When Paul’s Palate is invited to a cordial after-work Holiday party, he finds himself transformed into a latter-day Ebenezer Scrooge. “Bah hum-bug,” I say, to overrated holiday spirit and hopes for a bright new year. But when this invitation is accompanied by the words ‘…at one of Rhode Island’s nicest restaurants,’ well, his interest, and taste buds immediately awaken. The restaurant in question: Spain, a decorous outfit situated on busy Route 2 in Cranston, RI, whose ‘authentic’ Spanish cuisine supposedly has local food aficionados in the Ocean State swimming with praise. Would Paul’s Palate find himself swept along in this tide of superlatives or would he end up drowning in negativity?
As far as ambience goes, Spain has oodles of it, if not an excess of it. Despite being cramped in alongside bustling Route 2 and having a shockingly limited amount of parking for such a large establishment, it is evident that Spain desperately wants customers to feel as if they have been whisked away into the streets of Madrid. From its glamorous courtyard dining area, to a posh bar, to segmented rooms on a luxurious second floor, however, the term ‘authentic’ does not exactly spring to mind. Having traveled across this bucolic country several years ago, Paul’s Palate recalls how this region prides itself in its simplicity and graciousness (more on that later). Spain (the restaurant), however, seems to find itself caught in an identity crisis: from its marble tiles to its backlit bar to its ‘I’m cooler than you’ll ever be’ staff, this establishment speaks in a foreign tongue. Spain can’t decide if it’s better to dine in a tranquil Spanish garden or a more elaborate upscale, gourmet setting, so it bafflingly elects to be both.
While the food at Spain rates as certainly above average, the menu offerings do not yell out authentic Spanish fare. Spain half-heartedly gets things right with such side dishes as esparragos a la vinagreta (imported Spanish white asparagus topped with olive oil and shaved vinaigrette), grilled smoked chorizo (Spanish sausage), and gazpacho. Other dishes, however, are just plain insulting in terms of their categorization as Spanish fare: Picasso and Spain salads are nothing more than seasonal lettuce sprinkled with olive oil dressing and Gorgonzola cheese. And what gives with Spain’s insistence to stuff anything in everything with shrimp, scallops, and crabmeat, such as mushroom caps, and vieras rellenas (stuffed scallops)? Surely, Picasso (the late, great Spanish artist) would be rolling in his grave at such non-traditional nonsense. Other appetizers, such as calamari, jumbo shrimp cocktail, and clam casino are certainly not Spanish delicacies. Bring on some tapas, demands this confounded critic, but sadly, there are none of these tiny, tasty regional specialties to be had. To make matters worse, the white sangria, a mix of orange juice and white wine, lacks the customary zip that Paul’s Palate expects from this typically potent beverage.
The entrees, in all fairness, appear to be more successful in their attempt to re-create the Spanish fare I’ve come to know and love. Dishes such as veal Jerez (veal filets sauteed with asparagus, spinach, imported prosciutto, and provolone in a light Jerez sherry sauce), solomillo del cerdo (pork tenderloin with a port wine wild berry shitake mushroom sauce), camarones diablo (shrimp prepared in a Romano tomato with an herb spice sauce) and paella marinera (shellfish baked in saffron rice) all sound appetizing. Our server confidently recommends the veal Spain, which consists of a provimi veal loin chop with – you guessed it – lobster, crabmeat, smoked ham, Castilian cheese, and topped with a mushroom Malaga wine sauce. The impressive presentation of this dish is eye-popping, for sure, and the sheer enormity of the loin chop instantly brings this image to mind: Fred Flintstone’s car topping over upon ordering his gigantic order of brontosauras ribs. The meat is succulent enough, but would it hurt the chef to err on the side of simplicity, not excess? There’s too much filler in the meat. Paul’s Palate would be content with lobster, crabmeat, or ham with his veal, but digesting all three makes him nauseous.
Speaking of wave-inducing nausea, Paul’s Palate finds the much-heralded level of service at Spain intolerable. While it is universally acknowledged that Spain (the country) prides itself on conducting meals at a leisurely pace, Spain (the restaurant) serves its meals at that of a snail’s. Our main server appears to be indifferent, if not downright rude to our table. It seems as if an hour has passed by before he takes our order, and he abruptly delegates the remainder of the meal to a group of servers. While these waiters are more attentive to our needs, there is a lack of continuity to the meal that that detracts from what should be a memorable dining experience. While Paul’s Palate is delighted to bite into homemade banana bread pudding, topped with a creamy vanilla-raspberry sauce, as the evening’s finale, the damage has already been done and, I’m afraid, is irreparable.
Although value is considered more than fair, with appetizers averaging $9 and most entrees ranging between $15-$22, overall Spain rates poorly given its lack of (or, dare I say, warped sense of) authentic Spanish atmosphere and cuisine. A lackluster, pretentious level of service does not help matters. Where’s the 'amor (love),' you ask? Paul’s Palate recommends seeking it out in the real Spain, not at this imposter of a fine dining establishment.
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Monday, October 29, 2007
Stella Finds Its Groove
Would Stella, a swanky new addition to the South End’s “restaurant row” situated on Washington Street, live up to its billing? After all, an inordinate amount of praise has been heaped upon this establishment, whose trendy ambience and Italian fare have allegedly made this one of Boston’s new dining hotspots. Would Paul’s Palate, like the late Marlon Brando in “A Streetcar Named Desire,” scream aloud Stella’s name in the form of superlatives or shame?
‘Chic’ is the first word that immediately comes to mind upon entering Stella’s pristine interior. Its main dining area is quite large (seats 60) and extends from front-to-back, and if you loop around by the busy kitchen, you’ll find a hidden treasure buried nearby: a smaller, more intimate private room (seats 50) directly overlooking both busy Washington Street and Stella’s seasonal terrazino (an outdoor patio which seats 50 more patrons!). Stella’s all-white interior, dimmed lighting, and illuminated bar create a sleek, modern vibe that is undeniably intoxicating. I half-heartedly expect some type of celebrity to walk into the room at any moment.
This is not to say that Stella’s atmosphere does not have its shortcomings. For one, Paul’s Palate nearly resorts to shouting in order to maintain any semblance of conversation given the poor acoustics, even in the private room. Despite Stella’s painstakingly complex interior design, the plastic wavy white chairs at our table are a fashion monstrosity, if not downright humorous. Lastly, we almost miss the restaurant itself given its lack of exterior lighting and signage. Noise factors aside, most of these minor flaws appear easily correctible.
Fortunately for us, my wife recognizes Stella’s Executive Chef, Robin King, as an acquaintance of hers. Mr. King is outgoing, energetic, and most importantly, both knowledgeable and passionate about the food he prepares. He later arrives at out table and shares with us his favorite dishes on the menu that evening.
The assortment of antipasti from which we choose is both unique and delicious. We begin with crispy fried artichoke hearts, which are playfully served on a narrow plate, and sit atop creamy, zesty country mustard remoulade. I would be more than happy to simply nibble on these tasty tidbits all evening long, but I remind myself that there is much more in store for the remainder of the meal. King also highly recommends the tuna tartare with fried eggs, to which Paul’s Palate responds with slight apprehension given his lack of exposure to raw tuna. One bite of this dish, however, and his tastebuds sing. This most certainly is a winning dish, and makes me want to run into the kitchen and thank Robin for his spot-on suggestion.
As if he were reading my mind, Mr. King brings out a couple of complimentary appetizers to our table. Of the two dishes, the grilled ‘pizze’ with Quattro funghi, shiitake mushrooms, crimini, oyster, and white truffle oil is my least favorite. It is surprisingly bland and lacks the crispness previously relayed to us by Robin. The marinated beet salad, however, served with goat cheese, champagne vinaigrette, and a crunchy crostini, is a marvel of a dish. This salad, along with the tuna tartare, is the last thing Paul’s Palate would ever consider ordering from the menu. Mr King and his diverse menu have miraculously, as the Monkees’ hit song goes, transformed me into a believer.
Pasta dishes are equally delectable. My hearty homemade spaghetti, although a simple dish, is perfectly cooked al dente, and possesses several layers of complexity in flavor, with its toasted garlic, olive oil, and parmesan ingredients. My wife’s orecchiette is also tasty, though a tad too spicy for my liking (King himself rates this dish an 8 out of 10 on the spicy scale), with its chile flakes interwoven with sausage and cured tomato. The couple seated across from us is also deeply appreciative of the quality of their meals. On one plate resides Stella homemade gnocchi, which is wonderfully light, packs a potent potato flavor, and is mixed with tomato, basil, and reggiano. On the other rests a succulent lamb shank surrounded by scrumptious mushroom risotto.
For dessert, the apple crostini comes in a light and fluffy pastry, but not surprisingly, the real stars are the apples, which are moist, warm, and lumpy. Might I add that this dish is accompanied by a steamy-sweet caramel sauce for dipping purposes? This sweet symphony proves so heavenly that Paul’s Palate actually passes on vanilla gelato that also accompanies this dessert.
Value-wise, Stella ranks as one of Paul’s Palate’s all-time favorites. There is simply a dearth of high-end gourmet restaurants that offer appetizers averaging $10 and entrees from $14-$26. Given the lack of weight removed from my wallet that night, I didn’t hesitate to surrender $16 for valet parking. Novelist Terry McMillan got it right after all: Stella most certainly has got her groove back, and Paul’s Palate finds this new culinary kid on the block groovy.
‘Chic’ is the first word that immediately comes to mind upon entering Stella’s pristine interior. Its main dining area is quite large (seats 60) and extends from front-to-back, and if you loop around by the busy kitchen, you’ll find a hidden treasure buried nearby: a smaller, more intimate private room (seats 50) directly overlooking both busy Washington Street and Stella’s seasonal terrazino (an outdoor patio which seats 50 more patrons!). Stella’s all-white interior, dimmed lighting, and illuminated bar create a sleek, modern vibe that is undeniably intoxicating. I half-heartedly expect some type of celebrity to walk into the room at any moment.
This is not to say that Stella’s atmosphere does not have its shortcomings. For one, Paul’s Palate nearly resorts to shouting in order to maintain any semblance of conversation given the poor acoustics, even in the private room. Despite Stella’s painstakingly complex interior design, the plastic wavy white chairs at our table are a fashion monstrosity, if not downright humorous. Lastly, we almost miss the restaurant itself given its lack of exterior lighting and signage. Noise factors aside, most of these minor flaws appear easily correctible.
Fortunately for us, my wife recognizes Stella’s Executive Chef, Robin King, as an acquaintance of hers. Mr. King is outgoing, energetic, and most importantly, both knowledgeable and passionate about the food he prepares. He later arrives at out table and shares with us his favorite dishes on the menu that evening.
The assortment of antipasti from which we choose is both unique and delicious. We begin with crispy fried artichoke hearts, which are playfully served on a narrow plate, and sit atop creamy, zesty country mustard remoulade. I would be more than happy to simply nibble on these tasty tidbits all evening long, but I remind myself that there is much more in store for the remainder of the meal. King also highly recommends the tuna tartare with fried eggs, to which Paul’s Palate responds with slight apprehension given his lack of exposure to raw tuna. One bite of this dish, however, and his tastebuds sing. This most certainly is a winning dish, and makes me want to run into the kitchen and thank Robin for his spot-on suggestion.
As if he were reading my mind, Mr. King brings out a couple of complimentary appetizers to our table. Of the two dishes, the grilled ‘pizze’ with Quattro funghi, shiitake mushrooms, crimini, oyster, and white truffle oil is my least favorite. It is surprisingly bland and lacks the crispness previously relayed to us by Robin. The marinated beet salad, however, served with goat cheese, champagne vinaigrette, and a crunchy crostini, is a marvel of a dish. This salad, along with the tuna tartare, is the last thing Paul’s Palate would ever consider ordering from the menu. Mr King and his diverse menu have miraculously, as the Monkees’ hit song goes, transformed me into a believer.
Pasta dishes are equally delectable. My hearty homemade spaghetti, although a simple dish, is perfectly cooked al dente, and possesses several layers of complexity in flavor, with its toasted garlic, olive oil, and parmesan ingredients. My wife’s orecchiette is also tasty, though a tad too spicy for my liking (King himself rates this dish an 8 out of 10 on the spicy scale), with its chile flakes interwoven with sausage and cured tomato. The couple seated across from us is also deeply appreciative of the quality of their meals. On one plate resides Stella homemade gnocchi, which is wonderfully light, packs a potent potato flavor, and is mixed with tomato, basil, and reggiano. On the other rests a succulent lamb shank surrounded by scrumptious mushroom risotto.
For dessert, the apple crostini comes in a light and fluffy pastry, but not surprisingly, the real stars are the apples, which are moist, warm, and lumpy. Might I add that this dish is accompanied by a steamy-sweet caramel sauce for dipping purposes? This sweet symphony proves so heavenly that Paul’s Palate actually passes on vanilla gelato that also accompanies this dessert.
Value-wise, Stella ranks as one of Paul’s Palate’s all-time favorites. There is simply a dearth of high-end gourmet restaurants that offer appetizers averaging $10 and entrees from $14-$26. Given the lack of weight removed from my wallet that night, I didn’t hesitate to surrender $16 for valet parking. Novelist Terry McMillan got it right after all: Stella most certainly has got her groove back, and Paul’s Palate finds this new culinary kid on the block groovy.
Friday, October 19, 2007
Getting Spoiled at L'Espalier
Had Marie Antoinette, the French queen renowned for her extravagant lifestyle centuries ago, survived the guillotine to see L’Espalier, would she flock to eat at this prestigious French dining establishment, which also has been known to demonstrate a flair for the dramatic? After all, Chef/Proprietor Frank McClelland’s restaurant is widely regarded as the most romantic hotspot in all of Boston which boasts arguably the finest modern French cuisine around. In the absence of a time machine in which Paul’s Palate could travel to Versailles and query the Queen directly, he took it upon himself to travel in the present time to Boston and investigate this matter further.
Nestled slightly off of tranquil Gloucester Street (parallel to more bustling Newbury Street) in Boston’s Back Bay, L’Espalier’s sophistication is instantly evident. Beyond a regal-looking iron-gate entrance resides a restored 1880 townhouse in which L’Espalier is embedded. The restaurant’s pristine main dining area overlooks Gloucester Street, and its taupe and cream colored walls and cathedral-like ceiling provide a spacious, yet intimate setting. Our affable and knowledgeable Maitre d’, Louis Risoli, escorts my wife and I to our table. L’Espalier’s atmosphere, similar to its dress code, can be downright haughty and intimidating, but only if you permit it: after all, while jackets and ties are the encouraged methods of attire for male patrons, they are not required. After glancing across the room, it appears that my culinary counterparts, sans jackets and ties, provide a refreshing glimpse into what L’Espalier ultimately can be: a refined, yet relaxed dining experience.
Our first course is nothing short of excellence. My wife dives into a crisp salad layered with a zesty vinaigrette dressing and crunchy, flavorful nuts. Our server also brings over a large bowl solely containing a tiny circular substance, which leads me to ponder whether or not L’Espalier has actually fallen into the age-old stereotype of ‘French fare equates to plate bare.’ Thankfully, however, he swiftly returns and theatrically pours hot, steaming orange squash soup into the bowl. That aforementioned, questionable circular substance proves to be candied pumpkin, an innovative ingredient that meshes wonderfully with the squash and infuses additional flavor into this light, delightful concoction. Oh, and lest I forget to add that the homemade bread, particularly that of the fig and black olive varieties, is simply divine.
Our entrees also rate strongly, if slightly less so. My wife’s pan-roasted halibut is served in preserved lemon vinaigrette alongside tasty couscous. While the fish is light and buttery, the side order of couscous is almost an afterthought given its disappointing scarcity on the plate. My confit rabbit leg is cooked to perfection, which is no small feat, but once again, the meat on the leg is a bit lacking. The accompanying mashed potato-like polenta and brussel sprouts seem an odd pairing with rabbit at face value, but they surprisingly pull the dish together quite nicely.
Dessert is pure bliss. The chocolate decadence cake is artistically presented in a rectangular plate, alongside luscious blackberries and raspberries, wild strawberry anglaise, and a dollop of ethereal, uniquely flavored orange blossom ice cream.
As is to be expected in such an extravagant setting, service is superior. Although I would not characterize our server as being overly friendly, one cannot underscore the importance of the relaxed pacing he brought to the meal. Shouldn’t a meal ultimately resemble the contemplative nature one takes when sampling a fine wine, whereby conversation is reduced to a minimum so that the aromas and tastes may be more fully appreciated?
In terms of value, patrons may simply decide that traveling to France may prove more economical that venturing out to Gloucester Street. We were fortunate enough to sample the 3-course prix fixe lunch menu, which comes reasonably priced at $24 per person. Come dinner time, however, these prices soar to $75. For more ravenous (and wealthier) customers, a 7-course degustation tasting can be had for $94, and the chef’s tasting for a whopping $175. Tack on an additional $16 for valet parking (evenings only) given the congested traffic in the area and that Parisian trip might not sound so crazy after all.
Marie Antoinette was once rumored to have exclaimed, “Let them eat cake,” in reference to her unsympathetic stance on the decaying state of France’s impoverished citizens. The bottom line is this: Paul’s Palate happily ate his cake and more at L’Espalier, but could very easily have joined the ranks of the impoverished in the process. Make no mistake: he thoroughly enjoyed his dining experience there. Memorable? Yes. Unforgettable? Let’s just say that it did not make Paul’s Palate forget Paris.
Nestled slightly off of tranquil Gloucester Street (parallel to more bustling Newbury Street) in Boston’s Back Bay, L’Espalier’s sophistication is instantly evident. Beyond a regal-looking iron-gate entrance resides a restored 1880 townhouse in which L’Espalier is embedded. The restaurant’s pristine main dining area overlooks Gloucester Street, and its taupe and cream colored walls and cathedral-like ceiling provide a spacious, yet intimate setting. Our affable and knowledgeable Maitre d’, Louis Risoli, escorts my wife and I to our table. L’Espalier’s atmosphere, similar to its dress code, can be downright haughty and intimidating, but only if you permit it: after all, while jackets and ties are the encouraged methods of attire for male patrons, they are not required. After glancing across the room, it appears that my culinary counterparts, sans jackets and ties, provide a refreshing glimpse into what L’Espalier ultimately can be: a refined, yet relaxed dining experience.
Our first course is nothing short of excellence. My wife dives into a crisp salad layered with a zesty vinaigrette dressing and crunchy, flavorful nuts. Our server also brings over a large bowl solely containing a tiny circular substance, which leads me to ponder whether or not L’Espalier has actually fallen into the age-old stereotype of ‘French fare equates to plate bare.’ Thankfully, however, he swiftly returns and theatrically pours hot, steaming orange squash soup into the bowl. That aforementioned, questionable circular substance proves to be candied pumpkin, an innovative ingredient that meshes wonderfully with the squash and infuses additional flavor into this light, delightful concoction. Oh, and lest I forget to add that the homemade bread, particularly that of the fig and black olive varieties, is simply divine.
Our entrees also rate strongly, if slightly less so. My wife’s pan-roasted halibut is served in preserved lemon vinaigrette alongside tasty couscous. While the fish is light and buttery, the side order of couscous is almost an afterthought given its disappointing scarcity on the plate. My confit rabbit leg is cooked to perfection, which is no small feat, but once again, the meat on the leg is a bit lacking. The accompanying mashed potato-like polenta and brussel sprouts seem an odd pairing with rabbit at face value, but they surprisingly pull the dish together quite nicely.
Dessert is pure bliss. The chocolate decadence cake is artistically presented in a rectangular plate, alongside luscious blackberries and raspberries, wild strawberry anglaise, and a dollop of ethereal, uniquely flavored orange blossom ice cream.
As is to be expected in such an extravagant setting, service is superior. Although I would not characterize our server as being overly friendly, one cannot underscore the importance of the relaxed pacing he brought to the meal. Shouldn’t a meal ultimately resemble the contemplative nature one takes when sampling a fine wine, whereby conversation is reduced to a minimum so that the aromas and tastes may be more fully appreciated?
In terms of value, patrons may simply decide that traveling to France may prove more economical that venturing out to Gloucester Street. We were fortunate enough to sample the 3-course prix fixe lunch menu, which comes reasonably priced at $24 per person. Come dinner time, however, these prices soar to $75. For more ravenous (and wealthier) customers, a 7-course degustation tasting can be had for $94, and the chef’s tasting for a whopping $175. Tack on an additional $16 for valet parking (evenings only) given the congested traffic in the area and that Parisian trip might not sound so crazy after all.
Marie Antoinette was once rumored to have exclaimed, “Let them eat cake,” in reference to her unsympathetic stance on the decaying state of France’s impoverished citizens. The bottom line is this: Paul’s Palate happily ate his cake and more at L’Espalier, but could very easily have joined the ranks of the impoverished in the process. Make no mistake: he thoroughly enjoyed his dining experience there. Memorable? Yes. Unforgettable? Let’s just say that it did not make Paul’s Palate forget Paris.
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
Lineage is a Tradition Worth Keeping
Given that this ravenous reviewer intends to take his mother out for an unforgettable birthday dinner, and spend it alongside his spouse, his brother, and his brother’s wife, what finer and more fitting way then but to spend it at Lineage, a Brookline-based eatery that celebrates family heritage? After all, Jeremy and Lisa Sewall form a potent husband-and-wife tandem whose concept of “Lineage” spawns from the former’s very own (for instance, one fascinating tidbit is that one of his predecessors served as Brookline’s first Town Clerk and even lent the name of his family’s “Brooklin” lands to this very community). Will Lineage ultimately continue Mr. Sewall’s longstanding family tradition of perfection or will Paul’s Palate recommend that this establishment be removed from the family tree?
Lineage’s interior is sleek, yet warm, and deceptively large. To our left, we discover an airy dining area, and straight ahead, a greenish, modestly-lit bar where several lively patrons are seated. We select a more slightly intimate room to our right, which includes plush carpeting and a soothing maritime painting sprawled against its back wall. Our jovial hostess greets us and directs us to our table.
What our server lacks in vivacity and menu mastery, she accounts for in both courtesy and attentiveness. Her first cocktail recommendation is a Brazilian rum that is supposed to be sweet but resembles nothing more than a bland mojito. The refreshingly sweet Lineage Lemonade, however, is a real crowd pleaser: refreshing, sweet, and playfully presented in the form of a “black and tan” (in this case, red and yellow).
For appetizers, our server encourages us to sample the luscious halibut tacos, a unique dish whose buttery, moist fish is the most mouth-watering I’ve had in recent memory. The only shortcoming here is that only four are plated. This reviewer is prepared to jump out of his seat and seek out Mr. Sewall to ascertain if this particular family recipe is for sale. Not to be outdone, however, is the homemade tomato soup served with truffle oil and crisp beignets. The soup is light, yet hearty, sooths one’s stomach, and is the perfect lead-in to our main courses.
My spouse’s pork is both succulent and meaty, accompanied by savory roasted figs, fingerling potatoes, and spinach. The remainder of our table gnaws on savory steak layered with bleu cheese and mashed potatoes. I must admit, however, that my homemade potato gnocchi dish reigns supreme. In stark contrast to most gnocchi dishes which are typically served Italian style (on the heavier side with tomato sauce), the Sewalls bravely render this delicacy as if it has emerged straight from their own personal garden. Sweet corn and vibrantly colored lobster mushrooms adorn this light, yet delectable dish.
The dessert debate begins and abruptly ends with Lineage’s signature dish, its butterscotch pudding. Once again, the Sewalls break slightly from tradition by replacing the prototypically gooey-textured concoction with a pasty, Mazapan-like sweet substance, which is drizzled with both Chantilly cream and caramelized pecans. This dish would convert the most skeptical of pudding phobes, myself included.
In terms of its location, Lineage can be viewed as either a blessing or a curse. For atmosphere alone, the restaurant resides on bustling Harvard Street just outside of college-friendly Coolidge Corner. Parking spaces, however, are scarce in this vicinity, so be prepared to walk. I, however, would gladly venture across all of Boston just to get a taste of what the Sewalls have cooked up. After all, their menu is reasonably priced compared to their urban bretheren (appetizers average $12, entrees come in around $24, and desserts at $8). Lineage ultimately upholds two key traditions: first, maintaining Mr. Sewall’s upstanding family reputation within the Brookline community, and most importantly, appealing to Paul’s Palate’s taste buds.
Lineage’s interior is sleek, yet warm, and deceptively large. To our left, we discover an airy dining area, and straight ahead, a greenish, modestly-lit bar where several lively patrons are seated. We select a more slightly intimate room to our right, which includes plush carpeting and a soothing maritime painting sprawled against its back wall. Our jovial hostess greets us and directs us to our table.
What our server lacks in vivacity and menu mastery, she accounts for in both courtesy and attentiveness. Her first cocktail recommendation is a Brazilian rum that is supposed to be sweet but resembles nothing more than a bland mojito. The refreshingly sweet Lineage Lemonade, however, is a real crowd pleaser: refreshing, sweet, and playfully presented in the form of a “black and tan” (in this case, red and yellow).
For appetizers, our server encourages us to sample the luscious halibut tacos, a unique dish whose buttery, moist fish is the most mouth-watering I’ve had in recent memory. The only shortcoming here is that only four are plated. This reviewer is prepared to jump out of his seat and seek out Mr. Sewall to ascertain if this particular family recipe is for sale. Not to be outdone, however, is the homemade tomato soup served with truffle oil and crisp beignets. The soup is light, yet hearty, sooths one’s stomach, and is the perfect lead-in to our main courses.
My spouse’s pork is both succulent and meaty, accompanied by savory roasted figs, fingerling potatoes, and spinach. The remainder of our table gnaws on savory steak layered with bleu cheese and mashed potatoes. I must admit, however, that my homemade potato gnocchi dish reigns supreme. In stark contrast to most gnocchi dishes which are typically served Italian style (on the heavier side with tomato sauce), the Sewalls bravely render this delicacy as if it has emerged straight from their own personal garden. Sweet corn and vibrantly colored lobster mushrooms adorn this light, yet delectable dish.
The dessert debate begins and abruptly ends with Lineage’s signature dish, its butterscotch pudding. Once again, the Sewalls break slightly from tradition by replacing the prototypically gooey-textured concoction with a pasty, Mazapan-like sweet substance, which is drizzled with both Chantilly cream and caramelized pecans. This dish would convert the most skeptical of pudding phobes, myself included.
In terms of its location, Lineage can be viewed as either a blessing or a curse. For atmosphere alone, the restaurant resides on bustling Harvard Street just outside of college-friendly Coolidge Corner. Parking spaces, however, are scarce in this vicinity, so be prepared to walk. I, however, would gladly venture across all of Boston just to get a taste of what the Sewalls have cooked up. After all, their menu is reasonably priced compared to their urban bretheren (appetizers average $12, entrees come in around $24, and desserts at $8). Lineage ultimately upholds two key traditions: first, maintaining Mr. Sewall’s upstanding family reputation within the Brookline community, and most importantly, appealing to Paul’s Palate’s taste buds.
Sunday, August 19, 2007
A Blessed "Union"
While the South End’s lack of parking spaces may create headaches for visitors, its abundance of fine eating establishments often alleviates the pain. One such establishment, Union Bar and Grille - which recently appeared on Boston Magazine’s list of the city’s top 25 restaurants – allegedly offers fare that rivals some of the hub’s finest. Will Paul’s Palate ultimately agree or shall he pack some extra Excedrin just in case?
Restaurant week has arrived, and Union opens its doors, offering a three-course prix fixe menu for roughly $20. Given that type of value, my wife I express utter shock upon entering the restaurant, which is presently devoid of customers. We turn our attention to Union’s aesthetic interior, which with its black leather upholstery and wooden floors creates a simple yet elegant tone that miraculously works. The front-to-back bar is separated from the intimate dining area, which appears to accommodate approximately seventy patrons.
Our genial, courteous, and knowledgeable server arrives and confidently recommends the grapefruit martini, unquestionably his favorite amongst the cocktail selection. To my chagrin, his suggestion is spot-on, as this concoction is just sweet, sour, and subtle enough to elevate it to sublime status. Nor do the appetizers miss a beat, My wife orders the chilled cantaloupe wrapped in juicy mounds of prosciutto, alongside an arugula salad infused with a sweet citrus vinaigrette. My “Bloody Mary” gazpacho would make ravenous Spaniards proud with its light and ethereal blend of cucumber, red onion and grilled shrimp, and horseradish sourcream.
Entrees are equally delectable. My wife runs out of superlatives for her pan-roasted salmon “BLT,” a playful take on the customary sandwich, which is robust in both size and flavor. The salmon filet is perfectly cooked and is paired with warmed bread, applewood bacon, heir loom tomatoes, and herb mayonnaise. The side of buttery, crispy homemade potato chips doesn’t hurt, either. I, meanwhile, am reluctant to share a taste of my cornmeal dusted “fried clam roll,” creatively served over a crostini-like bread and accompanied by house made pickles, cole slaw, and a zesty chipotle tartar sauce.
For dessert, I once again query our server for his insight. Yet again, he does not flinch when encouraging me to try the ice cream sandwich, which consists of a mouth-watering mix of house made vanilla ice cream lodged between two gooey, warmed, moist double chocolate chip cookies and is splashed with milk chocolate fudge. Needless to say, this decadent dish is a winner and should be considered mandatory tasting for any diligent student enrolled in course Chocolate 101. My wife’s strawberry shortcake is also indulgent, lumping together a moist, yet light homemade brown sugar biscuit with fresh strawberries and whipped cream.
Prior to our departure, I ask our wonderful server if Union actually intends on expanding its hours of operation to include lunch. He responds that Union uses Restaurant Week as an experiment to assess if it is worthwhile remaining open for this midday meal. With both his belly stuffed with fine food and his mouth with strong praise, Paul’s Palate can barely muster enough energy to convince Union Bar and Grille that its potential lunchtime endeavor would suit him just fine.
Restaurant week has arrived, and Union opens its doors, offering a three-course prix fixe menu for roughly $20. Given that type of value, my wife I express utter shock upon entering the restaurant, which is presently devoid of customers. We turn our attention to Union’s aesthetic interior, which with its black leather upholstery and wooden floors creates a simple yet elegant tone that miraculously works. The front-to-back bar is separated from the intimate dining area, which appears to accommodate approximately seventy patrons.
Our genial, courteous, and knowledgeable server arrives and confidently recommends the grapefruit martini, unquestionably his favorite amongst the cocktail selection. To my chagrin, his suggestion is spot-on, as this concoction is just sweet, sour, and subtle enough to elevate it to sublime status. Nor do the appetizers miss a beat, My wife orders the chilled cantaloupe wrapped in juicy mounds of prosciutto, alongside an arugula salad infused with a sweet citrus vinaigrette. My “Bloody Mary” gazpacho would make ravenous Spaniards proud with its light and ethereal blend of cucumber, red onion and grilled shrimp, and horseradish sourcream.
Entrees are equally delectable. My wife runs out of superlatives for her pan-roasted salmon “BLT,” a playful take on the customary sandwich, which is robust in both size and flavor. The salmon filet is perfectly cooked and is paired with warmed bread, applewood bacon, heir loom tomatoes, and herb mayonnaise. The side of buttery, crispy homemade potato chips doesn’t hurt, either. I, meanwhile, am reluctant to share a taste of my cornmeal dusted “fried clam roll,” creatively served over a crostini-like bread and accompanied by house made pickles, cole slaw, and a zesty chipotle tartar sauce.
For dessert, I once again query our server for his insight. Yet again, he does not flinch when encouraging me to try the ice cream sandwich, which consists of a mouth-watering mix of house made vanilla ice cream lodged between two gooey, warmed, moist double chocolate chip cookies and is splashed with milk chocolate fudge. Needless to say, this decadent dish is a winner and should be considered mandatory tasting for any diligent student enrolled in course Chocolate 101. My wife’s strawberry shortcake is also indulgent, lumping together a moist, yet light homemade brown sugar biscuit with fresh strawberries and whipped cream.
Prior to our departure, I ask our wonderful server if Union actually intends on expanding its hours of operation to include lunch. He responds that Union uses Restaurant Week as an experiment to assess if it is worthwhile remaining open for this midday meal. With both his belly stuffed with fine food and his mouth with strong praise, Paul’s Palate can barely muster enough energy to convince Union Bar and Grille that its potential lunchtime endeavor would suit him just fine.
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Alta Strada Reaches New Culinary Heights
An excursion to Alta Strada, a chic, new Italian dining establishment located slightly off of Rte 16 in Wellesley (off of Rte 135, to be exact), proves painstakingly cumbersome. The restaurant’s website is currently under construction, and its occupants appear incapable of providing directions that make any sense. This minute detail leaves this ravenous reviewer debating whether all the fuss over chef/owner Michael Schlow’s expansion into the suburbs is indeed warranted.
Following our half-hour detour, my wife and I meander into a moderately-sized, pristine, brightly-lit room, its walls splashed with vibrant yellow, green, and orange tones. The wooden tables and floors, in addition to interlaced brick walls, create a rustic ambience that meshes well with the otherwise modern décor of the room. On a Monday afternoon, patrons continue to filter in and the atmosphere is lively. It appears that Alta Strada is no longer a secret dining spot.
Our server arrives, instantly apologetic about the confusion over the erroneous directions they have provided. In a surprisingly genuine gesture, she offers us a complimentary side comprised of crisp crostini layered with homemade, red-pepper laced ricotta cheese. Not only are we deeply appreciative of the gesture, but we are left in awe over the superior quality of the ricotta itself, which is refreshingly light. We also munch on an additional crostini dish, this time smothered with fig jam and accompanied by thinly sliced, imported Italian prosciutto. This one is a legitimate show stopper: plainly put, this reviewer would gleefully lose his way on several more occasions if only for a taste of this supreme sampler. Resistance to the silky sweetness of the fig jam alongside the oh-so-fresh prosciutto is futile. Suddenly, this reviewer reaches an epiphany that this dish epitomizes the overall fare at Alta Strada: simplicity, freshness, and perfection over complexity and panache.
We proceed to our pasta entrees, for which chef Schlow is renowned. My wife orders a shrimp dish, which is accompanied by a spicy sauce and homemade spaghetti. The sauce, while pungent, is not overpowering, and carries just the right amount of kick. The generously-sized shrimp are moist, while the pasta is fresh and perfectly cooked al dente. My gnocci dish is equally divine, and I would be content simply gnawing on the plate’s other ingredients, which consist of a scrumptious symphony of tomato sauce, Italian hot sausage, and peas.
Without hesitation, our waitress recommends a homemade fruit torte for dessert, and are we ever glad that she does. This delectable concoction is served warm and moist, light yet rich, and its flaky crust and sweet berry filling are mouth-wateringly good. I must restrain myself from asking our server for additional fig jam from our earler crostini dish. What a perfect conclusion to a perfect meal that would be.
Service is top-notch. Our waitress is pleasant and extremely knowledgeable about the menu items and their ingredients. She is confident, and most importantly, accurate about her food recommendations. She is also attentive to my wife’s dairy allergy, ensuring that the kitchen prepares dishes accordingly.
Must this reviewer place a price on food that is of the utmost quality? Appetizers average between $12-14, pasta entrees around $16-17, and desserts at $7. Let me be the first of many to applaud Mr. Schlow for foregoing the flash of his more famous city eateries (i.e. Great Bay and Radius) and sticking to an age-old culinary formula: simplicity + freshness = delightful dining. Paul’s Palate has never claimed to be a mathematician, but he knows this equation inside and out, and Alta Strada passes this taste test with flying colors.
Following our half-hour detour, my wife and I meander into a moderately-sized, pristine, brightly-lit room, its walls splashed with vibrant yellow, green, and orange tones. The wooden tables and floors, in addition to interlaced brick walls, create a rustic ambience that meshes well with the otherwise modern décor of the room. On a Monday afternoon, patrons continue to filter in and the atmosphere is lively. It appears that Alta Strada is no longer a secret dining spot.
Our server arrives, instantly apologetic about the confusion over the erroneous directions they have provided. In a surprisingly genuine gesture, she offers us a complimentary side comprised of crisp crostini layered with homemade, red-pepper laced ricotta cheese. Not only are we deeply appreciative of the gesture, but we are left in awe over the superior quality of the ricotta itself, which is refreshingly light. We also munch on an additional crostini dish, this time smothered with fig jam and accompanied by thinly sliced, imported Italian prosciutto. This one is a legitimate show stopper: plainly put, this reviewer would gleefully lose his way on several more occasions if only for a taste of this supreme sampler. Resistance to the silky sweetness of the fig jam alongside the oh-so-fresh prosciutto is futile. Suddenly, this reviewer reaches an epiphany that this dish epitomizes the overall fare at Alta Strada: simplicity, freshness, and perfection over complexity and panache.
We proceed to our pasta entrees, for which chef Schlow is renowned. My wife orders a shrimp dish, which is accompanied by a spicy sauce and homemade spaghetti. The sauce, while pungent, is not overpowering, and carries just the right amount of kick. The generously-sized shrimp are moist, while the pasta is fresh and perfectly cooked al dente. My gnocci dish is equally divine, and I would be content simply gnawing on the plate’s other ingredients, which consist of a scrumptious symphony of tomato sauce, Italian hot sausage, and peas.
Without hesitation, our waitress recommends a homemade fruit torte for dessert, and are we ever glad that she does. This delectable concoction is served warm and moist, light yet rich, and its flaky crust and sweet berry filling are mouth-wateringly good. I must restrain myself from asking our server for additional fig jam from our earler crostini dish. What a perfect conclusion to a perfect meal that would be.
Service is top-notch. Our waitress is pleasant and extremely knowledgeable about the menu items and their ingredients. She is confident, and most importantly, accurate about her food recommendations. She is also attentive to my wife’s dairy allergy, ensuring that the kitchen prepares dishes accordingly.
Must this reviewer place a price on food that is of the utmost quality? Appetizers average between $12-14, pasta entrees around $16-17, and desserts at $7. Let me be the first of many to applaud Mr. Schlow for foregoing the flash of his more famous city eateries (i.e. Great Bay and Radius) and sticking to an age-old culinary formula: simplicity + freshness = delightful dining. Paul’s Palate has never claimed to be a mathematician, but he knows this equation inside and out, and Alta Strada passes this taste test with flying colors.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
This Mockingbird sings
Slightly obscured from Route 18’s path in East Bridgewater, this passerby may easily have missed the Mockingbird Restaurant and Martini Lounge. In fact, upon entering into this fairly upscale establishment’s parking lot, customers can just as easily and mistakenly enter the gravel driveway of a nearby house to the right. This house is awkwardly situated given its proximity to the restaurant, and is on full display from the restaurant’s dining area window. Urban planning gaffes aside, does the Mockingbird make Paul’s Palate sing?
Although visibility is minimal in the entryway, my wife and I are brought into a larger, brighter room that emits a trendy confidence with its contemporary greenish colors, cushy couches, radiant lighting, and cathedral ceilings. The dining area is pristine, not a crumb in sight. We are immediately at ease, introduced to our attentive, courteous, if not slightly loquacious server.
From there, we let the martini marathon begin. This martini bar carries an astronomical assortment of eighty alternatives from which to choose. The Key Lime martini with a graham cracker-laced rim is simply sublime, while the Patriot (Blue Raspberry vodka, Chambord, sour mix, and Sprite) is equally refreshing. The lone disappointment of the bunch is the Aqua Marine (Hpnotiq with crème de banana and pineapple juice), which leaves a strange, sour aftertaste on the palate.
Merry from our martinis, we proceed to our appetizers, which prove to be by and large satisfactory. Although the beef barley is not as hearty as one would hope, the salad is crisp and light, layered with a zesty chardonnay dressing. The bacon-wrapped scallops are a winning dish, served moist, warm, light, and most importantly, scrumptious in a blackberry emulsion.
Entrees are generous in terms of both portion size and taste appeal. The duck is prepared just right (medium rare) and its accompanying pomegranate reduction is pure heaven – neither too sweet nor syrupy. This dish also scores high marks for its unique rice presentation, which is stacked high in a circular fashion. This reviewer, however, questions the logic - or lack thereof - behind including a bland side of spinach with such a rich dish. The roasted veal tenderloin is equally tender and also perfectly cooked, though once again, the pasta seems an oddity here. Minor complaints aside (get it?), the meats in these dishes are the stars and they shine brightly.
Dessert comes in the form of a decadent fallen chocolate torte that effortlessly falls into our mouths. This concoction is moist, warm, and laced with a gooey hot fudge sauce and vanilla ice cream. Dare I say that this chocolate lover’s dream is one of the finest I’ve devoured in quite some time?
Value-wise, Mockingbird cannot be beaten. Martinis and appetizers average out around $7 apiece, while entrees come in at $16. For sheer comfort and quality, that sure beats doling out at least twice that amount for a comparable meal in the city. The Mockingbird leaves Paul’s Palate singing a glorious new tune, and he believes it’s destined to be a hit.
Although visibility is minimal in the entryway, my wife and I are brought into a larger, brighter room that emits a trendy confidence with its contemporary greenish colors, cushy couches, radiant lighting, and cathedral ceilings. The dining area is pristine, not a crumb in sight. We are immediately at ease, introduced to our attentive, courteous, if not slightly loquacious server.
From there, we let the martini marathon begin. This martini bar carries an astronomical assortment of eighty alternatives from which to choose. The Key Lime martini with a graham cracker-laced rim is simply sublime, while the Patriot (Blue Raspberry vodka, Chambord, sour mix, and Sprite) is equally refreshing. The lone disappointment of the bunch is the Aqua Marine (Hpnotiq with crème de banana and pineapple juice), which leaves a strange, sour aftertaste on the palate.
Merry from our martinis, we proceed to our appetizers, which prove to be by and large satisfactory. Although the beef barley is not as hearty as one would hope, the salad is crisp and light, layered with a zesty chardonnay dressing. The bacon-wrapped scallops are a winning dish, served moist, warm, light, and most importantly, scrumptious in a blackberry emulsion.
Entrees are generous in terms of both portion size and taste appeal. The duck is prepared just right (medium rare) and its accompanying pomegranate reduction is pure heaven – neither too sweet nor syrupy. This dish also scores high marks for its unique rice presentation, which is stacked high in a circular fashion. This reviewer, however, questions the logic - or lack thereof - behind including a bland side of spinach with such a rich dish. The roasted veal tenderloin is equally tender and also perfectly cooked, though once again, the pasta seems an oddity here. Minor complaints aside (get it?), the meats in these dishes are the stars and they shine brightly.
Dessert comes in the form of a decadent fallen chocolate torte that effortlessly falls into our mouths. This concoction is moist, warm, and laced with a gooey hot fudge sauce and vanilla ice cream. Dare I say that this chocolate lover’s dream is one of the finest I’ve devoured in quite some time?
Value-wise, Mockingbird cannot be beaten. Martinis and appetizers average out around $7 apiece, while entrees come in at $16. For sheer comfort and quality, that sure beats doling out at least twice that amount for a comparable meal in the city. The Mockingbird leaves Paul’s Palate singing a glorious new tune, and he believes it’s destined to be a hit.
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