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.
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
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.
Friday, May 18, 2007
Loco is crazy good!
Venturing into Loco, a quaint, little tapas and wine bar situated directly off of busy Route 138 in South Easton, MA, Paul’s Palate initially feared the worst. Only because on an evening in which torrential downpours and blackened skies dominated the landscape, this superstitious soul felt that the hostile weather pattern presented an ominous sign in terms of an enjoyable dining experience. Would this reviewer ultimately go “loco (spanish term for crazy)” over Loco or would he be left uttering the phrase “Nunca Mas (never again)?”
Fortunately, my deepest fears are immediately allayed upon arrival. Loco’s unique atmosphere can be attributed to its blend of warmth and intimacy. With its pristine interior, walls splattered in dark red hues, a copper bar, dimmed lighting, authentic Spanish songs playing aloud, and a relatively smaller-sized, cozy dining area, Loco exudes a hip, romantic vibe without being overtly pretentious. Its atmosphere is only enhanced by the attentiveness and friendliness of the wait staff, all of whom make diners feel welcomed and right at home. Our server is particularly good this evening, proving accurate in her culinary recommendations and her casual manner. This evening, the Executive Chef even goes out of her way, jovially making tableside rounds to ensure that her customers are content. Meanwhile, Loco’s co-owner is in the kitchen whipping up an array of potentially delectable dishes that make me reminisce about the Spanish cuisine I adored several years ago during my year spent abroad in Seville, Spain. Would Loco’s cuisine live up to such lofty expectations?
Cocktails are memorable, though we do get off to a rather auspicious start. The Manhattan, with its combination of whisky and Spanish sherry, sounds promising, but an excess of the former makes for an unbearably strong beverage. My wife cannot even bring her lips to the glass, overwhelmed by the intense aromas of the whisky. With the sincerest of apologies from our server, the Manhattan is swiftly taken away, and I proceed to order a much more enjoyable mojito, a cool, crisp mix of Spanish rum doused with fresh mint. My spouse’s Key Lime martini comes highly recommended, and for good reason. This concoction is sweet, light, and not too heavy on the stomach, a fate that befalls many dessert cocktails in other establishments. The home-made sangria falls a bit flat given its surprising lack of sweetness, leaving a pungent aftertaste.
As a mini-starter (“pinchos”), we share pan de tomaquet (catalan garlic and tomato rubbed bread), a zesty dish that leaves us wondering why we nibbled on the complimentary bread from Iggy’s in Cambridge - as good as it was - in the first place. From there, we proceed to sip on a light, refreshing bowl of gazpacho a la barceloneta (gazpacho of Barcelona) as our tapa fria (cold tapa), which is a delightful orange-colored soup that proves not too creamy and packs a peppery punch.
In lieu of entrees (platos principales), many of which appear tempting (such as the paella and rioja braised beef short ribs), we decide to experiment with several smaller hot tapa (tapas calientes) dishes. The first and most intriguing of these that arrive are the mojito marinated chicken and beef skewers with grilled lime. While the presentation is a plus given that the dish is accompanied by a mojito shooter and the skewers are served in triangular fashion, the meat itself is disappointing, particularly the chicken, which is prepared on the dry side. Next come the seared diver scallops with spiced grapefruit relish. Although the relish tag proves slightly misleading in that it is comes in the form of a juice, this dish wins us over, as the scallops are succulent and perfectly cooked, absorbing the tangy bitterness of the grapefruit. The tortilla espanol (Spanish egg and potato omelet with romesco sauce) is equally enjoyable, and its accompanying spicy romesco sauce make this dish sizzle. Lastly, the duo of pork dish, which includes rioja braised bbq pork and seared tenderloin, is tasty, though my spouse and I unanimously prefer the former, wishing we could consume just the tangy, moist pork alone.
To finish, we split a heavenly trio of warmed churros, a Spanish dessert (postre) consisting of dough, subsequently dipped in chocolate ice cream with flecks of cocoa. These doughy delights are some of the best I’ve tasted, including those from Seville. A healthy infusion of café con leche (Spanish coffee and espresso blend with steamed milk) washes away all traces of the churros, and my spouse and I are ultimately content with the conclusion of what has to be considered by and large a successful dining experience.
Value rates well for Loco. From a price perspective, small tapa dishes range from $3-6, while the majority of hot and cold tapa plates run from $5-10. Main entrees fluctuate from $15-29. And of course, one cannot put a price on the quality of authentic Spanish cuisine. This reviewer certainly hopes that surrounding towns rapidly catch wind of this eclectic eatery. Might Paul’s Palate return for an encore? I’d be “loco” not to.
Fortunately, my deepest fears are immediately allayed upon arrival. Loco’s unique atmosphere can be attributed to its blend of warmth and intimacy. With its pristine interior, walls splattered in dark red hues, a copper bar, dimmed lighting, authentic Spanish songs playing aloud, and a relatively smaller-sized, cozy dining area, Loco exudes a hip, romantic vibe without being overtly pretentious. Its atmosphere is only enhanced by the attentiveness and friendliness of the wait staff, all of whom make diners feel welcomed and right at home. Our server is particularly good this evening, proving accurate in her culinary recommendations and her casual manner. This evening, the Executive Chef even goes out of her way, jovially making tableside rounds to ensure that her customers are content. Meanwhile, Loco’s co-owner is in the kitchen whipping up an array of potentially delectable dishes that make me reminisce about the Spanish cuisine I adored several years ago during my year spent abroad in Seville, Spain. Would Loco’s cuisine live up to such lofty expectations?
Cocktails are memorable, though we do get off to a rather auspicious start. The Manhattan, with its combination of whisky and Spanish sherry, sounds promising, but an excess of the former makes for an unbearably strong beverage. My wife cannot even bring her lips to the glass, overwhelmed by the intense aromas of the whisky. With the sincerest of apologies from our server, the Manhattan is swiftly taken away, and I proceed to order a much more enjoyable mojito, a cool, crisp mix of Spanish rum doused with fresh mint. My spouse’s Key Lime martini comes highly recommended, and for good reason. This concoction is sweet, light, and not too heavy on the stomach, a fate that befalls many dessert cocktails in other establishments. The home-made sangria falls a bit flat given its surprising lack of sweetness, leaving a pungent aftertaste.
As a mini-starter (“pinchos”), we share pan de tomaquet (catalan garlic and tomato rubbed bread), a zesty dish that leaves us wondering why we nibbled on the complimentary bread from Iggy’s in Cambridge - as good as it was - in the first place. From there, we proceed to sip on a light, refreshing bowl of gazpacho a la barceloneta (gazpacho of Barcelona) as our tapa fria (cold tapa), which is a delightful orange-colored soup that proves not too creamy and packs a peppery punch.
In lieu of entrees (platos principales), many of which appear tempting (such as the paella and rioja braised beef short ribs), we decide to experiment with several smaller hot tapa (tapas calientes) dishes. The first and most intriguing of these that arrive are the mojito marinated chicken and beef skewers with grilled lime. While the presentation is a plus given that the dish is accompanied by a mojito shooter and the skewers are served in triangular fashion, the meat itself is disappointing, particularly the chicken, which is prepared on the dry side. Next come the seared diver scallops with spiced grapefruit relish. Although the relish tag proves slightly misleading in that it is comes in the form of a juice, this dish wins us over, as the scallops are succulent and perfectly cooked, absorbing the tangy bitterness of the grapefruit. The tortilla espanol (Spanish egg and potato omelet with romesco sauce) is equally enjoyable, and its accompanying spicy romesco sauce make this dish sizzle. Lastly, the duo of pork dish, which includes rioja braised bbq pork and seared tenderloin, is tasty, though my spouse and I unanimously prefer the former, wishing we could consume just the tangy, moist pork alone.
To finish, we split a heavenly trio of warmed churros, a Spanish dessert (postre) consisting of dough, subsequently dipped in chocolate ice cream with flecks of cocoa. These doughy delights are some of the best I’ve tasted, including those from Seville. A healthy infusion of café con leche (Spanish coffee and espresso blend with steamed milk) washes away all traces of the churros, and my spouse and I are ultimately content with the conclusion of what has to be considered by and large a successful dining experience.
Value rates well for Loco. From a price perspective, small tapa dishes range from $3-6, while the majority of hot and cold tapa plates run from $5-10. Main entrees fluctuate from $15-29. And of course, one cannot put a price on the quality of authentic Spanish cuisine. This reviewer certainly hopes that surrounding towns rapidly catch wind of this eclectic eatery. Might Paul’s Palate return for an encore? I’d be “loco” not to.
Monday, May 7, 2007
Aquitaine Bis is a slight miss
This secret reviewer rightfully holds lofty expectations for Aquitaine Bis, sister restaurant to its beloved flagship establishment in Boston’s South End. Located in a small plaza off of busy Route 9 in Chestnut Hill, Paul’s Palate wonders if the buzz over this bistro is warranted. Besides, its previous occupant, Bella Luna, was a staple of fine dining for years in this community. Would Paul’s Palate find a worthy heir apparent in Aquitaine Bis?
Arriving a few minutes early, my wife and I meander to the bar area, where we dejectedly learn that no martini menus exist. I request an espresso martini, which is rich in taste, not too thick, and does not possess a surplus of vodka, which often ruins this mixed drink. My spouse orders a margherita, whose potent tequila flavor emerges without being overly sweet. Along the way, we soak in the restaurant’s intimate, if not somewhat gloomy atmosphere, which includes dimmed lighting and dark leather seating. We are informed that our table is now ready and we quickly proceed to our seats, hunger pangs and all.
We are bewildered to learn from our server that my wife cannot delve into any of the appetizers due to each item containing dairy products. This is particularly troubling because this reviewer has called ahead of time and is told that the kitchen can in fact accommodate patrons who have this particular allergy. Even more exasperating is the fact that our server brings us what appears to be a zesty plate of sage gnocci dusted with cheese. We ultimately decide upon the escargots de bourguignonne with garlic and herb butter and brioche toast, and the snails’ buttery squirminess assuages whatever frustrations we have about the aforementioned culinary faux pas.
We carnivorously devour the flesh from our meaty entrees, mine being the highly regarded steak frites. The thinly cut steak strips are perfectly cooked, succulent and sweet, given that they are drizzled with meat juice and perigord black truffle vinaigrette. The accompanying watercress shallot salad is rather bland in comparison, and seems to be the dish’s lone oddity. The dish’s other side, however, the slightly salty, crispy frites (special take on french fries), proves to be more memorable. In lieu of the ketchup bottle, this reviewer contently dips his fried friends into the meat’s juices. My wife’s veal osso bucco is equally delectable, falling right off the bone and melting into the mouth, though she cannot resist taking sporadic bites of the irresistibly scrumptious steak dish that rests across the table.
Dessert, however, is an utter disaster. The warm chocolate pudding cake is overcooked, the cake dried out and the hot pudding center itself evaporated. For a bistro that prides itself on simplistic takes on elegant dishes, how, pray tell, do they manage to botch such a simple concoction as warmed chocolate cake?
Dining at Aquitaine proves to be a rather expensive proposition for my money’s worth. Although the quality of the fare is above-average, it is not strong enough to sustain a hefty price tag ranging between $26-$34 per entrée. Also a factor: medium-sized portions that leave us licking our plates and yearning for one or two additional bites of each dish. Does Paul’s Palate enjoy an evening at Aquitaine? Sure, but you certainly won’t see this caped critic doing somersaults to return there any time soon.
Arriving a few minutes early, my wife and I meander to the bar area, where we dejectedly learn that no martini menus exist. I request an espresso martini, which is rich in taste, not too thick, and does not possess a surplus of vodka, which often ruins this mixed drink. My spouse orders a margherita, whose potent tequila flavor emerges without being overly sweet. Along the way, we soak in the restaurant’s intimate, if not somewhat gloomy atmosphere, which includes dimmed lighting and dark leather seating. We are informed that our table is now ready and we quickly proceed to our seats, hunger pangs and all.
We are bewildered to learn from our server that my wife cannot delve into any of the appetizers due to each item containing dairy products. This is particularly troubling because this reviewer has called ahead of time and is told that the kitchen can in fact accommodate patrons who have this particular allergy. Even more exasperating is the fact that our server brings us what appears to be a zesty plate of sage gnocci dusted with cheese. We ultimately decide upon the escargots de bourguignonne with garlic and herb butter and brioche toast, and the snails’ buttery squirminess assuages whatever frustrations we have about the aforementioned culinary faux pas.
We carnivorously devour the flesh from our meaty entrees, mine being the highly regarded steak frites. The thinly cut steak strips are perfectly cooked, succulent and sweet, given that they are drizzled with meat juice and perigord black truffle vinaigrette. The accompanying watercress shallot salad is rather bland in comparison, and seems to be the dish’s lone oddity. The dish’s other side, however, the slightly salty, crispy frites (special take on french fries), proves to be more memorable. In lieu of the ketchup bottle, this reviewer contently dips his fried friends into the meat’s juices. My wife’s veal osso bucco is equally delectable, falling right off the bone and melting into the mouth, though she cannot resist taking sporadic bites of the irresistibly scrumptious steak dish that rests across the table.
Dessert, however, is an utter disaster. The warm chocolate pudding cake is overcooked, the cake dried out and the hot pudding center itself evaporated. For a bistro that prides itself on simplistic takes on elegant dishes, how, pray tell, do they manage to botch such a simple concoction as warmed chocolate cake?
Dining at Aquitaine proves to be a rather expensive proposition for my money’s worth. Although the quality of the fare is above-average, it is not strong enough to sustain a hefty price tag ranging between $26-$34 per entrée. Also a factor: medium-sized portions that leave us licking our plates and yearning for one or two additional bites of each dish. Does Paul’s Palate enjoy an evening at Aquitaine? Sure, but you certainly won’t see this caped critic doing somersaults to return there any time soon.
Tuesday, May 1, 2007
Steak and cheese? Puh-leeze. Try the Parish Cafe...
Sandwiches do not typically evoke much excitement from this reviewer given the unwarranted mass appeal of retail chains that include D’Angelos, Quiznos, and Subway. One surprising alternative, however, the Parish Café, resides in Boston. Situated directly on bustling Boylston Street, this establishment elevates sandwiches to an art form by consulting with several local culinary giants - including Radius chef/owner Michael Schlow and Blue Ginger’s celebrity chef/owner Ming Tsai – who provide their own unique variations on the often substandard sandwich. Did this experimentation ultimately appeal to Paul’s Palate or would I simply be left craving a measly steak and cheese sub at D’Angelos?
Although the café’s dining area is somewhat crammed and one must nearly resort to shouting in order to be heard, the atmosphere is rather relaxed once we settle in to our table. Given the busy environment of the restaurant, the wait staff is friendly, albeit interchangeable. While these comings and goings smoothly keep our meal moving at a pleasant pace, they do diminish our overall satisfaction level with service. There is something to be said for developing a rapport with one, and not several, attentive servers.
Our meal begins with one of the most memorable appetizers I can recall tasting. We munch away on the heralded roasted reggae wings, which come marinated in a potent blend of Jamaican jerk spices, fresh citrus and soy. The amount meat on these wings is generous and extremely succulent. As an added bonus, the wings are accompanied by a heavenly concoction of banana-mango chutney. This reviewer could have gnawed on several of these wings and simply called it a day. As the waiter removes this savory dish, we begrudgingly proceed to our entrees.
The sandwiches, however, prove equally delectable, and are simply awe-inspiring given their boldness and combination of flavors. My companion, who is a regular inhabitant here, resorts to what she identifies as “old reliable,” otherwise known as the Zuni Roll. This sandwich, enmeshed in a warmed flour tortilla, contains smoked turkey, bacon, scallions, dill havarti cheese, and cranberry-chipotle sauce, and is as good as it sounds. The turkey is moist and virtually melts in one’s mouth. In an adventurous mood, I decide to order the Schlesinger, aptly named for East Coast Grille’s chef/owner, Chris. This sandwich consists of warm banana-nut bread, smoked ham, Monterey jack cheese, mango chutney, and pickled ginger red cabbage. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t initially feel queasy, if not intrigued by this perplexing combination of ingredients. The result, however, is pure magic. This innovative item is one of the most mouth-watering meals I’ve enjoyed feasting upon, and I suddenly have the urge to walk over to Mr. Schlesinger’s establishment and shake his hand in admiration.
The homemade white chocolate brioche bread pudding brings the meal to a successful conclusion. This dessert is served warm and is sufficiently moist to boot. Fortunately, it does not suffer the fates of similar plates, which include excess heat, syrup and whipped cream, and which are frequently on the heavier side.
Value is just right based upon the flavorful fare to be had. Appetizers range from $8-$12, while sandwiches fluctuate from $12-$15. Not bad, considering this patron would find himself in the poorhouse dining at one of the Parish Cafe’s all-star consultant chef’s main establishments (such as the aforementioned Radius and Blue Ginger). I apologize in advance, D’Angelos, but I believe I’m going to pass on that steak and cheese sub for now. Paul’s Palate can’t bear to take another bite.
Although the café’s dining area is somewhat crammed and one must nearly resort to shouting in order to be heard, the atmosphere is rather relaxed once we settle in to our table. Given the busy environment of the restaurant, the wait staff is friendly, albeit interchangeable. While these comings and goings smoothly keep our meal moving at a pleasant pace, they do diminish our overall satisfaction level with service. There is something to be said for developing a rapport with one, and not several, attentive servers.
Our meal begins with one of the most memorable appetizers I can recall tasting. We munch away on the heralded roasted reggae wings, which come marinated in a potent blend of Jamaican jerk spices, fresh citrus and soy. The amount meat on these wings is generous and extremely succulent. As an added bonus, the wings are accompanied by a heavenly concoction of banana-mango chutney. This reviewer could have gnawed on several of these wings and simply called it a day. As the waiter removes this savory dish, we begrudgingly proceed to our entrees.
The sandwiches, however, prove equally delectable, and are simply awe-inspiring given their boldness and combination of flavors. My companion, who is a regular inhabitant here, resorts to what she identifies as “old reliable,” otherwise known as the Zuni Roll. This sandwich, enmeshed in a warmed flour tortilla, contains smoked turkey, bacon, scallions, dill havarti cheese, and cranberry-chipotle sauce, and is as good as it sounds. The turkey is moist and virtually melts in one’s mouth. In an adventurous mood, I decide to order the Schlesinger, aptly named for East Coast Grille’s chef/owner, Chris. This sandwich consists of warm banana-nut bread, smoked ham, Monterey jack cheese, mango chutney, and pickled ginger red cabbage. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t initially feel queasy, if not intrigued by this perplexing combination of ingredients. The result, however, is pure magic. This innovative item is one of the most mouth-watering meals I’ve enjoyed feasting upon, and I suddenly have the urge to walk over to Mr. Schlesinger’s establishment and shake his hand in admiration.
The homemade white chocolate brioche bread pudding brings the meal to a successful conclusion. This dessert is served warm and is sufficiently moist to boot. Fortunately, it does not suffer the fates of similar plates, which include excess heat, syrup and whipped cream, and which are frequently on the heavier side.
Value is just right based upon the flavorful fare to be had. Appetizers range from $8-$12, while sandwiches fluctuate from $12-$15. Not bad, considering this patron would find himself in the poorhouse dining at one of the Parish Cafe’s all-star consultant chef’s main establishments (such as the aforementioned Radius and Blue Ginger). I apologize in advance, D’Angelos, but I believe I’m going to pass on that steak and cheese sub for now. Paul’s Palate can’t bear to take another bite.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Tamboo should not be considered taboo
Having received first-hand accounts filled with praise for Tamboo Bistro, located on Main Street in Brockton, MA, one wonders if this city’s downtown area, notorious for its lack of culinary flair, is undergoing an upscale transformation. Tamboo, after all, signifies the rhythm of life, and its owners hope to emulate this by serving an eclectic array of both New American and Haitian fare. In the infamous words of Gloria Estefan (and who could omit the accompanying Miami Sound Machine), is Tamboo’s “rhythm going to get me” or will it disappointingly fall flat according to Paul’s Palate?
Location-wise, Tamboo resides at the beginning of Main Street, which resembles a ghost town mid-week, with its empty sidewalks and emptier nearby buildings that remain vacant. Clearly, this is not as bustling an area as initially thought. The restaurant is shockingly devoid of customers upon our arrival, thereby enabling us to meander to the bar area and admire the sleek décor. Clearly, owner Chrismin Charlot has infused a great deal of money renovating this space. From its space-lit entry, to its ultra-modern, hip interior - which includes stylish tables, funky walls, Haitian artwork, mood lighting, and a futuristic bar/lounge area – one feels transported several years ahead in time, if not at least into one of the classy, sophisticated dining scenes found in Boston. The establishment is spotless with the exception of small morsels that stand out on its carpeted entryway.
At the bar, we ogle a wide-ranging variety of cocktails, which are even broken out into categories such as a Sexy list (don’t ask me, just try them). After sipping on delectable pear and mango martinis, mango mojitos (served in bended glasses), and pomegranate margaritas, we make our way to our table, anxious to consume our meals.
Our server, albeit quiet in nature, is pleasant, attentive, and courteous. He provides accurate recommendations in regard to the menu, which include zesty appetizers. The fried calamari possess a nice, squishy texture and mesh well with fiery red peppers. The Haitian fried meatballs with dipping sauce are a legitimate winner. With a lightly crunchy exterior and juicy, spicy interior, I could pop hundreds more of these into my mouth if only I had an expanded stomach capacity to do so. The only lackluster appetizer is the rum-roasted chicken wings, which come highly recommended by our server. Although meaty and flavorful, they more closely resemble buffalo wings than rum-soaked ones.
As with our drinks, we face a difficult task of choosing between a jaw-dropping number of entrees. Fortunately, they are flawlessly presented, large in portion size, and delectable upon arrival. Spicy aromas emanate from uniquely-shaped plates. Juicy goat meet happily swims in a slightly spicy, zesty creole sauce with peppers. A whole red snapper is equally divine, served with onions, peppers, and herbs. Island shrimp sizzled with peppers stands out, however, as the most memorable entrée of the evening with its winning, adventurous combination of ingredients that include brown sugar, cumin, and chili powder.
For dessert, the Raspberry Mont Blanc, a scrumptious concoction of white chocolate mousse, kirsh-soaked raspberries, is playfully presented in a white and red pyramid shell. Light, subtle, and not painfully sweet, I would travel to Egypt and back for another taste of this heavenly, innovative pyramid-like pastry.
It is this reviewer’s hope that Tamboo establishes its own rhythm in terms of attracting a consistent clientele. Certainly, its value cannot be beaten. Where else can fine dining be enjoyed at $15 to $20 per entrée? Hopefully, the mid-week visit and empty tables were not indicative of the fanfare surrounding this welcomed addition to the Brockton community. Otherwise, Paul’s Palate will sadly need to find its rhythm elsewhere.
Location-wise, Tamboo resides at the beginning of Main Street, which resembles a ghost town mid-week, with its empty sidewalks and emptier nearby buildings that remain vacant. Clearly, this is not as bustling an area as initially thought. The restaurant is shockingly devoid of customers upon our arrival, thereby enabling us to meander to the bar area and admire the sleek décor. Clearly, owner Chrismin Charlot has infused a great deal of money renovating this space. From its space-lit entry, to its ultra-modern, hip interior - which includes stylish tables, funky walls, Haitian artwork, mood lighting, and a futuristic bar/lounge area – one feels transported several years ahead in time, if not at least into one of the classy, sophisticated dining scenes found in Boston. The establishment is spotless with the exception of small morsels that stand out on its carpeted entryway.
At the bar, we ogle a wide-ranging variety of cocktails, which are even broken out into categories such as a Sexy list (don’t ask me, just try them). After sipping on delectable pear and mango martinis, mango mojitos (served in bended glasses), and pomegranate margaritas, we make our way to our table, anxious to consume our meals.
Our server, albeit quiet in nature, is pleasant, attentive, and courteous. He provides accurate recommendations in regard to the menu, which include zesty appetizers. The fried calamari possess a nice, squishy texture and mesh well with fiery red peppers. The Haitian fried meatballs with dipping sauce are a legitimate winner. With a lightly crunchy exterior and juicy, spicy interior, I could pop hundreds more of these into my mouth if only I had an expanded stomach capacity to do so. The only lackluster appetizer is the rum-roasted chicken wings, which come highly recommended by our server. Although meaty and flavorful, they more closely resemble buffalo wings than rum-soaked ones.
As with our drinks, we face a difficult task of choosing between a jaw-dropping number of entrees. Fortunately, they are flawlessly presented, large in portion size, and delectable upon arrival. Spicy aromas emanate from uniquely-shaped plates. Juicy goat meet happily swims in a slightly spicy, zesty creole sauce with peppers. A whole red snapper is equally divine, served with onions, peppers, and herbs. Island shrimp sizzled with peppers stands out, however, as the most memorable entrée of the evening with its winning, adventurous combination of ingredients that include brown sugar, cumin, and chili powder.
For dessert, the Raspberry Mont Blanc, a scrumptious concoction of white chocolate mousse, kirsh-soaked raspberries, is playfully presented in a white and red pyramid shell. Light, subtle, and not painfully sweet, I would travel to Egypt and back for another taste of this heavenly, innovative pyramid-like pastry.
It is this reviewer’s hope that Tamboo establishes its own rhythm in terms of attracting a consistent clientele. Certainly, its value cannot be beaten. Where else can fine dining be enjoyed at $15 to $20 per entrée? Hopefully, the mid-week visit and empty tables were not indicative of the fanfare surrounding this welcomed addition to the Brockton community. Otherwise, Paul’s Palate will sadly need to find its rhythm elsewhere.
Monday, April 9, 2007
Oak Room leaves hollow feeling
Upon entering the highly touted Oak Room restaurant, nestled away in Boston’s equally luxurious Fairmont Copley Hotel, the scene resembles that from one of the classic James Bond films, in which the suave, debonair 007 (Sean Connery, for my taste) enters an exorbitantly expensive dining establishment and calmly asks for his customary martini, shaken not stirred. The Oak Room, not surprisingly, offers such a cocktail called the 007. This secret agent, er, reviewer went undercover to assess if this dining experience would leave me saying Never Say Never Again (that would translate to a compliment given the double entendre) or have me playing the part of the evil Dr. No. In other words, did the Oak Room meet Paul’s Palate?
On atmosphere alone, the Oak Room scores high marks for grandeur and decadence. One can clearly ascertain from where the restaurant obtains its name, as oak panels encompass the entire room. The mounted, stuffed deer on the walls, mile-high cathedral ceilings, and illustrious chandeliers provide a peculiar, yet casual ballroom/country-club like setting. Waiters are decked out in tuxedoes, and customers should plan on dressing accordingly for this fancy affair (i.e. it is recommended that men wear jackets). The dining area is pristine, not a crumb to be found. One major cause for irritation, however: why does the Oak Room insist that customers depart from the dining area only to utilize the hotel’s washrooms, which are surprisingly filthy?
Service is near pitch perfect. Our waiter is friendly, attentive, and infinitely astute about the menu, confidently providing recommendations throughout the evening. One such notable suggestion of which this reviewer is particularly fond includes a 2004 Louis Martini Cabernet, which is perhaps the most smooth, subtle, luscious wine I have tasted in quite some time. This glass is not overpowering like most Cabernets, and perfectly compliments the steak dish I have ordered. The wine, however, is unfortunately the highlight of the evening.
Appetizers are disappointingly bland. Calamari came out lukewarm, containing too much batter and zero “zing.” Another side dish of potatoes and onion rings also comes out on the colder side, similarly lacking in flavor. Asparagus tips are also maddeningly lukewarm, and on the brittle side in terms of texture. On a more positive note, sesame crackers, crispy mini bagels, and spicy olives laid out tableside tide us over until the main entrees. As an aside, while the wine recommendation is spot-on, the pomegranate and cucumber mojitos we ingest are mediocre at best, lacking the sweet potency of the pomegranate altogether.
This being a steakhouse and all, meat assumedly will be the standout course of the evening. Are we ever mistaken: a bone-in ribeye, a notoriously juicy and moist cut of meat, is a tad overcooked and unacceptably fatty. Fortunately, the aforementioned Cabernet offsets this major culinary faux pas.
Given that we are celebrating a landmark birthday with family members, we proceed to devour slices of birthday cake that are garnished with a luscious kiwi and strawberry sauce. Our cinnamon-infused cappuccinos are the best I can recall in recent memory, but I remain baffled and frustrated as to why the drinks have taken center stage over the meals this evening.
In terms of value, the Oak Room rates poorly. While portions are moderate, the quality of the dishes ranges from mediocre to poor. For my money’s worth, this secret agent would rather splurge at Morton’s Steakhouse, or even Vintage, out in West Roxbury. Dr. No has re-emerged from his evil lair, and his earth-shattering verdict is in: the Oak Room does not meet Paul’s Palate.
On atmosphere alone, the Oak Room scores high marks for grandeur and decadence. One can clearly ascertain from where the restaurant obtains its name, as oak panels encompass the entire room. The mounted, stuffed deer on the walls, mile-high cathedral ceilings, and illustrious chandeliers provide a peculiar, yet casual ballroom/country-club like setting. Waiters are decked out in tuxedoes, and customers should plan on dressing accordingly for this fancy affair (i.e. it is recommended that men wear jackets). The dining area is pristine, not a crumb to be found. One major cause for irritation, however: why does the Oak Room insist that customers depart from the dining area only to utilize the hotel’s washrooms, which are surprisingly filthy?
Service is near pitch perfect. Our waiter is friendly, attentive, and infinitely astute about the menu, confidently providing recommendations throughout the evening. One such notable suggestion of which this reviewer is particularly fond includes a 2004 Louis Martini Cabernet, which is perhaps the most smooth, subtle, luscious wine I have tasted in quite some time. This glass is not overpowering like most Cabernets, and perfectly compliments the steak dish I have ordered. The wine, however, is unfortunately the highlight of the evening.
Appetizers are disappointingly bland. Calamari came out lukewarm, containing too much batter and zero “zing.” Another side dish of potatoes and onion rings also comes out on the colder side, similarly lacking in flavor. Asparagus tips are also maddeningly lukewarm, and on the brittle side in terms of texture. On a more positive note, sesame crackers, crispy mini bagels, and spicy olives laid out tableside tide us over until the main entrees. As an aside, while the wine recommendation is spot-on, the pomegranate and cucumber mojitos we ingest are mediocre at best, lacking the sweet potency of the pomegranate altogether.
This being a steakhouse and all, meat assumedly will be the standout course of the evening. Are we ever mistaken: a bone-in ribeye, a notoriously juicy and moist cut of meat, is a tad overcooked and unacceptably fatty. Fortunately, the aforementioned Cabernet offsets this major culinary faux pas.
Given that we are celebrating a landmark birthday with family members, we proceed to devour slices of birthday cake that are garnished with a luscious kiwi and strawberry sauce. Our cinnamon-infused cappuccinos are the best I can recall in recent memory, but I remain baffled and frustrated as to why the drinks have taken center stage over the meals this evening.
In terms of value, the Oak Room rates poorly. While portions are moderate, the quality of the dishes ranges from mediocre to poor. For my money’s worth, this secret agent would rather splurge at Morton’s Steakhouse, or even Vintage, out in West Roxbury. Dr. No has re-emerged from his evil lair, and his earth-shattering verdict is in: the Oak Room does not meet Paul’s Palate.
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