose, which is apparently a tiny French producer who sources grapes from farms that average only an acre and a half. I love pink wine. 'Nuff said.

The next glass we're served is a Westport Rivers, Cuvee RJR Brut. Westport. As in Westport, MA. Raise your hand if you knew someone was making sparkling wine in southeast Mass. Please note, my hand did not go up. Not only are they making it, it is unbelievable. It is the kind of dense, dark sparkling wine that gives cream soda a run for its money. I'll be making a trip to Westport as soon as I am done typing. Johnson has become friends with the Russell family who owns the winery and, last time he visited, they served him a fried chicken dinner paired with their wine. So, we follow suit and eat fried chicken and gravy with kale and a buttermilk biscuit. It's all delicious, especially the flaky biscuit which is seasoned with a whole bouquet of herbs.

The prix fixe menu finishes with three small tastes of cheese, including Telme, Vacherin Fribourgeois, and a Gouda. The restaurant's cheesemonger takes over at this point and gives a short description of each. I believe he said that the Telme is Greek and somewhat similar to Feta. It has a clean taste like Feta, but less tang. The Vacherin Fribourgeois is a semi-soft stinky cheese which is full of ripe flavor - fantastic. The Gouda is well-aged and had really full flavor and crumbly texture. They are served with thin rounds of crisp French bread and a dollop of macerated golden raisins and nuts. The course was paired with a Beppe Marino, "Muray" Moscato d'Asti, which is only slightly effervescent and honey-sweet. It was good, though I've have muscats that I've enjoyed much more. This one was a little heavy.

In a valiant effort to prevent this lovely evening from ending, I order dessert to cap off the meal - creme brulee with orange-hazelnut biscotti. It is a large serving of creme brulee, with a nice, thick burnt-sugar crust. The "grapefruit salad" served alongside is a great citrus burst that cuts through the creaminess of the brulee. The servers also bring a complimentary selection of petits fours to each table. They are mostly indecipherable and forgettable, with a shining exception of a lightly sweet and tender mini-Madoline.

I'd give "Wine Monday" a L'Espalier at 30 Gloucester Street in Boston an A. Skip the traditional dining experience at this Boston legend. You can go to three Wine Mondays for the same expense and you'll have a much better time. What's more? You'll definitely remember the food.

Molto squisito!

I am not much of a brunch-goer. Brunch was sadly ruined for me a few years ago by reading Kitchen Confidential by famed chef Anthony Bourdain. If you've read the book, you know why I am saying this. Bourdain reveals that brunch is the bane of chefs' existence and that they will basically throw any slop at you on Sunday morning that they can come up with from ingredients on the cusp of going bad. Yum. Based on this, brunch is usually something that I do only when it is unavoidable (friends or family in town for the weekend), versus something that I volunteer for. However, this year my birthday fell on the official day of brunch (Sunday) and we are scheduled for a "big" dinner next weekend (an overnight to the North Fork in Long Island for some wine tasting!); so, brunch seemed like a good, casual choice for today.

Well, if I am going to go to brunch, it needs to be someplace I really want to try. After tossing around a few options last night, my husband thought of a gem - La Morra in Brookline. La Morra is a small, two-story place on Route 9 with dark, rustic decor. It serves traditional Italian fare - not the red sauce stuff they overdo in so many establishments, but good, earthy meats, pastas, and risottos. We ate an excellent dinner at La Morra about two years ago and were scheduled to return for brunch there a few weeks later, but had to cancel last minute when I came down with the flu. So, this was a chance to make up for a lost opportunity.

When we arrive at 11:30 in the morning, we are the only diners in the restaurant, aside from a large party of about eight - also celebrating a birthday. Already steeped in my prejudice about brunch, I take this as a bad sign. I should not have been so quick to judge. Despite the thin crowd, service is a little slow at the beginning. However, after that it is very good. Our young waitress appears to be in training, as she comes over to our table with another waitress and defers several questions to her. But their tandem teamwork is seamless and they both answer my questions about menu with ease. [Interestingly, a little later, I notice the older waitress massacre the answer to the same question that I asked for the diners who fill the table next to ours.] I was also impressed that, after being told we needed to wait a few moments until noon for drink orders (hey, when you are over thirty, you need to start drinking in the a.m. hours), the waitress remembers our wishes without a reminder and promptly brings our cocktails at twelve. The drinks are wonderful - a mimosa for Paul with freshly squeezed juice and Prosecco, and a Bloody Mary for me with freshly crushed salt & pepper on top and tons of shredded horseradish. Also a nice touch was the coffee, served in huge pottery mugs, giving a homey feel to the whole meal.

I don't think that I have yet talked about one my total food obsessions on this blog. Doughnuts. [Or, donuts, as a true Bostonian would prefer to call them.] I love doughnuts; my absolute favorite is vanilla frosted with sprinkles. If you are eating white trash food, you might as well go all the way. So, when I see on La Morra's brunch menu "fried donuts with spiced sugar," we just had to try them. While I don't quite know what to expect, they are not what I envisioned - though tasty all the same. They are small little balls of fried dough, so light you barely know that you are eating them. They are coated in a dense layer of sugar and cinnamon and served with sweetened ricotta dotted with lemon zest. The only thing that falls short with this course is the berries - sparse and not especially fresh.

Deciding on an entree is not an easy task. Three items on the menu, including a wild mushroom, mozzarella, and caramelized onion frittata as well as baccala (cod) cakes with pancetta hollandaise and poached eggs, look especially good. However, I ultimately decide on "eggs in a basket" - eggs baked inside two squares of polenta. Paul vies for some serious foodie status by urging me to order this dish by saying, "you know you want to see how that's prepared." I did. [Another husband-foodie moment at the table included him mentioning the "bitter balance" the arugula gave his meal. Wow!] The eggs in a basket are excellent - fully cooked whites with a soft yolk, surrounded by soft polenta with specks of sage and a crispy crust. All of this was topped with strips of roasted red and yellow peppers, wilted swiss chard, and a healthy dusting of Parmesan. It was as beautiful as it was flavorful.

Paul ordered equally well with an open-faced steak sandwich topped with fried eggs and hollandaise sauce. It was outstanding. The bottom layer was a dense piece of crusty Italian bread, followed by thick slice of salty pancetta, crisp, spicy arugula, well-seasoned sliced flank steak, two fried eggs, and a just-right dollop of hollandaise. The combination of flavors was superb. The only criticism was that it was a little on the salty side; whether that was due entirely to the pancetta, or from a liberal hand with the salt on all elements of the dish, was a little unclear. The roasted potatoes on the side were simple, but prepared perfectly - finished in a fry pan to give them a nice crunchy skin.

I'd give La Morra at 48 Boylston Street (Route 9) in Brookline an A-. Next time that I have to go to brunch, I'll be heading back to La Morra.

Grilled Steak + X = Excellence

I was always a pretty good student. With that said, in my entire academic career, I only ever received one A+ on my report card (it was in Algebra... is that too nerdy, or what?). Sure, I probably got a half dozen A+s on tests or papers over the years, but only once on the overall grade.

When I started this blog a few weeks ago, my choice of evaluation method for restaurants was totally random. I walked out of B&G Oysters feeling like it was basically a B+ experience, so I used that rating in my first posting and I've basically just stuck with it. However, I now find myself in a dilemma. What defines an A+ restaurant? Could there be such an establishment? Can you make that assessment in one visit? How do you measure completely abstract aspects of a restaurant experience, such as food, selection, service, atmosphere? This is no 2X + 4 = 8, solve for X. This is much tougher, much more subjective, much more art than science.

Even as I write this, I remain uncertain of how to score Grill 23 & Bar. I had the enormous pleasure of dining there on Friday night and it will not be a meal that I soon forget. Grill 23 was definitely on my "wish list." It is consistently rated the best steakhouse in Boston, so it seemed like the perfect choice for my husband's birthday. This man is a slave to his grill. He likes a good piece of charred meat. So I knew he would love it, however, I certainly didn't expect to be so overwhelmed. I was. It was incredible.

When we arrive, I am surprised by the size of the place - it's huge. The first floor must have nearly 100 tables. Paul notices too, though his feedback is, "it's loud." I agree, but it doesn't bother me; I love a place with a bit of a bustle and Grill 23 definitely has it. It also has the dark wood, black & white tile floor decor of a true, traditional steakhouse, which is just what you what it to look like. Due to a happy accident of having a late reservation (seriously, who can make it to dinner at seven on a Friday?! I've barely left work by then.), we are escorted to a room on the second floor with a clubby, bookish feel. It's much quieter and Paul is pleased. Good; it's his birthday after all.

The servers are quick to the table and knowledgeable, but not pushy. Just what I am looking for in a good waiter or waitress. I feel a little sorry for them having to wear those ridiculous ivory-colored wait "coats" that look like straitjackets. Oh well, I guess it's all part of the tradition. I also need to take a second to acknowledge that they asked for permission before removing anything from the table, from my nearly-finished gin and tonic to the bread basket. Also a huge plus for me. Who hasn't had the last nibble of their meal scooped up by an overly aggressive waiter, leaving you with your mouth hanging open and fork poised mid-air. Oh, how I hate that!

The menu is simple, but absolutely full of things I would like to eat! I am usually fairly decisive when I see the menu selection, but choosing at Grill 23 takes me a bit of consideration. I finally settle on a fois gras appetizer and the dry-aged New York strip steak, with a side of buttered asparagus. Paul goes for traditional (read: boring) shrimp cocktail, filet mignon, and mashed potatoes. While we wait for our meals, we nibble on the bread, which is a standout, as far as bread can be a standout. The foccacia, baked with Tuscan veggies like sun-dried tomatoes and slices of portabello mushroom, as well as the cracker-like flatbread, dotted with red pepper flakes, are especially good.

Our appetizers arrive relatively quickly and the are nothing short of beautiful. The shrimp are jumbo and plated artfully on a bed of crushed ice. The fois gras is pure art. Now, before you get all PETA on me, let me just say, I KNOW. Fois gras is so cruel it is actually outlawed in some countries. But it is just so delicious, you must eat it at least once in your life. It's an experience. Mine is seared to caramelized perfection and served stacked on two small herbed crepes stuffed with a sweet-spicy onion chutney with a drizzle of demi-glace on the plate. It is one of the finest courses I've ever eaten.

With our apps, we've moved on to a bottle of Lazy River Pinot Noir from the Willamette Valley just outside of Portland, Oregon. It's a wine that Paul and I tasted at the vineyard about two years ago when we toured the region. The Pinot Noir from that area is spectacular and ours was a great pairing with the fois gras, as well as the steaks. The wine list at Grill 23, as you might expect, is an absolute tome. The priciest bottle that I see is $3,200. Holy Crap. Paul will have to wait till next year for that one.

When the steaks arrive, I can see and smell that they are perfect before even tasting them. And they are. Seared just enough on the outside to give them a tasty, crunchy crust, while still pink and tender on the interior. They are topped with a butter sauce that is outstanding, but totally indecipherable. My foodie curiosity has been raised! What is that mystical combination? The waitress later reveals that it includes Worcestershire sauce, hot sauce, garlic salt, amongst "other" ingredients. I would have never sorted that out on my own. The thin asparagus has a simple drizzle of butter with some Parmesan shavings and cracked black pepper. I am astounded at how they have prepared it with just the right tender-crisp consistency - I can barely achieve that at home when cooking for just me and Paul, much less thousands of diners a night. Sadly, Paul's mashed potatoes are a total disappointment. They've formed a gummy film from sitting out too long and lack any punch of flavor.

We polish the meal off with a chocolate mousse cake, per Mr. Chocoholic's choice. Again, his birthday. The cake is delicious and comes in a huge portion. The cake layers are moist (something all restaurants struggle with) and the mousse is dense, all covered with a rich, dark ganache. What especially impresses me is the quality of this finish. Many, many places serve fine food only fail short on the dessert course. It seems to me that they invest so much in a chef de cuisine, the pastry chef just plays second fiddle. This is not the case at Grill 23.

Before I wrap up this post and get to that grade (I'm not procrastinating, I swear!), I feel that I need to cover price. This was an incredible meal. It was also the second most expensive that we've ever had in Boston. The Boston Globe Magazine just wrote a fascinating article about the increasing cost of high-end meals in Boston. The article focuses much of its critique on the "$40 steak" and the marketing propaganda that restaurants serve up around terms like "dry-aged" and "hand-picked," both of which are used on the Grill 23 menu. I'm not sure where I stand on this debate, though I am certainly a believer that all good meals start with quality ingredients. However, I didn't have a single issue with what we paid at Grill 23, though it had nothing to do with the provenance of the meat. The execution of the meal was exquisite and, ultimately, made it one of the best I've ever had.

But was it an A+? I'd have to say no. When you are gauging a meal like this, frankly, every detail matters. Which ones didn't quite get it the "+"? The potatoes. Really, steak and potatoes are a classic combination - who doesn't order the mashed potatoes? They needed to kick a** to match the steaks. They didn't. Also, I booked this reservation through OpenTable. In my booking, I sent a note to the maitre'd that it was Paul's birthday. Despite this, there was no special fanfare for him during dinner, leaving me to believe he wasn't really paying attention to the information provided by the site. Lastly, the next day, I received an e-mail from OpenTable noting that I seemed to have "missed my reservation" because I didn't check in and, therefore, risked losing my "points." I have no idea what OpenTable points are and I could care less about losing them, but I was a little ticked all of the same. Was I now somehow blackmarked on the site? If Grill 23 is going to allow you to book through OpenTable, they need to close the loop with them. Otherwise, the service seems lacking.

I'd give Grill 23 & Bar at 161 Berkeley Street in Boston an A. Just do it. Empty your checking account and GO.

Have the collahed greens, y’all ain’t in Bawston no moah.

A girl doesn’t start a blog called the “Foodie’s Guide to the Hub” without a reasonable amount of confidence in her local restaurant knowledge. If I haven’t eaten somewhere, I at least know a little about the chef’s bio, or I’ve read the review, or – bare minimum – I’ve heard of it. Right? Wrong. Recently, Paul and I made dinner plans with our foodie friend and her husband (“friend of foodie”) and she asked, “should I pick a place?” Sure, yes, great, always up for a new adventure (secretly certain she would pick a place off of my “wish list”). Next thing I know, to my inbox arrives an invitation from OpenTable (a great website, by the way) for dinner for four at… Bob’s Southern Bistro. I’m sorry, where? There’s a Southern Bistro? In Boston (the South End no less!)? And who is this mysterious Bob, anyways? A place I’d never even heard of… well, now we had to give it a try. Besides, when a girl from Alabama tells you where to get good southern soul food in the city, you go.

The first thing that tells me that Bob’s is going to be a different kind of joint is it’s sign. It’s huge. And neon. The restaurant ends up being kind of long and skinny in shape, so the giant, block-long sign belies how cozy the place is once you get in. The second thing I notice is the eclectic crowd in the restaurant – definitely a bunch that look like they have been coming to Bob’s for a very long time. Turns out, Bob “the Chef” has been turning out southern cuisine in Boston for nearly 50 years. The décor is funky and the walls are crammed with original art, including large oils of famous jazz musicians done in all gray tones and these outstanding folk art collages by Ekua Homes. Up front is a tiny stage, filled to the limit with instruments. The affect of this cumulative atmosphere transports you right out of Boston to a nondescript side street in the French Quarter. I love it already.

The place is pretty full even at 6:30 and they are short staffed – the barman is running late, so the host is tending drinks. So getting a glass of wine and a table takes a few extra minutes. I am so enamored of checking out all of the art, I don’t even care. When the bartender finally does arrive, his white shirt is open and his bow tie is slung around his neck, but not tied. I immediately think of him as just finishing up playing a gig somewhere and racing off to his night job. It’s so New Orleans-esque, I wonder if the unkempt look was intentional.

When we finally do sit, the band is just getting started. It’s very loud, which makes it a challenge to catch up with our friends. On the plus side, the music is excellent – upbeat and authentic. The lead is a rail-thin lady in her fifties who plays the hell out of the sax. It was very cool to see a woman playing, since jazz is usually dominated by men. Our tiny waitress is friendly and helpful with the menu, though I had to ask her to come over and stand right next to me so I could hear her. We order a huge pile of food while simultaneous wolfing down the delicious corn muffins that the host has brought over.

Abandoning all care of my arteries, I order – yup, I am a little sheepish to even admit it – fried chicken, with sides of mac & cheese and collard greens. My cohorts order more of the same, as well as ribs, mashed potatoes, rice & beans, and… “Chicken & Waffle.” I am assured that this is a true Southern tradition. “Friend of foodie” tells me it comes from the days of the jazz musicians heading home from the clubs at dawn and stopping for a meal – it was sort of dinner and sort of breakfast, so chicken & waffle was born. I love this, not only because we’re ordering the weirdest thing on the menu, but also because I am a total tramp for useless trivia. I am a ringer in Trivial Pursuit. This is so going into the mind vault.

Our dinners come quickly and the portions are generous. Now, I am about to give you my thoughts on the meal, but I first need to say, I am far from an expert on this type of cuisine. There are those in the food world that have spent dozens of years perfecting the right fry batter and coating for the chicken, as well as technique for getting just the right crispiness and color in the fryolater. I make boring, health-concious, baked faux-fried chicken at home, so basically any true fried chicken is good to me. And Bob’s is. They call it “glorifried” – cute, right? The fried coating was thick and super crunchy and just a touch spicy, with a healthy dose of black pepper. The meat itself was a little dry. The sides are also quite yummy. The mac & cheese is good, with a nice baked top and visible curds of cheese, and the collard greens are excellent, spicy (red pepper?) and flavored with onions and, perhaps, chicken broth. Bites of Paul’s dinner also showed off really tasty mashed potatoes as well as ribs with a nice smokey-sweet sauce, though again, the meat was a little on the dry side. The only true disappointment of the meal was dessert. Having seen sweet potato pie on the menu, I was hankering for that. Sadly they were out of the sweet potato and I ordered the pecan pie, which the waitress proclaimed, “pretty good.” She was generous. It was pretty bad. While not a great ending, the overall meal was terrific – though probably just a once a year treat. I am still full the next day!

I’d give Bob’s Southern Bistro at 604 Columbus Avenue in the South End a B. Be sure to have an extra side! Oh, and skip dessert and order another cold Red Stripe. The latter will be way more satisfying and still gives you squatter’s rights to a table, so that you can linger over another jam or two from the band.

Second Chances

I am a big believer in second chances. This applies to my life overall – we won’t go into that right now - but definitely to restaurants as well. Every place can have a bad night. Every place has at least one dish that is less than stellar. So, I generally don’t write a place off after a single visit. However, once a place has disappointed me twice, it is dead to me. This is not baseball, people (thank god, if restaurants were as undependable as the Sox, you’d have to commit me!), there aren’t three strikes!

Alas, a potentially-talented hopeful got its second chance last night – and failed – again. When I’d heard a few months ago that the folks from the Washington Square Tavern were opening a second outpost a little further down Beacon, I was thrilled. Washington Square Tavern is one of my favorite spots in the city. It’s small and dark inside and the décor is minimal, but elegant in a way you would not expect from the local pub. They serve great wine and consistently great food. I love it there.

Sadly, I can not say the same for the Beacon Street Tavern. Its one major advantage, no question, is a fantastic patio out front. Al fresco dining is a rarity in Brookline and the people watching, especially on a game night, is outstanding. From there, it kind of slides downhill. The bar area is large, but it is framed on one side by these two weird, giant velvet couch-banquets where people are dining. The bar inevitably gets busy and you’re bumping into the tables, annoying the diners and dodging the waitresses. The main dining area attempts to recreate the cool, sedate, upscale look of WST, but it’s just too big to carry it off. The room feels empty, not cozy – plus there’s this odd secondary bar in the back. I just don’t know what the point of that is?

But at the end of the day, who cares, right? Isn’t all about the food? If only the food could save the Beacon Street Tavern. The first time I went, my food was entirely passable. Given that was a few weeks back, I don’t remember the details of it perfectly, but I do know that I ordered a salad and the fish tacos. The salad was good, if standard fare, the tacos themselves were tasty enough – spicy, with well-cooked white fish. However, the sides seemed to have some right out of a box of Old El Paso. At the end of the meal, I chastised myself a bit for ordering a somewhat weird dish. The WST had never failed me with upscale, bistro dishes like pan-seared fish and grilled pork chops. I left feeling that it was me, the menu-item-picker, who had failed.

Ok, so not a great start. But I was willing to give it another go. Last night, we had a guest in from out of town who was hoping to grab a quick dinner with us, as well as some other friends and family that live in Cambridge. With Brookline being a good spot in the middle, we opted to try the Beacon Street Tavern again. First off, parking was a nightmare. This was no fault of the Tavern, but was certainly not a plus for the location. After three full loops around Beacon, we found a spot and made it to the restaurant. It was relatively empty and we got a table right away.

Our table was serviced quickly with bread and water and drink orders. The bread was coated with toasted sesame seeds and came with a nice garlicky hummus, which was a great sesame-tahini flavor combo. From there on in, service ground to a halt. Our waitress was very sweet and pleasant, but didn’t seem to be communicating well with the kitchen, which ended up in a screwed up order of oysters not once, but twice (a funny menu item for this place to begin with). Both times they corrected the order, but it left you wondering what would happen on a busy night. Then came the waiting for the dinner. And the waiting. Waiting. It must have been a good 25 minutes before we were served our entrees. Those reading the blog with rapt attention will remember that I said the place was all but deserted. I am ninety percent sure the kitchen staff was all watching the ball game (it was the Yankees, after all). There was also the biggest crash of plates and silverware I’ve ever seen in a restaurant. A good twenty pieces must have hit the floor.

Finally, the waitress emerged and my dinner was before me; the BST’s second chance awaited. I gave the place my best possible effort by ordering the pan-seared bass with haricots verts and a hash brown patty. A dish that I KNEW would have kicked ass at the WST. At the BST, it more or less just kicked the bucket. The fish itself was good – well-cooked and moist – but it was served in what was described on the menu as a tomato coulis – a substance that ended up being an overly-sweet, almost marinara-like sauce, just without the tasty Italian spices. The fish was layered on a mound of thin green beans that were drenched in butter and another huge flat surface that I, at first, took to be another piece of fish – it ended up being the hash brown, so overcooked that it was the same blackish color of the bass’ skin. I ate about two bites. My fellow diner ordered a side of sweet potato fries, which were outstanding.

So, I won’t be giving the Beacon Street Tavern another chance. It has had its two and there are plenty of other places out there that serve terrific food - I just hope one of them is still the Washington Street Tavern. I’ve not been back there since my two visits to the BST and I can’t help but wonder, does the BST fall short because it is the neglected second child? Or have both establishments withered while attention is now being split between the two? I hope the latter is not true.

I’d give the Beacon Street Tavern, at 1032 Beacon Street in Brookline, a C. Skip it and pay its lovely sister a visit, just up the road.

Sometimes the food doesn’t matter.

Remember the dot com era? Business ideas that were formed in five minutes over beers and got their first million of VC funding because it was web-based and that alone was enough? Huge, funky-posh workplaces spaces where the 26-year-old CEO had an office the size of your studio apartment? Never, ever, ever actually making money? Ah, those were the days! Despite the nauseating roller-coaster ride that was the very definition of that time, I have nothing but fond memories. I was enormously fortunate to have found a job straight out of college with, quite literally, the best people in the world. Many of them are still amongst my best friends and, last night, I got to dine with four of them. At On the Border. The chain restaurant. Off the highway. In Woburn. Wow.

I am compelled to admit that this is not the first time I’ve been to On the Border. Or the second. I’ve been there at least five or six times. On the Border is – no exaggeration – the most convenient place on earth. It’s right off the highway, right at the intersection of 93 and 95. Most everyone can get there in about thirty minutes and everyone knows where it is (I bet you’re thinking to yourself right now, “I’ve been there…”), so it’s truly a great meeting spot. The food, service, and atmosphere, as with most chains, leave something to be desired.

First of all, On the Border is a really large place – it must fit a few hundred diners – and they have, approximately, two parking spots. After two loops around, I gave up and parked in the motel lot next door. My six-months-pregnant friend who was meeting us had to park across the street. Not an exceptional start. Secondly, the place is mobbed. I literally had to step around people to get in the door and then I waited en masse (no line, that would have actually been some form of organization that would have assured that we were taken care of the in the order we came in) for the hostess to put my name on the list. A forty-five minute wait. On a Thursday. In Woburn. Ok. Luckily, one friend wasn’t due to arrive until about then, so it was fine for us.

I was the first there, but another of my friends arrived within ten minutes, so we decided to fight our way to the bar. The two bartenders trying to serve about 800 patrons at once were understandably scattered. Though, forgetting my order four seconds after I gave it to him was still a bit much. My margarita arrived in a goblet that must have been used in Camelot and it was sticky, sweet, and clearly from a mix. However, it was a margarita, so, yum! Our other friends arrived and we were seated reasonably soon.

You know how I talked about loving tapas and appetizers and little nibbles of things? I’ll give you one guess as to how I feel about chips and salsa. Oh, sweet manna from heaven. I am truly not picky about chips and salsa; my strong preference is for chips that are super hot from the fryer with a reasonable layer of table salt and fresh, chunky salsa that is more what I would call pico de gallo. This is not what they have an On the Border, but that was fine… chips and salsa are chips and salsa (theirs was very spicy, which I enjoyed, but thought to be a funny choice for a huge chain serving hundreds of different palates), plus, the waitress brought three baskets of chips for the five of us. Right on.

I did mention that this was a girls’ night, right? Five girlfriends that worked together in our 20s, mostly single and all childless at the time, and totally, completely, fully insane. We are pretty tame now – all married and all with two kids, except me – but we love to relive the old days when we get together. So, needless to say, the poor waitress must have had to make three fly-bys before we’d actually stop talking for a millisecond to look at the menu. I literally chose the first thing I saw a picture of (ah, chains…) – carne asada soft tacos. I have to say, overall they were quite tasty. Having, naturally, totally filled up on chips before my meal even arrives, I focus on eating the tacos and ignoring the black beans and rice on the side, which looked a bit bland anyway. The tacos came with a few slices of avocado, shredded lettuce, and a small portion of pico de gallo, which were all welcome additions. The beef was a bit too charred on the outside, but was cooked to a perfect degree of done-ness otherwise and it came with this creamy sauce to drizzle on that was seasoned with chipotles – definitely the highlight of the dish. Weirdly, the tacos also came piled with fried, thin onion rings – I pulled most of them out and only left a few for the onion-y flavor. While I enjoy thick, soft tortillas, theirs were too doughy and more pita-like than even I wanted.

And you know what? None of it mattered. At one point, I laughed so hard at dinner, I actually had to sprint to the ladies room to avoid a potential “incident.” I got caught up with my girls and saw photos of their kids. We commiserated on frustrations and celebrated accomplishments. We stayed so late, they finally turned on the overhead lights and ushered us out. Then we all had to drive home. From Woburn. So, that part kind of sucked, but the company was hard to beat and I’ll go back to On the Border any time, day or night, to have a meal with those girls again. I may even order the carne asada tacos. They weren’t too bad.

I’d give On the Border at 19 Commerce Way in Woburn, MA a C+. Go with good friends and you won’t care.

Ok, so I get it about the corn.

Have you ever had that experience where some movie comes out and everyone talks to you about it and how fabulous it is? Then you go and the movie is good, but let's face it, it's not the second coming. Then you're bummed because, if no one had ever talked about it, you would have thought the movie was great... it was just burdened by all that build up.

I had that fear when going to Toro tonight. There'd been a lot of build up: Best of Boston, Spanish for two years running, Top 25 Dishes in the City (Grilled Corn), multiple glowing kudos from friends... how could it possibly live up? In short, it does.

I love TAPAS. Love it, love it, love it. It's like a cuisine custom made for me. I want to try a hundred different things, even if it only means one bite of each. If I go to a party with good apps, it's all over for me - I eat so many, I rarely care about the main meal. So, tapas is a perfect way to eat, in my opinion. I think I have eaten at all the major tapas spots in the city - Tapeo, Dali, Cuchi Cuchi, Taberna de Haro, Tasca (which was right across the street from my first apartment in Boston - it was fated!). If there are others, please let me know about them! Dali is my absolute favorite restaurant in the city - the food is great and the atmosphere is like no where else on earth. Each of these places offers very traditional tapas, except Cuchi Cuchi. I love traditional, but I am also always up for something new. That is definitely what Toro offers.

This shouldn't come as any major surprise, right? Toro is the second? third? outpost of Ken Oringer's growing list of restaurants - all featuring cuisine from a different part of the world. Oringer's skill with food is beyond genius; so much so that we'll forgive him his giant ego (so they say, and, really, don't all the great chefs?). And Toro keeps true to his reputation of creativity and exquisite execution.

First, let's get this business about the corn out of the way. EVERYONE that has ever been to Toro talks about the corn on the cob. I couldn't believe this... it's corn. You can buy ten pounds of it at a road side stand for, what?, thirty-five cents? Foolish girl. It's_really_that_good. I swear. It is grilled to smoky, sweet perfection and then covered in garlicky sauce and cheese (queso fresco? I'm not quite sure.) and then doused with lime. Holy crap. It's unreal. Just go. Eat the corn. Don't be the cynic I was.

So, you can't survive on corn alone, I know... the tortilla was egg-y perfection with a dollop of sour cream, raw tuna dressed with soy and scallions and teensy oyster mushrooms, tart chicken thighs with sticky, honey-like farro, tender grilled bistec with balsamic-y carmelized onions. Wow! All exceptional and unusual.

Less impressive were the portions. While tapas is supposed to just be a small taste, some plates came out with barely enough for the four of us sharing the meal to each get a bite. The sangria and dessert - doughy, bland churros with a spicy chocolate dipping sauce - were both ok, but no match for the meal.

I'd give Toro at 1704 Washington St, Boston, MA an A-. Stick with the main tapas and skip dessert. The service was also outstanding and knowledgeable.

"I take objection to the word 'rodent.'"

Oh boy. Who's read today's Globe?

I woke up super late this morning (enjoying to the fullest my last day of a mini-break/long weekend that I took from work) and plodded downstairs. My husband, already caffinated and watching "Meet the Press," immediately says, "wait till you see the paper!" No "good morning," no "would you like some coffee?" (I would, thank you, guess I'll get it myself!), just, "look at the front page."

While not exactly the main front-page story, there it is - above the fold and all - a small photo of my beloved Mistral with a headline that includes the word "violations." Uh-oh. The article is a most unflattering expose of some local restaurants and their non-Health Code-friendly practices. Mistral is mentioned, as well as Figs, the Federalist, Union Oyster House, Clio, McCormick and Schmick, Top of the Hub, Aquitaine, Sonsie, Harvard Club, and Smith and Wollensky. Legal Seafood is also discussed, but in a positive light regarding to their commitment to cleanliness. What a PR nightmare for the others.

Now, I am about as far from a germaphobe as they get. Last week, at Fenway Park, my friend insisted we rinse our plastic spoons that came from a filthy, open bin before we ate our ice cream. This was a perfectly reasonable request. However, it was also something I would have never considered. I am a big believer in the idea that exposure to a few germs will build your immunities! With all of that said, even I was grossed out by more than one fact in the article.

The same ice used for customers' drinks also used to store bottles of wine? Kinda ew. Hollandaise kept below the acceptable temp? Ew! Meat and seafood thawing in the same water? Double ew! Wiping the edge of a plate heading out to the dining room with a sponge that was sitting in stagnant water? Ew, ew, ew, ew, ew!!

While, as a diner, I am slightly put off by these things, there was actually another aspect of the story that I found even more offensive. I have spent the better part of my career in marketing, specifically with some amount of experience in PR. Negative stories about your product, company, service can be hard to control. What's not hard to control are your comments to the press.

First, on the PR-front, I have to give quick kudos to Jamie Mammano, the chef at Mistral. His comments, briefly summarized as, "we are very successful, but we know we screwed up on this, we're working to address it immediately," were an appropriate and well-formed response to the article. He actually managed to make Mistral come out looking ok, despite being at the center of this hugely damaging article.

Less successful? A few of his peers in the industry... without mentioning names (just read the actual article), remarks ranged from, "we've never had any problems and I am not going to discuss the problems we've had," to "it's not right to look at our record over the past few years and print it in the paper," to the all time best comment ever (in response to finding droppings in his restaurant), "I take objection to the word 'rodent.'" Oh my word. Listen, Mr. M, let's call a duck a duck and a mouse a mouse. I don't care if mice are cute with their little whiskers and pink noses (I totally kept a mouse when I was a kid... little Rodriguez was one of my favorite pets of all time!), we don't want them near us when we're spending $100 on dinner!

Well, this article was gross and upsetting, but it still doesn't quell my desire to go out to eat. I'll be out on Tuesday night (How can CORN be that good? I can't wait to see.) and trying not to look too closely at the floor. However, I am hopeful that it encourages some restaurants to literally and figuratively clean up their acts - at least until the next Sunday Globe comes out! Even more though, I hope the folks that gave those absolutely moronic comments get a call from the "main office" reminding them that they are representatives of their businesses and, next time, they should consider a little PR coaching before talking to the press. I am available for a steep hourly fee.

I feel like a lobster roll.

That was my husband's request when, last night, we discussed a venture out into the city for lunch today. Lobster roll, huh? I know just the place.

I've lived in Boston for just over ten years and, in that time, I've become more and more of a foodie. To my great pleasure, the city has kept up with my interest by adding more & more great restaurants than one girl can reasonably try - but I do my best. I even have a spreadsheet to help me keep track. Super nerdy, I know.

I'd just been making some updates to said spreadsheet when my crustacean-loving partner began making demands. There is, of course, an entry on my sheet for B&G Oysters in the South End. Having heard about their infamous lobster roll, I knew that would satisfy Paul's hankerings.

Now, having just claimed to be a major Boston foodie, I am about to admit something that shames me greatly. I have never eaten at No. 9 Park. Sigh. It's been on my "list" forever, I've just never actually managed to get there. So, the idea of having a little impromptu lunch at one of the places in uber-Boston-chef, Barbara Lynch's, growing empire, was very good indeed. Before making a final commitment, I warned Paul, "it's going to be kind of expensive... probably $20 for just the lobster roll." "No problem." Really? Great, let's go!

We headed out at about one o'clock for the quick trip to the South End. One fabulous thing about lunch in the city? The parking! We pulled easily into a metered spot just a block down Tremont from the restaurant. As we entered the subterranean little space, I noticed their great patio for al fresco dining. At nearly 100 degrees and high humidity, we'll save that for another day. On entering, the first thing I notice is the size of the restaurant - tiny! - with low ceilings. That's a lot coming from me, since I am 5'2". However, the cramped space is all in the name of a good cause - at least half of the floor plan is taken up by the exposed kitchen. I pretty much love any place where you get to be privy to watching the chefs cook. The decor is super serene and calming - all brown-gray tones with intricately patterned, wood-paneled walls on one end and glass-tiled walls on the other.

Despite already having passed the lunch rush by the time we arrived, we waited for a few moments at the host station and ended up with a table by the door. Aside from that, service was good - quick and knowledgeable, if not friendly. The first thing I notice when we are handed our menus is the price of the lobster roll - $25. I laugh out loud. Oh well, we're here now! The menu is limited, which is fine. We're here for the lobster, which means we are totally ready to order by the time the waiter comes to inquire about drinks.

Since we've come to place dedicated to a delicacy that neither Paul nor I actually eat (oysters), we order a few pieces of shrimp cocktail as a compulsory nod to the raw bar. The shrimp are excellent - gigantic and firm, served on this perfect bed of crushed ice. The cocktail sauce is tasty, though I would have preferred more horseradish. Paul likes a mild cocktail sauce, so he was quite content.

Just a few moments after finishing our shrimp, our entrees arrive. For Paul, the traditional lobster roll; for me, the lobster BLT. Now, before I go on here, I need to be forthcoming about two things. First, I know lobster pretty well. I went to college in Maine and I've spent a few summer weeks in one Maine seacoast town or another since I was thirteen. Secondly, I am a purist. Lobster needs a little melted butter - nothing more, nothing less. So I am not sure what possessed me to order a big pile of lobster only to fuss it up with bacon, semi-dried tomatoes, and a giant ciabatta bun.

As a BLT alone, the sandwich would have been an absolute standout - thick bacon, with sweet, smoky tomatoes, and soft, powdery bun - and it would have been a relative bargain at $13. The lobster got lost in the smokiness and bread-y-ness. Luckily, Paul and I did half-sies and I got to try a good portion of the traditional roll. It was delicious - just touched with a hint of mayo and sprinkle of chives. Definitely the way to go... though, still a lot to swallow (or a little, as the case may be) for more than twenty bucks.

I would also be remiss to not mention the sides that come with the sandwiches, as they were outstanding and beautifully plated. For me, homemade potato chips fresh from the fryer with lots of weird shapes, just the way you want them. Paul's lobster roll came with fries that were - there is no other word - perfect. Brown and crispy with a dusting of coarse Kosher salt and a little parsley. Yum! Both plates came with slightly sweet pickle chips and excellent coleslaw - super thin strips of cabbage with a vinegar dressing.

Overall, I'd give B&G Oysters (550 Tremont Street, Boston, MA 02118) a B+. Solid entrees with great attention to the sides in a pleasant setting and good service.

I am looking forward to my next outing to Toro on Tuesday! Who hasn't heard about that corn on the cob? I will be sure to report back.