Don’t get me wrong: I’m a food snob at heart. Nothing whets my appetite more than the prospect of taking a delicately crafted plateful of precious farm-fresh, heirloom, artisanal morsels and scarfing it down in seconds. If the menu includes the first and last name of the farmer/forager/clamdigger who personally wrested said ingredient, hours earlier, out of the soil/forest/swamp, so much the better. To my mind, O Ya and Clio are regular hangouts, not once-a-year splurges—a dangerous habit on a food writer’s salary.
What with all the rarefied feeding frenzies at the city’s most exquisite botes, who has time to give casual-dining chains the time of day? My budget-conscious grub crawls tend to involve ethnic hole-in-the-walls, not Cheesecake Factory and Applebee’s. Life’s too short to suffer generic food that’s been whitewashed for the masses. Right?
Well, right-ish. Over the years, I’ve had plenty of opportunities to stray from the straight-and-narrow of the, um, organic skate-and-marrow. Yes, most of the food served at national chains is pretty abysmal (I’m not talking local chains like Legal Sea Foods or Boloco…). But there actually are a few rare, hidden gems amid the chipotle-southwestern grilled chicken and mandarin-orange fajita nonsense; you just have to pick and choose.
So…with my foodie credentials precariously on the line, I will attempt to go where no Chowder posting has gone before. Here are a few chain dishes worth slumming for: (more…)
In my cell phone address book, there are four buttons I push to get food (how do you say, behavioral conditioning?). They are: “Thai,” “Pizza,” “Indian,” and “Wndrsp.” Since I live in JP, that translates as Ban Chiang House, Same Old Place, Bukhara, and Wonderspice. With those four buttons, I’ve been able to avoid using my kitchen appliances for anything but reheating leftovers and hiding dirty dishes for months. Still, I’m always on the lookout for Button No. 5.
Could it be the Real Deal, the West Roxbury–based sandwich shop that recently made its debut on Centre Street? I’ve been there twice now, and I still don’t know—mainly because I’ve left both times feeling flattened by a Mack truck. (more…)
Though the city’s not lacking in the overpriced-beef department, it’s always sad to see a restaurant go. As the Globe unceremoniously reported on Friday, chef Pino Maffeo’s steak-centric Boston Public (formerly Boston Public Meat, formerly Restaurant L), went all Toscanini’s on us, abruptly closing its doors and citing financial difficulties.
Especially in Boston, where chefs and restaurateurs tend to tiptoe down the safe route wherever possible, it’s refreshing to see the occasional spark of daring.
Lounging al fresco on the fabulous square-front patio at Eastern Standard one recent evening, I decided (quite uncharacteristically) to pass on bar manager Jackson Cannon’s matchless cocktail list in favor of a glass of wine. The by-the-glass list featured the usual five or six white options, five or six reds, a sparkling wine or two. Then…eight rosés. Eight rosés? That’s, like, at least seven more than most restaurants offer on the entire menu, let alone by the glass.
Even self-styled Southern French restaurants, like La Voile and the Intercontinental’s Miel, which should be leading the rosé revolution (the world’s best rosés come from Provence and the Côte d’Azur, just down the Riviera from Cannes), muster only one or two choices. (more…)
A favorite pastime here at Chowder is a game I like to call “Too Much/Not Enough.” As in: deciding what type of eateries we’re sick to death of hearing about (sushi, seafood, brasseries, modern Italian), and what we’re desperately craving more of (barbecue joints, soul food, authentic Mexican).
I, for one, would like to add diners to my “gimme” list. Racking my brain for a good-and-grimy place to gorge on bacon grease on a recent Sunday, I found myself at a loss. (A pounding headache, the consequence of having what our Bostonista correspondents call “too much fun” the previous night, didn’t help.) Unless you want to venture out to the ‘burbs—or across the river, which I’m hard-pressed to do on Sundays—what’s an omelet-craving gal to do? (more…)
Ah, those cunning marketing svengalis…they could make torturing puppies sound not-half-bad!
Just when it was shaping up to be another harrowing season of avoiding the outdoor-dining experience—that irritating warm breeze, the hackneyed city skyline, the downright maddening sun-kist floral gardens—the restaurant PR spin machine has spun into overdrive.
First up is Stella, the Italian eatery in the South End, which went the Boloco v. Wrap route by taking the offending word out of the equation completely. A breathless press release cleverly re-brands the patio as a “terrazzino.” Now, my Italian’s a smidge rusty (and the word may well translate to “diminutive sun-tainted hellhole”), but we’re ready to call it: Boston’s population of patio-dodging agoraphobes will become terrazzino junkies by summer’s end. Remember—you read it here first. (more…)
Unless you make friends with a chef, food writers rarely get to see what’s going on in the kitchen. We guess at what’s happening behind the scenes, taking our cues from what’s on our plates. Unsurprisingly, then, I jumped at the chance to get an insider’s look at Legal Sea Foods.
Yes, it’s a chain. And yes, it’s where you take your parents when they come to town. But, the sheer magnitude of this Boston-based operation—30-plus restaurants, plus more in the queue—made it impossible for me to ignore. So last Friday, I gladly donned a fleece and followed CEO Roger Berkowitz into the innards of Legal’s local operations: the Quality Control Center, on the South Boston waterfront. (The address? One Seafood Way.) (more…)
Keeping track of Boston’s dining scene can feel almost as daunting as eating a well-done steak. Chowder scours the internet for the latest news on what’s coming, what’s going, and the return of some old-school beer deals.
We can always use more cupcakes in our lives. Sweet Boston will come to Mass. Ave. in May.
The new North Station watering hole DJ’s at the Garden had a big opening party last Friday night. Despite being within stumbling distance from the Garden, the crowd was mellow and well-behaved, even after the Celtics game let out. I didn’t sample the food, but the bar had a decent beer selection so it shouldn’t stay quiet for long.
I’d like to get a public conversation going—a community-generated list of the quintessential foods and dishes that define our city. Foods that you have to try at least once before you die (or move), and that you miss most when you go away.
It’s the foodie equivalent of a birder’s Life List. Only, because we’re talking about food, each list is a very personal thing, reflecting a hodgepodge of memories, everyday routines, and sentimental associations.
To get started, here are 10 of my favorites, in no particular order: (more…)
Your Chowder hounds have sniffed down the best culinary events in town. Check back every Thursday for your weekly prix-fixe of foodie feasts, cooking classes, wine tastings, and more.
April 10, 6:30-9 p.m.
Taste of the Nation Boston
Hynes Convention Center, $85 (advance); $95 (door) VIP: $135 (advance); $145 (door)
Boston’s hottest chefs and restaurants are donating their time and cuisine for Share Our Strength’s Taste of the Nation, which raises funds to fight childhood hunger in Boston and across America. More than 80 of the city’s finest will participate, including Andy Husbands of Tremont 647, as well as Hamersley’s Bistro, Rialto, Radius, Icarus, Gargoyles on the Square, Les Zygomates, East Coast Grill, KO Prime, and more.
Don’t get me wrong: I’m a food snob at heart. Nothing whets my appetite more than the prospect of taking a delicately crafted plateful of precious farm-fresh, heirloom, artisanal morsels and scarfing it down in seconds. If the menu includes the first and last name of the farmer/forager/clamdigger who personally wrested said ingredient, hours earlier, out of the soil/forest/swamp, so much the better. To my mind, O Ya and Clio are regular hangouts, not once-a-year splurges—a dangerous habit on a food writer’s salary.
In my cell phone address book, there are four buttons I push to get food (how do you say, behavioral conditioning?). They are: “Thai,” “Pizza,” “Indian,” and “Wndrsp.” Since I live in JP, that translates as Ban Chiang House, Same Old Place, Bukhara, and Wonderspice. With those four buttons, I’ve been able to avoid using my kitchen appliances for anything but reheating leftovers and hiding dirty dishes for months. Still, I’m always on the lookout for Button No. 5.
Though the city’s not lacking in the overpriced-beef department, it’s always sad to see a restaurant go. As the Globe unceremoniously 
Especially in Boston, where chefs and restaurateurs tend to tiptoe down the safe route wherever possible, it’s refreshing to see the occasional spark of daring.
Ah, those cunning marketing svengalis…they could make 
Unless you make friends with a chef, food writers rarely get to see what’s going on in the kitchen. We guess at what’s happening behind the scenes, taking our cues from what’s on our plates. Unsurprisingly, then, I jumped at the chance to get an insider’s look at 
I’d like to get a public conversation going—a community-generated list of the quintessential foods and dishes that define our city. Foods that you have to try at least once before you die (or move), and that you miss most when you go away.
April 10, 6:30-9 p.m.