Given that Cambodian-French cuisine often proves to be challenging hunting down in the suburbs, Paul’s Palate donned his own safari hat and ventured into the jungles of Boston in search of a particular elephant – Elephant Walk, that is – to appease his dining desires. Much praise has been heaped upon the unique, sometimes adventurous ingredients and flavors emanating from this revered restaurant’s kitchens (additional locations in Cambridge and Waltham), so I decided to see if this Elephant was worth trumpeting about.
With its Boston location practically bordering upon Brookline (Beacon Street), Elephant Walk’s ambience is casually cool. Particularly noteworthy is its funky South Pacific-themed dining room, which includes several versions of elephants propped up against yellow walls. Be prepared, however: the open-aired room eliminates any possibility for an intimate meal. Also, what gives with the untidy bathrooms – located downstairs, no less - for such a moderately upscale restaurant?
Appetizers start our meal off on a positive note. Rouleaux – Cambodian spring rolls – are moist and flavorful. These are not your average spring rolls – nothing on the menu is traditional, for that matter – and are stuffed with a combination of ground pork, crushed peanut, bean thread, carrot and onion. Sweet tuk trey dipping sauce is merely a bonus, since the spring rolls are stand-alone scrumptious. Even better: the Nataing - ground porked simmered in coconut milk with sliced garlic, crushed peanut, and chili pods – which is served alongside crispy jasmine rice to be dipped into the concoction. What might sound a bit unconventional is pure culinary bliss. It’s the Cambodian equivalent of chili and nachos, only infinitely better.
Second courses are a mixed bag. Salade de Bleu au Poire William - tossed greens with Gorgonzola cheese, toasted walnut, balsamic vinaigrette, pan-roasted pear, and Poire William coulis – sounds like a delicious meshing of flavors, but sadly falls flat. There’s surprisingly little of the pear (which is delicious), and the vinaigrette – a sweet and sour glaze which should pull together all of the ingredients – is bland. Faring much better is the avocado soup – deliberately served cold – that is the perfect light and refreshing solution for a hot summer day. Add in succulent mushrooms along with citrus-lemon juice and cilantro for some bite, and there you have your Cambodian version of gazpacho.
Entrees, in one word, soar. Khar Saiko Kroeung – braised short ribs – is a spectacular success. What’s more rare to find in this area – an elephant or meaty, perfectly cooked, tender short ribs? Sometimes, I think it’s the latter, but Elephant Walk’s version is stellar, served alongside Shanghai noodles sauteed with baby bok choy, bean sprouts and scallion, a perfect compliment to suck up the juices flowing from the meat. Curry de Crevettes is not your mother’s traditional Thai curry, which is sometimes bland and heavy. This dish, served with jumbo shrimp, asparagus, baby bok choy (can one ever have enough of this wonderful Chinese cabbage?), eggplant, snow peas, and yellow squash, is spiced up with red pepper and a wonderfully light red curry sauce. While I detect a slight hint of fishiness to the curry (though not off-putting in the least), my companion finds this concoction to be her favorite one from our evening’s selections. Given the large portion sizes that preceded dinner, the two of us decide to pass on dessert.
Service is capable enough, though far from perfect. Although our waitress is genial enough, she’s a bit too prompt with our meals. The three courses seem to immediately follow one another, leaving little time to digest and appreciate what we have just eaten (we were seated for an hour).
Pass on the cocktails, which sound appealing but are rather blasé by this imbiber’s standards. A green tea mojito is refreshing enough and packed with mint, but its taste is not all that distinct from your average mojito filled with rum. A ginger-lemon martini is loaded with an exorbitant amount of ginger and not enough lemon. It’s far too bitter and lacks tartness. While we’re at it, pass on the bread as well, which is nearly stale and virtually inedible. Thankfully, the remainder our meals wash out this bad taste from our mouths.
Value cannot be beaten at this establishment. Prix-fixe menus range from $29.95 for three courses, and $33.95 for four. If you’re seeking out additional dinner options, starters average around $7-8, entrees at $16-18, and desserts at $8. Vegan and gluten-free menus are also available, a nice gesture from the owners not lost on this reviewer. Valet parking is $7, though there is a bevy of meter parking available alongside Beacon Street.
Would Paul’s Palate book a return trip to Elephant Walk? Surely, especially with his wallet not all that much lighter from when he entered the restaurant (and in this economy, that is most certainly a good thing). Would Elephant Walk be the first place worth visiting on his safari itinerary? Let’s just say I’d like to travel to other dining destinations beforehand.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Monday, March 2, 2009
Hungry Mother Needs A Scolding
Please allow me to be the first and perhaps last food critic to express my disappointment in Hungry Mother. Sure, it’s had an inordinate amount of hype and positive press behind it since its opening last year in Cambridge, MA. But Chef/Owner Barry Maiden’s French-Southern comfort cuisine – a rarity in the city to be sure – left me perplexed about what the hubbub has been all about.
Maiden – a Virginia native who previously spent his days as Chef de Cuisine under Michael Leviton at West Newton’s much revered Lumiere – clearly cooks with passion for all things Southern, as evidenced by adventurous dishes such as boiled peanuts, fried green tomatoes, and shrimp with grits. This is true comfort grub consumed by those South of the Mason Dixon line. Even house mixed drinks, which are listed numerically, contain a hint of the deep South. Take, for instance, the no. 2, mixed with maker’s mark, sorghum syrup, luxardo amaretto, and boiled peanut for good measure. Southern comfort, indeed. Even water glasses resemble Southern-style jars.
Where there’s promise, however, there’s much letdown. While the aforementioned no.2 was unique in taste, it lacked the distinct peanuty aftertaste I expected. My drinking companion’s no. 47 (laird’s applejack, aperol, buffalo trace bourbon) was much too heavy on the bourbon and practically undrinkable. First courses also proved to be a mixed bag. Fried green tomatoes - while accompanied by a zesty remouloude sauce and a perfectly cooked, delicious, meaty piece of bacon – contained too much batter and too little tomato (which wasn’t ripe enough for my taste). Warm beef toungue canapé with gruyere and Dijon was overcooked and quite bland. A tasting tray containing artisinal cheese, fois gras, and candied prunes, was shockingly small in both size and taste. The lone appetizer that had me wanting more: a Southern staple of shrimp and grits, which contained Maine shrimp (though on the small side), salty tasso ham, New Orleans barbeque, and delectable cornbread croutons. One of my companions remarked during the meal that Hungry Mother was a tad heavy-handed on its inclusion of salt (for instance, the collards). While I agreed with him to some extent, I expressed that extra salt is customary in many Southern dishes.
Main courses were equally mixed. I found the special of bourbon braised pork slightly overcooked and lacking in bourbon flavor. Though one of my eating companions believed that the cornmeal catfish lacked freshness, I did not detect this and found my dish to be rather good. While the fish could certainly have been meatier, its crunchy cornmeal exterior was just right texture-wise, while its accompanying sides of hoppin’ john, andouille sausage, and chow chow meshed well together. Giannone farm roasted chicken was also satisfactory, served alongside brussel sprouts and organic carrots, while drizzled with a savory red-eye gravy jus. Surprisingly, I found Maiden’s French-influenced dish – pillowy-soft French style gnocchi with tender foraged mushrooms, kale, butternut squash broth and sage – to be the most successful entrée on the menu.
Desserts were solid, but not spectacular. Old fashioned coconut cake with cream cheese frosting and toasted coconut, while thankfully not too sweet, was not as moist as I had hoped. While my eating companion claimed that its crust was not thick enough for his taste and found its nutty crunchy texture slightly off-putting, I was a huge fan of the peanut pie, particularly the way the bite of the cooked-in bourbon was perfectly counterbalanced by the creaminess of the sorghum ice cream.
While Hungry Mother’s ambience is certainly inviting and homey, its interior proves that even Southern hospitality has its flaws. On the first floor is a tight waiting area, while behind it lies a handful of tables and a small bar. The entryway should be re-named ‘draft central’ for those tables that experience repeated wind gusts from the doorway opening and closing. The main dining area on the second floor is quaint enough, though seating is a tad cramped and acoustics are poor, as we virtually resorted to shouting throughout the evening. Worst of all, while coats are taken by the maitre’d upon arrival, they are stored right in front of the sole bathrooms in the establishment, sometimes creating long lines in the dining area and making it difficult to discern who is leaving the restaurant and who is going (to the bathroom, that is). On a more positive note decorum-wise, Southern jars are memorably converted into funky lighting fixtures (most notably, a number of these are strikingly displayed over the bar to great effect). The white walls and dark wood floors are simple and perfect for the casual family-style vibe for which Hungry Mother aims.
Our server was attentive, amiable, and knowledgeable of the menu. Like any Southern meal, ours was served at a pleasant, leisurely pace.
Value-wise, most of Hungry Mother’s appetizers come out under $10 and entrees average around $20. While some may believe these prices to be a bargain compared to other high-end city restaurants, I was not so enthusiastic given the relatively small portions.
Location-wise, Hungry Mother sits across from the Kendall Square Cinema on the corner of Medeiros Ave, which can make for a nice dinner/movie night out (especially since the restaurant offers discounted movie passes which they will pick up for customers). There is no valet parking, so customers are on their own in that regard.
Did Hungry Mother leave me hungry for seconds? Sure. Maiden’s menu is just eclectic and diverse enough for me to return for seconds. Did his fare leave me feeling as if I had just dined at the seventh-highest rated restaurant in all of Massachusetts (according to Boston Magazine’s recently published list of the Top 50 Restaurants in 2009)? I’ll try to be as Southern gentlemanly as possibly when I say unfortunately, no.
Maiden – a Virginia native who previously spent his days as Chef de Cuisine under Michael Leviton at West Newton’s much revered Lumiere – clearly cooks with passion for all things Southern, as evidenced by adventurous dishes such as boiled peanuts, fried green tomatoes, and shrimp with grits. This is true comfort grub consumed by those South of the Mason Dixon line. Even house mixed drinks, which are listed numerically, contain a hint of the deep South. Take, for instance, the no. 2, mixed with maker’s mark, sorghum syrup, luxardo amaretto, and boiled peanut for good measure. Southern comfort, indeed. Even water glasses resemble Southern-style jars.
Where there’s promise, however, there’s much letdown. While the aforementioned no.2 was unique in taste, it lacked the distinct peanuty aftertaste I expected. My drinking companion’s no. 47 (laird’s applejack, aperol, buffalo trace bourbon) was much too heavy on the bourbon and practically undrinkable. First courses also proved to be a mixed bag. Fried green tomatoes - while accompanied by a zesty remouloude sauce and a perfectly cooked, delicious, meaty piece of bacon – contained too much batter and too little tomato (which wasn’t ripe enough for my taste). Warm beef toungue canapé with gruyere and Dijon was overcooked and quite bland. A tasting tray containing artisinal cheese, fois gras, and candied prunes, was shockingly small in both size and taste. The lone appetizer that had me wanting more: a Southern staple of shrimp and grits, which contained Maine shrimp (though on the small side), salty tasso ham, New Orleans barbeque, and delectable cornbread croutons. One of my companions remarked during the meal that Hungry Mother was a tad heavy-handed on its inclusion of salt (for instance, the collards). While I agreed with him to some extent, I expressed that extra salt is customary in many Southern dishes.
Main courses were equally mixed. I found the special of bourbon braised pork slightly overcooked and lacking in bourbon flavor. Though one of my eating companions believed that the cornmeal catfish lacked freshness, I did not detect this and found my dish to be rather good. While the fish could certainly have been meatier, its crunchy cornmeal exterior was just right texture-wise, while its accompanying sides of hoppin’ john, andouille sausage, and chow chow meshed well together. Giannone farm roasted chicken was also satisfactory, served alongside brussel sprouts and organic carrots, while drizzled with a savory red-eye gravy jus. Surprisingly, I found Maiden’s French-influenced dish – pillowy-soft French style gnocchi with tender foraged mushrooms, kale, butternut squash broth and sage – to be the most successful entrée on the menu.
Desserts were solid, but not spectacular. Old fashioned coconut cake with cream cheese frosting and toasted coconut, while thankfully not too sweet, was not as moist as I had hoped. While my eating companion claimed that its crust was not thick enough for his taste and found its nutty crunchy texture slightly off-putting, I was a huge fan of the peanut pie, particularly the way the bite of the cooked-in bourbon was perfectly counterbalanced by the creaminess of the sorghum ice cream.
While Hungry Mother’s ambience is certainly inviting and homey, its interior proves that even Southern hospitality has its flaws. On the first floor is a tight waiting area, while behind it lies a handful of tables and a small bar. The entryway should be re-named ‘draft central’ for those tables that experience repeated wind gusts from the doorway opening and closing. The main dining area on the second floor is quaint enough, though seating is a tad cramped and acoustics are poor, as we virtually resorted to shouting throughout the evening. Worst of all, while coats are taken by the maitre’d upon arrival, they are stored right in front of the sole bathrooms in the establishment, sometimes creating long lines in the dining area and making it difficult to discern who is leaving the restaurant and who is going (to the bathroom, that is). On a more positive note decorum-wise, Southern jars are memorably converted into funky lighting fixtures (most notably, a number of these are strikingly displayed over the bar to great effect). The white walls and dark wood floors are simple and perfect for the casual family-style vibe for which Hungry Mother aims.
Our server was attentive, amiable, and knowledgeable of the menu. Like any Southern meal, ours was served at a pleasant, leisurely pace.
Value-wise, most of Hungry Mother’s appetizers come out under $10 and entrees average around $20. While some may believe these prices to be a bargain compared to other high-end city restaurants, I was not so enthusiastic given the relatively small portions.
Location-wise, Hungry Mother sits across from the Kendall Square Cinema on the corner of Medeiros Ave, which can make for a nice dinner/movie night out (especially since the restaurant offers discounted movie passes which they will pick up for customers). There is no valet parking, so customers are on their own in that regard.
Did Hungry Mother leave me hungry for seconds? Sure. Maiden’s menu is just eclectic and diverse enough for me to return for seconds. Did his fare leave me feeling as if I had just dined at the seventh-highest rated restaurant in all of Massachusetts (according to Boston Magazine’s recently published list of the Top 50 Restaurants in 2009)? I’ll try to be as Southern gentlemanly as possibly when I say unfortunately, no.
Monday, February 16, 2009
Sorellina Brings Luxurious New York City Ambience to Boston
Boston’s Copley Square has been long known for its extravagant high-end stores, so why not add another lavish hotspot to its ensemble? Sorellina, the ‘kid sister’ restaurant of revered Chef/Owner Ken Mammano, is part of the culinary quintet of restaurants known as the Columbus Restaurant Group (CRG also consists of flagship Mistral, L’Andana, Teatro, and Mooo…) Sorellina, located on One Huntington Avenue, is now almost two years young, and although its opulence may not be as chic as it was since its opening given the present economic downturn, it remains one of Boston’s finest dining destinations given its sophisticated contemporary Italian-Mediterranean cuisine and unparalleled ambience.
Immediately upon entering Sorelllina, one gets the feeling of being transported into the most chic of New York City eateries. The enormous space holds 126 seats in the main dining room, and another 20 at the stylish white bar/lounge. One’s eyes are immediately drawn to Sorellina’s ultra-modern décor, punctuated by a riveting back wall mural that held my attention all evening. Black and white columns are sleekly displayed throughout, as are floor-to-ceiling windows, suspended glass lanterns, and illuminated back walls in which Sorellina’s extensive number of wines may be viewed. Now this would be a place where I would expect to see celebrities dine. As scantily-clad hostesses walked across the dining room, I wasn’t quite sure if they were checking upon table availability or merely serving as attractive eye candy for male customers. After all, this is the place to be seen.
For starters, my companion and I shared a half-portion of the Maccheroncelli, consisting of two American Kobe Beef meatballs, accompanied by a creamy Barolo reduction sauce and flecks of parmigiano. The meatballs’ texture was smooth as silk, and the meat was extremely rich and satisfying. One minor complaint was that the meatballs were accompanied by a disproportionately small amount of three buttery, homemade pasta tubes. Also, the parmigiano was an unnecessary ingredient given the richness of the meatballs. And while I’ve never claimed to be a huge fan of French fries, Sorellina’s creative take on them made me reconsider my opinion of them. Its version of truffled fries consisted of thin, buttery crisp slices, and my companion and I believed these to be the best we’ve ever devoured.
Sorellina’s entrees soared in terms of taste, ingredients, and presentation. My companion’s Long Island Pekin breast of duck served ‘Saltimbocca’ style with prosciutto, sage, parsnips, and Ambra Marsala, was perhaps the moistest version I’ve sampled in some time. My pan-roasted venison, served alongside vanilla scented chestnut spuma and a sweet huckleberry gastrico, was delightfully good. Venison is a meat that can be easily overcooked and overprepared, and requires a touch of restraint and simplicity from anyone cooking it. Sorellina’s chef cooked this Red Stag medium rare, as it should be, and the meat was perfectly charred on the outside. It’s a jewel of a dish, and rates as equally good as La Cachette’s renowned version (Los Angeles’s acclaimed French restaurant).
Desserts are nothing short of compelling. My companion’s sorbetto is, for the most part, refreshing and delicious, particularly the coconut flavor (the pomegranate less so, and the lemon, not so much). My warm chocolate budino with vanilla gelato, playfully served in a cast iron pot, might be the best chocolate concoction I’ve ever tasted. Its sweet scent can be instantly traced once the dish is presented upon the table. Its exterior sensitively sways back and forth at the touch of a spoon, revealing a hot, gooey, decadent bittersweet chocolate interior.
Service was impeccable and efficient. Our genial server was prompt and knowledgeable of the menu, providing her honest opinion on dishes she preferred over others (although an uber-happy server beside her suspiciously raved that all of the cuisine was sensational). Water glasses were constantly filled and the meal was well paced, especially given the large portion sizes. There was nary a crumb to be found in this establishment, and even the over-sized bathrooms (with sitting chairs included) were spotless.
Value is in the eyes of the beholder. Appetizers average out at $16, pasta at $27 (half portions also available), entrees at $35-40, and desserts at $10. Tack on a $15 fee for valet parking, and the check comes out to roughly $200 for two. For some of the finest cuisine in the city, it’s certainly worth splurging on a special occasion. Given today’s economic climate, it’s no secret that luxury dining destinations are struggling to stay in business. Let’s just hope that Sorellina is still around the next time I want to go out for that special occasion.
Immediately upon entering Sorelllina, one gets the feeling of being transported into the most chic of New York City eateries. The enormous space holds 126 seats in the main dining room, and another 20 at the stylish white bar/lounge. One’s eyes are immediately drawn to Sorellina’s ultra-modern décor, punctuated by a riveting back wall mural that held my attention all evening. Black and white columns are sleekly displayed throughout, as are floor-to-ceiling windows, suspended glass lanterns, and illuminated back walls in which Sorellina’s extensive number of wines may be viewed. Now this would be a place where I would expect to see celebrities dine. As scantily-clad hostesses walked across the dining room, I wasn’t quite sure if they were checking upon table availability or merely serving as attractive eye candy for male customers. After all, this is the place to be seen.
For starters, my companion and I shared a half-portion of the Maccheroncelli, consisting of two American Kobe Beef meatballs, accompanied by a creamy Barolo reduction sauce and flecks of parmigiano. The meatballs’ texture was smooth as silk, and the meat was extremely rich and satisfying. One minor complaint was that the meatballs were accompanied by a disproportionately small amount of three buttery, homemade pasta tubes. Also, the parmigiano was an unnecessary ingredient given the richness of the meatballs. And while I’ve never claimed to be a huge fan of French fries, Sorellina’s creative take on them made me reconsider my opinion of them. Its version of truffled fries consisted of thin, buttery crisp slices, and my companion and I believed these to be the best we’ve ever devoured.
Sorellina’s entrees soared in terms of taste, ingredients, and presentation. My companion’s Long Island Pekin breast of duck served ‘Saltimbocca’ style with prosciutto, sage, parsnips, and Ambra Marsala, was perhaps the moistest version I’ve sampled in some time. My pan-roasted venison, served alongside vanilla scented chestnut spuma and a sweet huckleberry gastrico, was delightfully good. Venison is a meat that can be easily overcooked and overprepared, and requires a touch of restraint and simplicity from anyone cooking it. Sorellina’s chef cooked this Red Stag medium rare, as it should be, and the meat was perfectly charred on the outside. It’s a jewel of a dish, and rates as equally good as La Cachette’s renowned version (Los Angeles’s acclaimed French restaurant).
Desserts are nothing short of compelling. My companion’s sorbetto is, for the most part, refreshing and delicious, particularly the coconut flavor (the pomegranate less so, and the lemon, not so much). My warm chocolate budino with vanilla gelato, playfully served in a cast iron pot, might be the best chocolate concoction I’ve ever tasted. Its sweet scent can be instantly traced once the dish is presented upon the table. Its exterior sensitively sways back and forth at the touch of a spoon, revealing a hot, gooey, decadent bittersweet chocolate interior.
Service was impeccable and efficient. Our genial server was prompt and knowledgeable of the menu, providing her honest opinion on dishes she preferred over others (although an uber-happy server beside her suspiciously raved that all of the cuisine was sensational). Water glasses were constantly filled and the meal was well paced, especially given the large portion sizes. There was nary a crumb to be found in this establishment, and even the over-sized bathrooms (with sitting chairs included) were spotless.
Value is in the eyes of the beholder. Appetizers average out at $16, pasta at $27 (half portions also available), entrees at $35-40, and desserts at $10. Tack on a $15 fee for valet parking, and the check comes out to roughly $200 for two. For some of the finest cuisine in the city, it’s certainly worth splurging on a special occasion. Given today’s economic climate, it’s no secret that luxury dining destinations are struggling to stay in business. Let’s just hope that Sorellina is still around the next time I want to go out for that special occasion.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Pigalle is Worth Squealing About
Paul’s Palate has always enjoyed taking in a show at Boston’s Theatre District. Even more so when it is of the culinary variety. Pigalle, with its chef/co-owner Marc Orfaly and his creative French fusion fare, have long been showered with adulation from foodies and food critics alike. Would this premiere dining destination, named after Paris’s Red Light District, earn this critic’s standing applause or merely a faint handclap?
After sitting for two hours in what seemed like endless traffic the night before Christmas Eve, Pigalle’s alluring ambience was the perfect remedy to his Holiday blues. Though its brick house exterior is rather mundane looking, it’s Pigalle’s quaint Parisian-like interior that makes patrons feel at ease. While some might find the cozy space small and slightly cramped, I found this setting – which included candlelit lighting and walls of chocolate and cream-colored hues – romantically intimate, particularly with festive Holiday music played aloud. With the exception of a disturbingly unkempt and chilly restroom and lack of a bar area (which seated no more than a few customers), Pigalle’s interior exudes charm sans the stuffiness that often accompanies similar establishments.
On such a brisk winter evening, Paul’s Palate was instantly warmed up by the prospect of sipping on a superlative cocktail filled with whiskey, hot apple cider, and cinnamon.
Appetizers were enjoyable, if not slightly flawed. My companion’s arugula salad was filled with crispy pieces of bacon and even tastier fingerling potato chips, an innovative take had not the greens benefitted from a more potent vinaigrette dressing. My pate de porc was perfectly creamy in texture, accompanied by crispy cornichons. The dish was playfully presented in a triangular shape as if it were a painter’s canvas: the pate in the center, the cornichons to one side, while two others included melt-in-your mouth-good Armagnac soaked prunes and a slightly off-putting, superfluous mustard aioli.
Entrees are where Chef Orfaly flexes his culinary muscle. His cooking style is widely admired, but rarely reciprocated. His secret: uniquely cooking meats in their own fat, which greatly enhances the flavors of his dishes. And there are lots of flavors hitting the palate here. Take, for instance, Pigalle’s coq au vin, a bacon wrapped chicken breast with sautéed greens and bacon. Not only is this some of the most tender chicken this reviewer has ever devoured (and that’s no small feat), but it is also accompanied by a succulent side of pearl onions and mushrooms en croute (a flaky vegetable pop tart, if you will). My sweet potato tortelloni is unlike any pasta I’ve sampled in recent memory, its insides only subtly sweet, while layered with brown butter, sage, and tender confit duck (its fat congeals nicely to the top of the dish). If there is one downside to Orfaly’s fireworks of flavor, his dishes may prove to be too rich (i.e. heavy/dense) for those who are unaccustomed to consuming food prepared in this technique.
Desserts bring the meal to a satisfying conclusion. The apple strudel sounds promising, with its golden raisins, candied walnuts, and cinnamon ice cream. It is only mildly enjoyable, however, resembling nothing more than a petite apple croissant. The pastry possessed little fruit flavor and excess flakiness, not only making it somewhat difficult to eat, but also making it difficult to distinguish some of the other key ingredients. The accompanying cinnamon ice cream was nothing more than s tiny dollop of vanilla atop cinnamon crumble, a fanciful idea that doesn’t quite hit its mark. On the other hand, my companion’s rhubarb crisp, is heavenly comfort food for the soul, perfectly tart, warmed, and topped with a sensationally potent compliment of tropical fruit sorbet.
Bottom line is this: Pigalle is a place where Paul’s Palate isn’t afraid to pig out. Given Chef Orfaly’s inspiring, innovative menu, satisfactory service (a knowledgeable, nice-enough server with impeccable menu recommendations) and a reasonable pricetag ($40 for a 3-course stimulus menu) during these touch economic times, this Theatre District gem deserves an encore.
After sitting for two hours in what seemed like endless traffic the night before Christmas Eve, Pigalle’s alluring ambience was the perfect remedy to his Holiday blues. Though its brick house exterior is rather mundane looking, it’s Pigalle’s quaint Parisian-like interior that makes patrons feel at ease. While some might find the cozy space small and slightly cramped, I found this setting – which included candlelit lighting and walls of chocolate and cream-colored hues – romantically intimate, particularly with festive Holiday music played aloud. With the exception of a disturbingly unkempt and chilly restroom and lack of a bar area (which seated no more than a few customers), Pigalle’s interior exudes charm sans the stuffiness that often accompanies similar establishments.
On such a brisk winter evening, Paul’s Palate was instantly warmed up by the prospect of sipping on a superlative cocktail filled with whiskey, hot apple cider, and cinnamon.
Appetizers were enjoyable, if not slightly flawed. My companion’s arugula salad was filled with crispy pieces of bacon and even tastier fingerling potato chips, an innovative take had not the greens benefitted from a more potent vinaigrette dressing. My pate de porc was perfectly creamy in texture, accompanied by crispy cornichons. The dish was playfully presented in a triangular shape as if it were a painter’s canvas: the pate in the center, the cornichons to one side, while two others included melt-in-your mouth-good Armagnac soaked prunes and a slightly off-putting, superfluous mustard aioli.
Entrees are where Chef Orfaly flexes his culinary muscle. His cooking style is widely admired, but rarely reciprocated. His secret: uniquely cooking meats in their own fat, which greatly enhances the flavors of his dishes. And there are lots of flavors hitting the palate here. Take, for instance, Pigalle’s coq au vin, a bacon wrapped chicken breast with sautéed greens and bacon. Not only is this some of the most tender chicken this reviewer has ever devoured (and that’s no small feat), but it is also accompanied by a succulent side of pearl onions and mushrooms en croute (a flaky vegetable pop tart, if you will). My sweet potato tortelloni is unlike any pasta I’ve sampled in recent memory, its insides only subtly sweet, while layered with brown butter, sage, and tender confit duck (its fat congeals nicely to the top of the dish). If there is one downside to Orfaly’s fireworks of flavor, his dishes may prove to be too rich (i.e. heavy/dense) for those who are unaccustomed to consuming food prepared in this technique.
Desserts bring the meal to a satisfying conclusion. The apple strudel sounds promising, with its golden raisins, candied walnuts, and cinnamon ice cream. It is only mildly enjoyable, however, resembling nothing more than a petite apple croissant. The pastry possessed little fruit flavor and excess flakiness, not only making it somewhat difficult to eat, but also making it difficult to distinguish some of the other key ingredients. The accompanying cinnamon ice cream was nothing more than s tiny dollop of vanilla atop cinnamon crumble, a fanciful idea that doesn’t quite hit its mark. On the other hand, my companion’s rhubarb crisp, is heavenly comfort food for the soul, perfectly tart, warmed, and topped with a sensationally potent compliment of tropical fruit sorbet.
Bottom line is this: Pigalle is a place where Paul’s Palate isn’t afraid to pig out. Given Chef Orfaly’s inspiring, innovative menu, satisfactory service (a knowledgeable, nice-enough server with impeccable menu recommendations) and a reasonable pricetag ($40 for a 3-course stimulus menu) during these touch economic times, this Theatre District gem deserves an encore.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Mount Blue Fails to Reach Culinary Heights
Mount Blue, a 12-year-old restaurant situated in the quaint, affluent community of Norwell, MA, once brought out Paul’s Palate inner rock star. It’s no wonder why: local rock legend Steven Tyler of Aerosmith was once its part-owner, and the high level of craziness and excitement that accompanied both his music and personal life was successfully channeled into his establishment’s eclectic décor and menu selection. Would current owner Jayne Bowe’s cuisine persuade Paul’s Palate to scale any mountain or would it demonstrate that Mount Blue’s culinary reputation has already ‘peaked?’
Given his most recent visit to Mount Blue, it was immediately evident that Paul’s Palate needed to be rescued immediately from its avalanche of mediocrity. While cocktails were adequate - particularly the hearty espresso martini - a $10-12 pricetag per beverage was exorbitantly high given the casual, suburban setting. Moreover, the embarrassed bartender conceded that several ingredients in some of the other cocktails we preferred were out of stock.
Appetizers fared the strongest over the course of the evening. Meaty buffalo chicken wings possessed a nice amount of heat, while calamari were accompanied by a subtly sweet soy dipping sauce. The grilled flatbread pizza was the standout amongst these dishes, with just the right amount of crisp and sprinkled with basil. The lone disappointment was the mini shrimp quesadillas, which were extremely doughy and whose shrimp must have been so miniscule that Paul’s Palate barely tasted them.
Entrees verged on disastrous. Whereas the spicy! Mount blue pad thai succeeded meshing together sweet and sour ingredients with a kick (including peanuts, cilantro, and mint), the 12 ounce cut of Angus steak was fatty and not prepared to order (more medium well than medium rare). In addition, its accompanying béarnaise sauce was surprisingly bland. An excessive amount of salt, particularly evident on the side order of asparagus, made much of the dish inedible (an eating companion tried an asparagus tip, only to immediately spit it out). An acclaimed chef such as Melinda Lynch (previously of Tosca and Rustic Kitchen) should know that less is more. A seemingly unique menu item, the haddock saltimbocca, is also devoid of any distinct taste, in light of its promising prosciutto and sage exterior.
Although desserts are typically Paul’s Palate’s favorite course of the meal and often are impervious to his harsh criticism, Mount Blue’s version manages just that. A Black Forest cake is bafflingly the sole offering that evening, and it is nothing more than a fancy name for a warmed-up, slightly raw (sugar gristles in Paul’s Palate’s teeth) brownie douzed with chocolate syrup. In fact, My question to Chef Lynch is this: how does one make a chocolate concoction so unappealing?
Paul’s Palate’s recommendation: the owners of Mount Blue should immediately consult with Steven Tyler in order to regain its swagger. During this most recent excursion, our party was the only one seated all evening. This might be the sign of a struggling economy, a restaurant still struggling to find its own identity, or perhaps both. One thing is for certain: in the words of our beloved frontman, Mr. Tyler, Mount Blue is perilously ‘living on the edge.’ Like Aerosmith in the 1980’s, Paul’s Palate hopes there is a comeback left in what he once considered one of the South Shore’s most exciting dining destinations.
Given his most recent visit to Mount Blue, it was immediately evident that Paul’s Palate needed to be rescued immediately from its avalanche of mediocrity. While cocktails were adequate - particularly the hearty espresso martini - a $10-12 pricetag per beverage was exorbitantly high given the casual, suburban setting. Moreover, the embarrassed bartender conceded that several ingredients in some of the other cocktails we preferred were out of stock.
Appetizers fared the strongest over the course of the evening. Meaty buffalo chicken wings possessed a nice amount of heat, while calamari were accompanied by a subtly sweet soy dipping sauce. The grilled flatbread pizza was the standout amongst these dishes, with just the right amount of crisp and sprinkled with basil. The lone disappointment was the mini shrimp quesadillas, which were extremely doughy and whose shrimp must have been so miniscule that Paul’s Palate barely tasted them.
Entrees verged on disastrous. Whereas the spicy! Mount blue pad thai succeeded meshing together sweet and sour ingredients with a kick (including peanuts, cilantro, and mint), the 12 ounce cut of Angus steak was fatty and not prepared to order (more medium well than medium rare). In addition, its accompanying béarnaise sauce was surprisingly bland. An excessive amount of salt, particularly evident on the side order of asparagus, made much of the dish inedible (an eating companion tried an asparagus tip, only to immediately spit it out). An acclaimed chef such as Melinda Lynch (previously of Tosca and Rustic Kitchen) should know that less is more. A seemingly unique menu item, the haddock saltimbocca, is also devoid of any distinct taste, in light of its promising prosciutto and sage exterior.
Although desserts are typically Paul’s Palate’s favorite course of the meal and often are impervious to his harsh criticism, Mount Blue’s version manages just that. A Black Forest cake is bafflingly the sole offering that evening, and it is nothing more than a fancy name for a warmed-up, slightly raw (sugar gristles in Paul’s Palate’s teeth) brownie douzed with chocolate syrup. In fact, My question to Chef Lynch is this: how does one make a chocolate concoction so unappealing?
Paul’s Palate’s recommendation: the owners of Mount Blue should immediately consult with Steven Tyler in order to regain its swagger. During this most recent excursion, our party was the only one seated all evening. This might be the sign of a struggling economy, a restaurant still struggling to find its own identity, or perhaps both. One thing is for certain: in the words of our beloved frontman, Mr. Tyler, Mount Blue is perilously ‘living on the edge.’ Like Aerosmith in the 1980’s, Paul’s Palate hopes there is a comeback left in what he once considered one of the South Shore’s most exciting dining destinations.
Monday, November 17, 2008
This Maxwell is 'Smart'
I’ve always been an avid fan of the old TV show-turned-hit-movie Get Smart, particularly of its protagonist, agent Maxwell Smart. And while he may not always get the girl or foil a world takeover plot like Smart, Paul’s Palate finds no mission impossible when it comes to seeking out fantastic fare. This starving spy went undercover to sample the oft-praised gourmet cuisine at Maxwell’s 148 in Natick. Would this prove to be a ‘smart’ decision?
With its cream and bronze tiles, crystals chandeliers, velvet curtains, and hydro rock gardens, Maxwell’s upscale, yet inviting ambience is luxuriously feng shui. It’s a surprisingly successful blend between the opulence of the Oak Room and the relaxation one finds in a day spa. For spies like us, this atmosphere could sabotage our entire mission. After all, there is literally no dirt to be dug up here (from the tiles to the tables, Maxwell’s interior is utterly pristine). Nor does there exist the opportunity to conduct our covert operation here: the wonderfully affable, super-attentive wait staff left neither a napkin unfolded nor water glass unfilled. The copper plated menus were also a lavish touch that did not go unnoticed during this spy’s supper surveillance. How could I possibly maintain my cover when I was instantly made to feel so special?
While Agent 007 may prefer his martini prepared in a universally known manner, this agent prefers Maxwell’s Fig 148, a unique cocktail consisting of house infused vodka, Kahlua, Cointreau, and topped with a subtle layer of cream. It’s a moderately sweet, light cocktail whose daring combination of licquers left Paul’s Palate shaken, but not stirred.
Appetizers provided a nice start to the evening. The heavily hyped Pho Max soup achieved maximum points for taste: the lobster broth subtly brought out the crustacean’s flavor, while succulent shrimp and crab dumplings were nice creative garnishes. Clams in spicy tomato sauce, although prepared on the milder side, were also appealing.
The Italian, Asian, and French-inspired entrees soared. Gnocchi al tartufo was a marvel of a dish, and worth every penny of its considerable cost ($45). While this house-made pasta was filled with creamy ricotta cheese, it was thankfully not nearly as heavy on the stomach as one would have anticipated. The gnocchi was well complimented by an abundance of beautifully cooked, succulent chunks of Maine lobster, whose sweetness was balanced by the tartness of ethereal shaved summer truffles. My wife’s grilled Portobello mushrooms were perfectly prepared in a sweet ginger-soy sauce and accompanied by crispy Indonesian noodles, whose crunchy texture provided a nice contrast to the mushroom’s silkiness. Another dining companion lauded the Catch in a Bag, which consisted of a flaky, buttery cod with shrimp stuffing, Asian vegetables, and hoison glaze. What was the secret to transforming a rather ordinary tasting fish into something extraordinary? Maxwell’s kitchen staff takes the innovative approach of cooking and presenting the fish in rice paper. Ancient Chinese secret, indeed.
Dessert served as an exciting finale to our appetizing adventure. Our knowledgeable, patient server strongly encouraged me to order the banana caramel cake. This concoction resembled a superior version of sponge cake, which was spiked with licquer, stuffed with gooey, baked-in bananas, and doused with rich caramel sauce. It was light, decadent, and for this spy, worth dying for.
Following his perilous mission, Paul’s Palate believes the ‘smart’ money would be on dining at Maxwell’s 148. Sure, price-wise, it’s bit of a splurge (cocktails average $12, appetizers $12-14, most entrees from $25-30, and steaks at $45). For eclectic, sophisticated cuisine and top-of-the-line service bordering on pampering, however, this is money well spent (3-course $29.99 prixe fixe meals during the week are also worth checking out). Free parking in the rear of the building certainly helps matters. To quote an old James Bond film title, one should Never Say Never Again to Maxwell 148 when seeking that special occasion dining destination. It’s no secret that this restaurant has accomplished its culinary mission.
With its cream and bronze tiles, crystals chandeliers, velvet curtains, and hydro rock gardens, Maxwell’s upscale, yet inviting ambience is luxuriously feng shui. It’s a surprisingly successful blend between the opulence of the Oak Room and the relaxation one finds in a day spa. For spies like us, this atmosphere could sabotage our entire mission. After all, there is literally no dirt to be dug up here (from the tiles to the tables, Maxwell’s interior is utterly pristine). Nor does there exist the opportunity to conduct our covert operation here: the wonderfully affable, super-attentive wait staff left neither a napkin unfolded nor water glass unfilled. The copper plated menus were also a lavish touch that did not go unnoticed during this spy’s supper surveillance. How could I possibly maintain my cover when I was instantly made to feel so special?
While Agent 007 may prefer his martini prepared in a universally known manner, this agent prefers Maxwell’s Fig 148, a unique cocktail consisting of house infused vodka, Kahlua, Cointreau, and topped with a subtle layer of cream. It’s a moderately sweet, light cocktail whose daring combination of licquers left Paul’s Palate shaken, but not stirred.
Appetizers provided a nice start to the evening. The heavily hyped Pho Max soup achieved maximum points for taste: the lobster broth subtly brought out the crustacean’s flavor, while succulent shrimp and crab dumplings were nice creative garnishes. Clams in spicy tomato sauce, although prepared on the milder side, were also appealing.
The Italian, Asian, and French-inspired entrees soared. Gnocchi al tartufo was a marvel of a dish, and worth every penny of its considerable cost ($45). While this house-made pasta was filled with creamy ricotta cheese, it was thankfully not nearly as heavy on the stomach as one would have anticipated. The gnocchi was well complimented by an abundance of beautifully cooked, succulent chunks of Maine lobster, whose sweetness was balanced by the tartness of ethereal shaved summer truffles. My wife’s grilled Portobello mushrooms were perfectly prepared in a sweet ginger-soy sauce and accompanied by crispy Indonesian noodles, whose crunchy texture provided a nice contrast to the mushroom’s silkiness. Another dining companion lauded the Catch in a Bag, which consisted of a flaky, buttery cod with shrimp stuffing, Asian vegetables, and hoison glaze. What was the secret to transforming a rather ordinary tasting fish into something extraordinary? Maxwell’s kitchen staff takes the innovative approach of cooking and presenting the fish in rice paper. Ancient Chinese secret, indeed.
Dessert served as an exciting finale to our appetizing adventure. Our knowledgeable, patient server strongly encouraged me to order the banana caramel cake. This concoction resembled a superior version of sponge cake, which was spiked with licquer, stuffed with gooey, baked-in bananas, and doused with rich caramel sauce. It was light, decadent, and for this spy, worth dying for.
Following his perilous mission, Paul’s Palate believes the ‘smart’ money would be on dining at Maxwell’s 148. Sure, price-wise, it’s bit of a splurge (cocktails average $12, appetizers $12-14, most entrees from $25-30, and steaks at $45). For eclectic, sophisticated cuisine and top-of-the-line service bordering on pampering, however, this is money well spent (3-course $29.99 prixe fixe meals during the week are also worth checking out). Free parking in the rear of the building certainly helps matters. To quote an old James Bond film title, one should Never Say Never Again to Maxwell 148 when seeking that special occasion dining destination. It’s no secret that this restaurant has accomplished its culinary mission.
Monday, November 10, 2008
This Vintage Leaves Sour Taste
When West Roxbury’s Vintage opened its doors a couple of years ago, its arrival had South Shore diners abuzz. After all, an upscale, yet affordable steakhouse was a rare find (no pun intended). Vintage also lived up to its very definition: its ambience and fare were characterized by excellence, maturity and enduring appeal. Well, save for the last part: co-owner Jeffrey Fournier, who heads the highly esteemed 51 Lincoln in Newtonville, abruptly parted ways with the restaurant’s founding owners, leaving Vintage with a bit of an identity crisis and ultimately forcing its short-term closure. It now boasts a new ownership team, a revitalized menu, and even cheaper prices. Would Paul’s Palate find that this particular Vintage has aged well over time or would this establishment leave a sour taste in his mouth?
One thing is blatantly obvious: Vintage’s menu selection has undergone a drastic makeover. In lieu of quality cuts of steak tailored for the more carnivorous crowd, Executive Chef Brian Roskow and Sous Chef Claudinei Desouza have opted for a more eclectic selection of culinary offerings that include a variety of pastas, pizzas, meats, and seafood. These meals are presented as ‘family style dining,’ and the menu has more of an American Italian feel to it than its predecessor’s New American theme.
Vintage should be commended for its attempt to serve Halloween-inspired cocktails. Those that we sampled, however, were downright ghastly, as both concoctions possessed exorbitant amounts of straight alcohol while lacking any distinct, sweet flavor.
Appetizers were only a slight improvement. Calamari fritte were thankfully not overly fried and doughy, and yet were disappointingly bland and forgettable. Sam Adams-steamed mussels fared much better and the ale-flavored broth made for a wonderfully succulent, soppy dipping sauce for accompanying pieces of buttery garlic bread. My lone complaint of this dish was that it lacked muscles – ahem, mussels, since three shells were mysteriously devoid of the tasty mollusks.
Entrees were equally hit-or-miss. My wife’s veal parmigiana (sans cheese given my wife’s dairy allergy) was lightly breaded, lean, and perfectly cooked, not to mention the zesty red sauce in which it was slathered. A companion and I, however, order woefully overcooked seared rare ahi tuna (our deeply apologetic server informs us that the kitchen has had continuous problems that evening preparing this dish). In addition, a heaping side of ratatouille, while tasty, was an awkward, heavy pairing that simply overwhelmed the tuna’s light consistency.
Desserts, however, almost made this reviewer forget the evening’s prior culinary miscues. A flourless molten chocolate cake erupted with piping hot chocolate, and was one of the finest I’ve consumed in recent memory. For the more health conscious, a champagne-soaked pear doused with caramel and whipped cream was a light, yet comforting consolation prize.
Although its prices are better than ever (appetizers from $8-12, most pastas and meats ranging between $15-25), Vintage’s overall value appears to have depreciated over time given the substandard quality of its food. Clearly, its fare lacks the confidence and experimental touch of Fournier, its former proprietor. If tradition is what the new owners are staking their claim upon, their dishes must shine. Unfortunately, Paul’s Palate has found that Vintage’s initial, promising luster has worn off.
One thing is blatantly obvious: Vintage’s menu selection has undergone a drastic makeover. In lieu of quality cuts of steak tailored for the more carnivorous crowd, Executive Chef Brian Roskow and Sous Chef Claudinei Desouza have opted for a more eclectic selection of culinary offerings that include a variety of pastas, pizzas, meats, and seafood. These meals are presented as ‘family style dining,’ and the menu has more of an American Italian feel to it than its predecessor’s New American theme.
Vintage should be commended for its attempt to serve Halloween-inspired cocktails. Those that we sampled, however, were downright ghastly, as both concoctions possessed exorbitant amounts of straight alcohol while lacking any distinct, sweet flavor.
Appetizers were only a slight improvement. Calamari fritte were thankfully not overly fried and doughy, and yet were disappointingly bland and forgettable. Sam Adams-steamed mussels fared much better and the ale-flavored broth made for a wonderfully succulent, soppy dipping sauce for accompanying pieces of buttery garlic bread. My lone complaint of this dish was that it lacked muscles – ahem, mussels, since three shells were mysteriously devoid of the tasty mollusks.
Entrees were equally hit-or-miss. My wife’s veal parmigiana (sans cheese given my wife’s dairy allergy) was lightly breaded, lean, and perfectly cooked, not to mention the zesty red sauce in which it was slathered. A companion and I, however, order woefully overcooked seared rare ahi tuna (our deeply apologetic server informs us that the kitchen has had continuous problems that evening preparing this dish). In addition, a heaping side of ratatouille, while tasty, was an awkward, heavy pairing that simply overwhelmed the tuna’s light consistency.
Desserts, however, almost made this reviewer forget the evening’s prior culinary miscues. A flourless molten chocolate cake erupted with piping hot chocolate, and was one of the finest I’ve consumed in recent memory. For the more health conscious, a champagne-soaked pear doused with caramel and whipped cream was a light, yet comforting consolation prize.
Although its prices are better than ever (appetizers from $8-12, most pastas and meats ranging between $15-25), Vintage’s overall value appears to have depreciated over time given the substandard quality of its food. Clearly, its fare lacks the confidence and experimental touch of Fournier, its former proprietor. If tradition is what the new owners are staking their claim upon, their dishes must shine. Unfortunately, Paul’s Palate has found that Vintage’s initial, promising luster has worn off.
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