Grafton Street

Venerable bar restaurant in Harvard and scene of dinner with the missus, and my parents from the Land of the Eng.

Swift moving greeter - you know I like that, and we snagged a table inside the restaurant but next to the open windows ensuring we could 'experience' the chatter of Cambridge.

Our server was late, then he came with the water, but did not take our drink order. Drink order, no food requests. Then he told us the specials. We've been here 20 mins and we have no food ordered yet!

Still at least the wind wasn't blowing a gale into the restaurant. What's that? It was? Oh, yes, and we were freezing.

Food time. My parents both had salmon and lapped it up like a cat in a dairy. Ten out of ten from the European judges then, but the Americans (well I live here) are harder to please.

Anne had a middle Eastern medley of hummus and tabouli and all that other chick pea goodness. She liked it but said "It's no Algiers Cafe"

I started with clam chowder. It was chunky and plentiful. Then I went for another cheese plate. The cheese came but with no crackers or bread. What's the point of that? Luckily I had leftover bread from the chowder plus Anne had more pita bread than a Cat Stevens back stage rider.

Check was reasonable enough as I recall, and my father paid so that was nice.

Would probably give it another go, but Bartley's Burgers is next door, and I do like a good burger ...
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Tavern in the Square

A quick entry. Went there before a show at The Middle East. Ordered Waffle Fries and they were total crap.
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Flatbread

Packed a winter coat and braved the Arctic chill of Amesbury in Northern Massachusetts the other night.

What an unexpected delight! The center has all the charm of a coastal town without the pretentious sweater-over-the-shoulders crowd.

Word of warning to out of town folk, the Amesbury rotaries are absurd but they do have a street named Powow.

Went to Flatbread, a local pizza joint. It was wonderful. Granted they are a bit touchy feeling when it comes to their mantra - their printed materials should lose the words sacred, spirit and imagination. And honestly I suspect that pepperoni tastes better with nitrates.

But.

The pizzas were great, as was the beer, as was the brownie dessert, as was the company. Laura just had a baby and this was one of her first times away from the kid, so she got to choose what we ate, drank and talked about and she was up to the task in hand.

Waitress was good, and nobody seemed to mind that our table was cursing like a bunch of sailors.

I was expecting polar bears, Aurora Borealis, igloos and eskimos but damn me if Northern Mass is only an hour from the People's Republic.
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Radius

Late Post!

Went to Radius during restaurant week. No clue why, considering dinner for two ended up costing approx. $180 more than it should do during the aforementioned restaurant week.

Love their set up. You walk in and the maitre d is the gatekeeper to the restaurant. If she deems you worthy she opens a gate for you to enter the 'Kingdom of Radius'.

We get in!

Shuffle to our table and a few minutes later our extraordinarily tall dark and handsome waiter shows up ... with a reserve waitress stood behind him.

Knowing nothing about posh restaurant etiquette Anne and I spend the night supposing she is essentially his bitch. He asks what we want and she scurries off and writes it down. Survey says "Ugh Oh". I'm told she was probably in training. Ah well. Much prefer my option. A master waiter and a pimp.

This all happened a few weeks ago so forgive me if I don't remember the food details. During the time we were ordering, a train nearly hit us. The figurative wreckage ended up on the table next to us.

Saving the best for last I'll start with the guy. Badly cut but vaguely expensive suit (come on, if you're going to wear suits, just buy a few expensive ones and have them tailored to fit), the frames of his glasses looked a little headmistress-like to me, but also said "I like coke". Finished it off with a finely trimmed goatee.

Let's cut to the chase, the chick-ee-dee accompanying him had freakish breasts. Not 2 guys at a bar saying "check those out" breasts, but the kind that even my demur and proper wife said "Holy Jesus Christ those are massive tits". Of course she chose to reign them in with a bra 8 sizes too small and an ill-fitting spaghetti strap bingo* dress

* From the start of an English game of bingo, when the caller says "Eyes down and look in".

The waiter asked the 'lady' what she wanted to drink and the guy chimes in "We'll have Champagne". With few exceptions this is a douche move. He then requested a bottle of red for their main course. After the waiter and his white slave moved away, the guy tells his lady friend that Bordeaux is a place in France famous for its wine. Wow, we're sat next to a sommelier!

We had an amuse bouche, as a welcome from the chef. We felt special until we realized everyone got one.

Before our apps came out, the bread guy rolled into town. Talk about quick on the draw, the food wasn't even at my esophagus and there was another roll on the plate.

I started with rabbit. Inspired by Anne's course at Rendezvous. It was delicious until a day later when I found myself in the Liberty Tree mall pet shop looking at cute bunnies.

Anne began with warm foie gras. Don't know exactly what it is, but she was in a happy place while eating it, so must have been good.

I had filet mignon. Usually I order steak when I can find nothing else on the menu, but I was in the mood. Anne teased me because I ordered the meat on the rare side. I prefer well done, but I think when you are in anything higher than Fuddruckers it is offensive to the chef to order it too well done. That's me ... sensitive to the needs of the chef.

Anne ordered the $30 vegetable plate. I think we were both curious just how much veg you get for 30 big ones. It was cool, lots of varied veggies prepared in an artistic manner.

Meanwhile next door, we discovered that he was some kind of combination doctor/weapons expert, and she was not. They spoke as if it was a first or second date, and once in a while held hands across the table. She periodically giggled at the right spots in his conversation and all was going well until she blathered out how much she wanted kids, and a stoney uncomfortable silence ensued.

Not surprisingly the table on the other side was dysfunctional too. The woman ordered a bottle of wine but added "Although one of us has to drive home". The waiter (when not whipping the shackled wench behind him) suggested they order just a half bottle, at which the woman replied "Yes, and then we can order another half bottle later".

I turned to my darling wife and said "She's just effing stupid". As if to further my elucidate point wino woman spent the next 30 minutes
reading the wine list like it was some James Ellroy page turner.

We had dessert. Because why the hell not?

Anne ordered a cookie platter - the menu stated it was 'for one'. After the previously small haute cuisine portions she was suddenly faced with a platter that would not be out of place at an Italian wedding. Six cookies! Hey, six cookies are great at night when you are under a blanket watching the tube with a glass of milk, but shoveling down six cookies in a fancy restaurant is a bit much. So I finished them for her. After my cheese platter was taken away. Note to all: The Greeks makes sub-standard cheese.

Over at the first date table, the guy disappeared for 10 mins. I presumed 'coke run' but apparently his credit card did not work. It got to the stage where I nearly asked the circus freak if she was OK. I thought he had done a runner.

All in all a great night. A full belly and some great people watching.
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Sandrine's

It's a bistro!

A bijou spot on a Harvard back street. We chose it for a couple of reasons.

Monday was my birthday, and it's restaurant week.

We did not spend $30.07. Instead we went à la carte as English people in French restaurants like to say.

The greeter was very pleasant. We showed up 10 minutes early but she still showed us to our table. That's how it should be done Daedalus.

Our waitress was a little cold at first, unlike the Perrier on the table, but not to worry because she switched it for a chilled bottle.

Next she struggled with my syllable perfect pronunciation of the wine we ordered. My finely honed French led me to regale Anne with a story of Mrs Wallage my middle school French teacher who was smart enough to send her kids to the local Catholic school where they no doubt got a better education.

Regale? To entertain sumptuously! Fine wines and etymological feasting. Phew.

Anne started with a green salad that frankly had too much dressing. Two seasons of Top Chef and a handful of Gordon Ramsey shows and we think we're Zagat now? I opted for a Maine Crab Cake, because the French are famous for that. The accompanying slaw was wonderful. What an inane sentence.

Mains: Anne had a Lobster risotto which she said was perfect. I had chicken with Provençal herbal goodness.

We tidied off a choc dessert too.

We noticed the head chef was mingling with the clientele. His name is Raymond Ost. His business partner is Gwen Trost. I write this purely to illustrate that their names rhyme. (Apologies if one of them has a soft sounding "o").

Overall, excellent food and at $180 expensive enough to make us feel exceptionally guilty.

Well done Sandrine's
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Rendezvous

After a tedious day at work what better way than to wind down at Central Kitchen? Unfortunately it was closed so the wife and I shuffled over the road to Rendezvous.

The first of many diversions. I like the typeface they use for their logo. It looks like Chicken Basket or something from the same foundry, however to paraphrase James Brown, please, please, please kern the damn space between the 'e' and 'z'. You could drive a bus through there.

Inside, the place looks great, full of people pretentious enough to call themselves Cantabrigians. Outside, the varied vista of Central Square chock full of yuppies and homeless.

We dove, or dived depending on your level of education, into cocktails. I went for a bitter Drambuie concoction while Anne sipped back and relaxed on a cool sparkling fruity thang.

Then the horror set in. I didn't really fancy any of the entrees. You know it's a bad time when Anne says "You'd like the vegetable dish".

After some mulling, I did indeed opt for the vegetable pot pie, but as an appetizer I shockingly went for the farmhouse cheese selection. When the board arrived I presumed it was only part of the order. $12 for two 1" square blocks of hard cheese? Oh, my mistake, there's four walnuts and a string of carmelized onion, too.

The pot pie was well made, although the dressing on the lettuce was super acidic (great name for a college band).

Anne chose rabbit. I never eat rabbit. My mother made diced rabbit in 1981 and it was the only time my father never cleared his plate. Admittedly that rabbit was bought from a 2nd rate frozen food shop in industrial England. Anne's rabbit was succulent and tender, and served on a bed of fettucine pasta (though she thought it tasted like Pennsylvania Dutch broad egg noodles). She almost got me to take a bite, but somehow my memory still keeps 1981 alive.

For desserts (come on, we both skipped lunch), Anne had an ice cream with strawberry and rhubarb compote, I had a chocolate and cinnamon 'thing'. Anne's compote had basil mixed in. Now, maybe the educated-at-culinary-school palate would say the basil was a brilliant addition, but Anne thought it was crap.

I was tempted to wash down the dessert with a glass of port, which reminded me of the time I was in Elephant Walk. I had asked for a glass of port, the make of which is pronounced coh-burns. The waitress came back three minutes later telling me they didn't have any of that brand but they do have one called Cockburn's.

Anyway back to Rendezvous. Sat opposite us was a woman who looked a lot like Aimee Mann. It prompted a conversation titled "Is personality shaped by physical appearance?" I like Aimee Mann (although ironically, not her early stuff — that was 80s tat), but boy does she come across as being hard work in real life. The lady sat opposite fell into the same maintenance bucket.

I had a feeling that psychology class would come in handy.

The final bill was a $100+. A touch pricey but made worthwhile by our waitress who was excellent.

If you like your meats out of left field, and can tolerate us Cambridge folk, then you just might like Rendezvous.
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The Ivy

Moseyed on down to the Ivy in the Ladder District last night. This is significant because I once declared I would never eat there after I saw a rat the size of a pillowcase outside 'Ritas and Fajitas.

The pleasant maitre d greeted me and escorted me upstairs to where my co-diners were gathered.

The 'pitch' is 'think tapas but pay more'. There were 8 of us and we ordered 12 dishes.

On the website they have Chicken alla Puttanesca, which roughly translates to 'Whore's chicken' - apparently streetwalkers in Naples used to create this dish when they needed something quick and cheap to fill them up before a night of paid lovin'. I guess Monday is a quiet night for Italian prostitutes as sadly the dish wasn't available last night.

The usual suspects of fancy bread and quasi expensive cheeses, were joined by surprises such as fig paste, and an undetermined brown drizzle that none the less tasted delicious.

We ordered a good mix of proteins and pastas all of which tasted as good as they looked. We also got cheesy balls. This makes me laugh.

Wine was OK-ish for the price, and the 3 desserts were fruit free to which I say "Bravo!". One of the desserts was 'Classic Tiramisu'. What purpose does the 'Classic' serve?

Would probably go back again with the wife, and their downstairs cocktail bar looked full of drunken promise.
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B Side Lounge

We've been to B Side several times. Richard loves the place; I know it's because nearly everything on the menu seems to come with cheese. For me, the place is meh. In addition to the cheese-y menu, the chef has some obsession with blue cheese to which I can't subscribe.

But it was Memorial Day weekend, we had just seen the film "Paris je t'aime" and since I was in a loving mood, I agreed. I figured I'd just get some fries, which are always good.

Richard suggests we share side orders. A side of fries (regular, NOT the blue cheese fries) are a done deal. We agree on the Artisanal Cheese Plate — yeah, OK, it's cheese but I see it comes with some fruit and Iggy's bread, so I figure it'll be alright. Finally we select the side of black beans and cheese. That's right, more cheese.

It all comes at once, which I guess is fine. The fries are awesome and aplenty. There are 2 artisanal cheeses: lots of slices of what looks like havarti or swiss (I realize that, not being a huge lover of cheese, I'm downmarketing whatever kind it was -- and in fact, I didn't eat it), and 2 huge slabs of ... yep, blue cheese. There's also Iggy's french bread (always excellent), some fresh pear slices, carmelized walnuts and lots of just-for-display lettuce. The black beans were pureed and bland, in fact, a bit like eating very dry mushy peas that stick to your mouth.

The drinks were pretty good: I had a Metropolitan and Richard had a Sidecar.

So I've done my good-wife deed for the weekend. Verdict: if you like cheese, you'll like B Side.
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Algiers Cafe

We stopped in on Saturday afternoon, after a very chilly walk from our apartment, ostensibly just for a coffee/tea. But we were able to nab a table upstairs that overlooked the downstairs area and then witnessed the gorgeous plates of food on other tables, making our stomachs signal interest in some sampling activity.

I had a pot of jasmine tea, Richard had the mint coffee, and we decided to share a plateful of hummus, grilled peppers and roasted chicken, beautifully sprinkled with paprika and oil, and served with a basket of pita bread. It definitely hit the spot, though we giggled as we burped up garlic the entire walk back home.

Can't wait to go back and try many more things from the simple but tempting menu.

40 Brattle Street, Cambridge, Harvard Square. It even has a page (albeit with one sentence) on Wikipedia: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Algiers_Coffee_House
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All Star Sandwich Bar

An exciting idea to bring a bit more variety to the flagging sandwich.

I had something with gruyere in it. Why? Because I always do.

We chose take out, because the place was jumping. Here's problem #1. The open format kitchen is way too big. The customer area is way too small.

We ordered our delicious lunches and waited. A bag appeared with my name on it (Richard), but the flake behind the counter picked it up, and walked over to another guy who had been waiting as long as us.

Confusion!

This guy was not called Richard, but it did not stop him from prodding the contents of our bag. Our intervention fell on deaf ears and a two minute scrum ensued in the (still too big) open air kitchen.

Their stunning organizational plan appears to fall down when two people have the same name, or when a douche bag called Kevin chooses to be Richard for the day so that he can get a sandwich quicker.

The woman behind the counter was hopeless, as was the guy bagging the sandwiches. All you have to do is match the sandwich with the ticket.

Sandwich? Pretty good but not worth the $7 I paid for it.

Result. Not going back.
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Daedalus

Oh Boy.

So we went here for Anne's birthday. It's a place we've walked past a bunch of times and it always seems to be filled with the usual Cambridge types you love and hate.

We made a reservation for 7pm, and showed up 5 minutes early. The maitre d looked at her book and then her watch and said it would be a few minutes wait. Technically I had no problem with this, but it was delivered with the style and gracelessness that only power crazed types can exude. She'll probably end up being a publicist.

There's a scene towards the end of Meet the Parents (a movie I did not particularly enjoy), when Ben Stiller's character wants to board a plane, and the Attendant will not let him on despite the fact he is the only one left at the gate. Why? Protocol, and our robotic maitre d had oodles of it. Hungry yet happy people were streaming in and she seemed to take great delight in puncturing their expectations.

It's great that you are full, just turn people away with a touch of humility OK?

7.20 we were shown to our table next to the staircase. Don't get me started.

The cocktails didn't match the food. It didn't stop me from combining a mint chocolate martini with clam chowder, but let's be honest, I'm in Daedalus so I'm no gastronome am I?

We had a priest sat near us. He was nice. There was also a drama concerning a stolen coat, plus the usual 'angry at their parents' brainiacs speaking too loudly.

Our waitress had no cadence. She had awkward timing when it came to asking our menu choices. I had a perfectly fine Penne with Chicken and Anne had Risotto.

The owner was around, and he looked like a good man, which is a shame because when he said goodnight to us that was the most pleasant experience of the whole night.

We went home and ate blue cake for Anne's birthday.

Sorry Daedalus. To Homer you were a skilled artisan, to us you were personified by a soulless maitre d.
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Chart House (Longwharf Boston)

Housed in some old salty seadog building near the Aquarium and behind the oddly shaped Marriott, the Chart House is apparently a chain! Well if this one is anything to go by, it's a damn fine chain.

A colleague booked this place based on it's architectural excellence - never a good omen, but it turned out to have culinary excellence too.

11 of us showed up, and were ushered to our table on the brick exposed 2nd floor. Our waiter was called Greg or Grant, and either way he was very good.

He kicked us off with cocktails, beer and wine, and then suggested hot and cold platters of seafood. Nobody complained as we devoured the oysters, tuna, calamari, lobster, crab and shrimp.

Greg/Grant's suggestions for entrees were excellent, and his coup de grace was suggesting the miraculous desserts BEFORE we got our entrees.

I had blackened swordfish, with a crab and pico de gallo salsa. First up - it was excellent, but boy have I had enough of the whole pico de gallo thing. It means rooster's beak. It should have lots of good stuff in it, but it only ever seems to be chopped tomatoes to me.

So.

Afterwards I had the chocolate dessert and everything was good in the world again. My colleague picked up the check, so I have no clue how much it all cost, but I will go again, hopefully with Anne next time.
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Olé Mexican Grill

Tucked behind 1369 in Inman Sq. this was only our 2nd time there. The first time wasn't great but it was hardly their fault. We'd shown up a year or so ago wanting some quick in-and-out burrito action. This ain't the place for that.

So they have award winning guacamole. Who the hell gives awards for guacamole? None the less it is impressive as they mix it in front of you in a big stone mortar & pestle. Taste? Wonderful.

For cocktails Anne had some icy mango concoction, which hit the spot. It's raspberry companion wasn't so good. I went for a tequini, which combined the knock out qualities of tequilla with the added punch of citrus flavored liqueurs. I drank too many.

I had such a buzz going that by the time we ordered entrees I thought I could pronounce everything in my "3 years at school" Spanish accent. I had a chicken, bean and tortilla dish that was incredible.

Anne went for a steak and mole (imagine an accent above the e) dish so good she ate it all, but not good enough for her to remember the name of it.

Our waitress was great. Always there, but not rushing us or disapproving of my piss poor Spanish.

Well done Olé. We'll come back!
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