One A-List Bistro

I know I perhaps seem too kind to places, too fortunate in my eating life, as if the meals I enjoy bore the imprimatur of Escoffier himself. Truth is, I tend to avoid the places I don't like, so then I don't eat much bad food. And while some of my Indy features are about places that suggest the quit in adequate, well there, dear readers, I hope you realize I write as a reporter, talk to folks about their story creating their restaurant, and hope that's an interesting read.

But today I come to praise to high heavens, to try to pay homage to one of the best meals in my recent memory. A few weeks ago in Boston we got to dine at Hamersley's Bistro, a place I've wondered about for years thanks to Gordon Hamersley's great cookbook Bistro Cooking at Home, which I've raved about before and is still one of my go-to books in the kitchen. It's a lovely warm room that manages to call out to several architectural styles without seeming confused--warm yellow-cream walls that are somewhat Provence; wood beamed ceiling that might be Provence, might be Paul Revere's house (this is Boston, after all), chandeliers that are simple and somewhat Mission style, but maybe that was just the Californian in me. It all ends up both homey and glowy at once, special but comfortable. And despite some large parties (clearly it's a place for special occasions), there's enough space between tables and the ceiling is high enough the room is a-buzz without turning into buzzkill.

Then the help, well, it's gracious and attentive, and lord I love people who get paid well enough to make a career as waiters, so they bother to learn their jobs and care. They suggest wines with aplomb and knowledge (for spring there was a clutch of pinks to choose from, and the very moderately priced 2010 Commanderie de la Bargemone Coteaux d'Aix en Provence Rosé was brilliant, flavorful despite its very pale pink rose hue); they instantly notice the cream might be low for the second coffee serving; and I swear the guy just sort of had eyes that twinkled. But of course, as he's serve Hamersley's stunning food.

The photo you see above, taken from my iPhone, does little justice to one of the best plates of food I've ever eaten, and it was a goddam sandwich. Or at least that's how it's billed--Mushroom and Garlic Sandwich on Toasted Country Bread--but that's like calling Neko Case a warbler or Willie Mays an adult at a child's game or Flaubert a teller of tales. Those mushrooms, well, the quality of them and their nifty mix of wildness certainly helped. But then he gets them to do that stick to the pan trick, too, so parts have crunch, but then other parts retain that shroomy-chewiness. Who knew a funghi could be so varied in texture? The bread was also wonderful, toasted just so, assertive just enough (for after all it's about the filling, not the bread here, and you eat it with knife and fork--it's not even a conveyance mechanism). Finally, the garlic. It's clearly roasted loooong and sloooow. Mellower than a mess of Quaalude popping clubbers in the 1970s. Yet still the essence of garlic without the harm. Better than butter, this.

As for the rest of the meal, it, too, was wonderful. My companion's Crispy Vegetable Lasagna with Ricotta, Soft Poached Egg, Leeks, Peas and Asparagus … White Truffle and Parmesan was both rich and light, if that makes sense, lasagna dressed up for an elegant bash. My Spicy Halibut and Clam Roast with Bacon Braised Greens, White Beans and Black Trumpet Mushrooms, beyond having practically every food I love in one dish, was a masterpiece of execution. That spicy part a brilliant rethinking of blackening fish, for instead of a muddled, burnt crust, it was just the right amount of herb and spice with a quick pan sear, rich in coriander seed, too. The clams cooked exactly--not overdone as they often are when supporting players on a plate.

Then dessert was another stunner, Slow Roasted Pineapple with Lime Gelato, Roasted Coconut and Cumin Shortbread. What that doesn't tell you is the thinly sliced rectangles of pineapple are not only roasted, they get brûléed at the very end, too, so become a sour-sweet sensation. Pair that with the zippy lime gelato, getting its sweet from: 1) being, uh, gelato, and 2) the roasted coconut. Triple it with the cumin shortbread, again, the savory and sweet doing a tantalizing tango across your tongue.

Ok ok, that was a totally over-the-top metaphor, but it's the kind of thing Hamersley's leads to. If you're ever in Boston, go.

Truffle in Mind

Kraft korrupts, we all know that. Poor college students, lured in by the call of a twenty-nine cent a serving meal, can't help but mac 'n' cheese out. But m'n'c, like wine, should not come from a box. And in some of us, the quest for the perfect m'n'c might continue as a lifelong mission....

and there was Marliave. So if you're in Boston, wind your way about the down-at-its-heels Downtown Crossing, in a place where nothing this simple yet sophisticated might be, to a place that has been around since 1885, sort of--it's very refreshed, now, but has that air of having been around a bit that gives the place some gravitas.

The important thing is to order the mac 'n' cheese. It's listed as an app, but it makes a perfect lunch even for me with an appetite. It comes out in a white porcelain pot so you have to pop open the lid and then let the scent hit you, a warmth of homecomings. Yes, it's got what's listed as black truffle, and perhaps they actually do some grating magic, for it doesn't have that perfume you tend to get when places just use truffle oil; you know what I mean, as if the meal put on truffle perfume to hide it ain't really truffly at all.

But even better, it's the mac that's the star here. It's house cut ziti, something substantial, and they let it stay that way, as it's all al dente. Too often this dish can be mush-a-roni and cheese, but not at Marliave. And then, it's unclear what the cheese combo is (the menu mentions a vague "farmhouse cheeses"), but they, too, are rich and full and turned into a velvety sauce that covers every bite of the ziti.

I want some right now.

The Green Monster of Jealousy over a Boston Brunch

Be prepared for me to bat all out of order for the next few entries as Georgeeats is on the road, and part of that road winds through Boston, where I hadn't been in over a decade but my has the food and drink been good there. I might do an east coast beer wrap up separately to do proper justice to everything from Smuttynose to Pretty Things to Clown Shoes Tramp Stamp in-between, but just the names should be enough for now.

But if you're near Fenway and you need good eats and drinks, don't hesitate to visit Citizen Public House and Oyster Bar. Indeed, you can sit right at the bar, but in a booth, too, if you're lucky, as the one end gives you the best seats in the house, it seems. We were there for a wonderful Sunday brunch, Adrian Gonzalez good, not Carl Crawford good. You can get bloody Marys two ways, veggie or carnivorous, so as I become more and more a beefy sort, I said, sure, lay your bouillon on me, and fortunately they were out of Slim Jims, which are the usual stirrers, but not out of the candied bacon that got sprinkled on top, a delight of brown sugar and pig. (This is a place that takes pig very seriously, as it will cook up an entire pig roast for 10 if you order ahead--way better than Peking duck, if you ask me.)
Now, since we're in Boston we have to sample things from the sea (the other sea, that is, given we partake heartily of the Pacific at home), and for me that means mainly Maine lobster. It might just be my east coast growing up bias, but they still seem to be the best, and Citizen served them up well in a Maine lobster benedict that got to be richness of all sorts, what with the fresh crustacean in glorious chunks (they didn't gyp me), the eggs poached to runny loveliness (where once chefs put that last pat of butter on a dish to enrichen it, now everything gets this yolk trick, doesn't it?)(of course a benedict does, I know that, but you know what I mean), and a Hollandaise that perhaps had a bit extra lemon zip, as everything else needed a balancing acid badly.

Those potatoes were wonderful, too, and made for a great sauce sopping material. Meanwhile my lovely companion went for the Atlantic fried oyster po-boy, and in addition to frying mighty well, Citizen also knows the super secret to one of these sandwiches--that bread only the best po-boys and lobster rolls ride astride, something seemingly so soaked in butter you wonder how it's still a solid.

This was one rewarding, filling, fulfilling meal. Makes you proud to be a citizen.