FOOD ON THE FOOD

Cracking the Recipe: Lobster Bisque

Our New Year's Eve dinner, hosted by friends E and J, was possibly one of the best meals of the year. Kir royales. Radishes with cultured butter and sea salt. Lobster bisque. Pan-roasted duck with thyme-infused honey sauce. Roasted root veggies and a green salad. Lemon cream tart for dessert. Truly delicious!

I brought the lobster bisque. Since a few of you requested the recipe during my guilt-ridden lobster confessional, I thought I'd share. It's good timing, too, because my CSF (community supported fishery) is once again offering lobsters for sale. Every once in a while, Cape Ann Fresh Catch offers a special item not usually found in our fish shares. They call it "Neptune's Share" as it is priced separately and based on availability and nature's whims. That meant mussels last summer and lobsters this winter. You know I can't pass up these opportunities. (To get your own self some lobsters, go here.)

The recipe below is based on the lobster bisque from the Brewster Fish House, one of our favorite restaurants on Cape Cod. Instead of pureeing the lobster into oblivion (which is also good!), they suspend chunks of lobster in the silky soup. It's sweet and spicy, and I've wanted to learn how to make it for years. However, I'm not going to ask them for their recipe. They're not going to give it to me, and why should they? Just because I like it? Everybody likes it! I figure, if I want it that badly, I should try to figure it out myself. And guess what? I'm really happy with the way it came out! I mean, we're not giving up our yearly summertime visits to the Brewster Fish House anytime soon. Don't be ridiculous.  But this is deliciously, tantalizingly close!

Lobster Bisque

This is not a quick recipe by any means, but if you're going to slap down the money for lobsters, you might as well put some effort into it! You will need lobster crackers, some patience, and several hours to spare. I sometimes boil the lobsters the night before, letting them cool in the refrigerator until morning.

2 live 1-1/2-lb. lobsters
1 Tbsp. kosher salt, plus 1 tsp.
1 Tbsp. white vinegar
4 Tbsp. unsalted butter
2 onions, chopped
1 celery rib, chopped
1 Tbsp. flour
4 cups lobster stock
1 cup heavy cream
2 Tbsp. brandy
1/4 tsp. cayenne
White or black pepper to taste

Bring a large stockpot with a half-inch of water, 1 Tbsp. kosher salt, and the vinegar to a boil. Drop in the lobsters, close the lid, and steam 20 minutes until done. How do you know if they're done? Set a lobster on its back and stretch out the tail. It should snap back against its belly convincingly. Remove from pot and let cool until shells can be handled easily.

Over a large bowl, separate tails, claws, and arms from bodies of the lobsters. They should pull apart easily. To remove the meat from the tails, use kitchen shears or a sharp knife to cut straight down the middle of the underside of the tail. Pull back on sides of tail to separate the shell and remove meat. Dice tail meat finely as it can be chewy in larger pieces. Remove meat from arms and claws using a lobster cracker to crush the shells so you can extract the meat. Careful: shells can be jagged, pointy, and sharp. Cut claw meat into larger, bite-sized pieces. Place all the lobster meat in a small bowl, cover, and refrigerate.

Meanwhile, preheat the oven to 450°F, and set the bodies and empty shells on a rimmed sheet pan. Bake shells 20 minutes until toasty and fragrant. Transfer shells to a large pot and cover with water. Bring to a boil, skim the foam from the top, and simmer 30 minutes. You can get fancy with the stock (bouquet garni and such), but I did not. Strain out and discard the shells, reserving the liquid. You will need about 4 cups of stock. Freeze the rest for future bisques or lobster risotto!

Make sure the stock is still steamy when you start the soup. If not, reheat in a small pot. Melt the butter in a medium heavy-bottomed pot over low heat. Add the onions and celery, and slowly sweat the vegetables until soft, stirring occasionally, about 5 minutes. Do not let brown. Add flour and cook, stirring constantly, for 1 minute.  Add heated lobster stock slowly while stirring. Bring to a boil and simmer 5 minutes. Let cool completely. In four batches, puree the soup in a blender or food processor. Yes, I know we haven't added the lobster, yet. Patience! Also, make sure the soup is cool and that you don't fill the blender more than halfway or you will spray hot soup all over your kitchen. You want cool soup, small amounts of liquid in the blender, and a dishtowel placed over the top of the blender lid just in case. Pour batches of pureed soup into a bowl as you go.

When ready to serve, add the pureed soup back into the pot. Add in the lobster meat, cream, brandy, 1 tsp. salt (or to taste), pepper, and cayenne. Gently heat the soup until hot and steamy. Do not boil. After all this, you don't want to risk curdling the cream. Keep an eye on it. Serve hot in small shallow bowls.

Local Sources:
Lobsters: Cape Ann Fresh Catch, Gloucester, MA
Butter: Cabot, Cabot, VT
Onions: Waltham Fields Community Farms, Waltham, MA
Cream: High Lawn Farm, Lee, MA

Marriage Bonds

For our 11th anniversary, Husband and I went out for a lovely meal at Bondir, Jason Bond's farmhouse-chic restaurant in Inman Square, Cambridge. By mid-meal, Husband and I were engaged in a semi-heated discussion about the definition of stubbornness. Husband likes to call me stubborn and I like to take it as a compliment.

Him: Stubbornness is not a compliment. It has a negative connotation.

Me: Yes, but in certain circumstances it can serve you well. Like if you're working against the odds to get something done. If you don't possess a certain amount of stubbornness, you give up long before it takes to succeed.

Him: No, that's persistence. That's different.

Me: They both come from the exact same place.

Him: Persistence is a positive trait and stubbornness is bad.

Me: You can't have one without the other.

Him: They're two different sides of a coin.

Me: Then we agree. Two sides of the same coin.

Him: You are so stubborn.

Me: Thank you!

Him: It's not a compliment! Do you remember your donkey at the Grand Canyon?

Me: Of course I remember that fucking donkey. Trinity was his name. He kept stopping to munch on the desert grass on the edge of the steep switchbacks, then he'd get way behind and have to sprint to catch up. Donkeys can't sprint. He nearly heaved me into the canyon a dozen times.

Him: See? That's stubbornness. Not persistence.

Me: I'm sure that donkey has triumphed over adversity many a time and now he's retired in Mexico.

Him: Do you see how stubborn you are? I'm going to see if the chef has a dictionary.

Me: Oooooo, a dictionary! I'm sooooo scared!

Him: You refuse to acknowledge I'm right.

Me: But we agree. Stubbornness can be good if you trace it back to its root.

Him: We don't agree!

Do you see any irony here? Any irony at all?

 

Cracking the Recipe: The Local's Peanut Butter Pie

Recently, the whole family went to The Local in Newton where the fried pickles are good and the macaroni and cheese is even better.  (Holy crap, their mac 'n' cheese is good, and I don't even like mac 'n' cheese.  It's on par with Silvertone's, in my opinion, so if you don't feel like driving into Boston to luxuriate in a bowl of cheesy mac, now you know: West Newton, baby.)

Anyway, TeenNiece ordered the peanut butter pie for dessert.  She really liked it.  Later on, I noticed, peanut butter pie kept coming up in conversation.  I suggested that maybe we should try to make one ourselves.  Peanut butter is something we always have on hand, after all.  And chocolate.  At least for a little while. 

TeenNiece and I worked on this together, and what we came up with is a little bit dangerous: peanut butter mousse in a salted peanut-graham cracker crust with thick ribbons of bittersweet chocolate sauce poured on top. Consider what your waistline is worth to you before you commit to making this pie.   It's somewhat airier than the version we had at The Local (maybe ease up on the whipped cream if you want to get picky about the details), but TeenNiece likes it this way so that's how it's going to stay.


Peanut Butter Pie with Bittersweet Chocolate Sauce

Inspired by The Local, 1391 Washington St., West Newton, MA

Crust
6 Tbsp. unsalted butter, melted
1 cup graham cracker crumbs (or 10 whole graham crackers crushed)
1/3 cup dry-roasted, salted peanuts, ground in the food processor

Filling
1 8-oz. package cream cheese
3/4 cup confectioner's sugar
3/4 cup smooth peanut butter
1 tsp. vanilla
3/4 cup heavy cream

Sauce
1/3 cup heavy cream
4 oz. bittersweet chocolate chips (like Ghirardelli) or shaved chocolate
Pinch of sea salt
1/2 tsp. vanilla

Preheat oven to 350 F.  For the crust, combine the melted butter, graham cracker crumbs, and ground peanuts.  Press into a 9-inch pie dish and bake 7-9 minutes until edges start to color and you can smell the peanutty aroma.  Set aside and let cool.

For the filling, beat the cream cheese and sugar with the paddle attachment of a stand mixer until smooth.  Mix in peanut butter and vanilla.  In a separate medium bowl, beat the cream with a whisk or electric mixer until stiff peaks form.  Stir about a half cup of the whipped cream into the peanut butter mixture, then gently fold in the rest of the whipped cream just until no longer streaky.  Carefully pour the mousse into the crust and chill at least 3 hours or overnight.

For the sauce, combine cream, chocolate, and salt in a small saucepan and simmer for 2 minutes.  Remove from heat and stir in vanilla.  Transfer to small bowl and let cool.  If the sauce starts to separate or you want it a little thinner, whisk in a bit of extra cream until smooth.  When ready to serve, reheat just enough to get a pourable consistency (don't pour hot molten fudge on your nicely chilled pie).  To serve, ribbon chocolate sauce over each slice of pie, letting it puddle on the sides.

Local Sources:
Cream: High Lawn Farm, Lee, MA
Butter: Cabot, Cabot, VT

Cracking the Recipe: Cafe Algiers' Red Lentil Soup

I'm trying out a new feature on this blog where I take a popular local restaurant dish and try to duplicate it—to see how close (or how very far off track) I can get.  I don't make any claims about being a supertaster or anything, but I do like a good puzzle.  I think it would be especially fun because although I have some insights in the kitchen, there are also some significant gaps.  My good instincts alternating with bad judgment ought to make for some fine kitchen capers.  

It all started last month when reader Karin asked if I could help her duplicate the vegan red lentil soup from Cafe Algiers in Harvard Square.  I had never had the red lentil soup at Cafe Algiers.  However, I love lentil soup and, even if I failed, a good bowl of lentil soup would be reward enough.  Mission accepted!

Over February vacation, the family and I joined our next-door neighbors for some Looney Tunes at the Brattle Theater.  Afterwards, I ducked into Cafe Algiers and purchased one container of red lentil soup to go.  I did not try to elicit any clues about the contents of the soup lest I spoil my own fun.  I sampled the soup outside on the sidewalk.  It was indeed very tasty.  I helped myself to a bit more on the T.  Husband took a taste or three and declared it the best lentil soup he ever had.  I couldn't disagree.  By the time we got home, there was very little in the way of soup left to do any comparison testing, but it would have to do. 

I got busy right away.  My two main questions were: 1. Was the soup thickened with potato or just the lentils themselves cooked down; and 2. What the hell is in their spice mixture?  I sketched out a simple recipe and started with that, then added spices as I went along.  I tweaked and tested as only a Cook's Illustrated reject can do.  Meaning I made two pots of soup and called it a day.  I settled on no potato, though you could certainly add some if you wanted.

The beauty of Cafe Algiers' soup is its elegant simplicity, but the spices proved deceptively complex.  I think I'm close, but it's not perfect.  I'm nearly positive one of the mysterious flavors is a heavy dose of fenugreek.  There's definitely some cumin, coriander, and cayenne in there.  There's a sour note I'm missing that the lemon juice alone didn't provide.  Also a faint smoky sweetness that's maybe paprika, maybe something else.  Is there a pinch of cinnamon or ginger?  I couldn't tell, and I literally pulled a muscle in my tongue trying to find out. 

So, Karin, here's my best guess.  Make it and let me know what you think.  If anyone else can do better, please report back.  As usual, I used as many local ingredients as possible, including a lovely bowl courtesy of the Concord Shop.  I'll definitely be making this soup again and again.  The next time you're in Harvard Square, be sure to bring home at least two containers of the real thing.  And if you have any requests for other Boston-area dishes you'd like me to take a stab at, let me know in the comment section.

 

Red Lentil Soup
Inspired by Cafe Algiers, 40 Brattle St., Cambridge, MA

Heat 2 Tbsp. olive oil in medium pot over medium heat.  Cook 1 finely chopped medium yellow onion 3-4 minutes until translucent (don't brown).  Stir in 2 tsp. fenugreek, 1/2 tsp. cumin, 1/2 tsp. coriander, 1/4 tsp. cayenne, 1-1/2 tsp. kosher salt, and 1 tsp. black pepper.  Add 6 cups water and 1 cup red lentils (washed, any stones removed).  Bring to boil over high heat.  Reduce heat to medium-low to maintain a gentle simmer.  Skim foam.  Cook 30-40 minutes, stirring occasionally, until lentils have broken down and soup is thickened.  Taste to adjust seasoning.  Serve with chopped cilantro, lemon wedges, and a drizzle of paprika oil (1 tsp. olive oil whisked with several shakes of paprika).

Local Sources
Red lentils: Baer's Best, Moraine Farm, Hamilton, MA (via Russo's)
Onion: Red Fire Farm, Granby, MA (via Wayland Winter Farmer's Market)
Bowl/Latte Mug: By Waechtersbach Konitz; Available at The Concord Shop, Concord, MA

My Top 10 Restaurant Meals of 2010

I was going to tell you all about a recent bad restaurant experience we had where four reasonable adults and two children unanimously decided to walk out.  But, instead, I'm devoting the space to calling out my 10 favorite restaurant meals of last year, because I feel like sharing the love, not the hate. 

These days, most of our socializing tends to take place at friends' houses since our budget doesn’t allow for a lot of restaurant outings.  But we we do think it's important to head out into the open world once in a while to make sure we don't lose what social graces we have left, if any.  There are a few cheap lunches here and there, the odd special occasion splurge meal, and sporadic outings with friends usually involving drinks and appetizers.  This list isn't intended to be trendy—just to point out where we went to enjoy each other's company over some great food and drink.  So, without further ado, here were my most memorable restaurant meals of 2010 in no particular order. 

Ponzu, Waltham, MA: Salt and pepper calamari and funky assortment of maki rolls (e.g., Dragon, House)

Sofra, Cambridge, MA: Turkish breakfast with soft-boiled egg and phyllo nest, fried feta, thick yogurt with fruit chutney, marinated cucumbers, and olives.  It's hard to really understand why it's so good until you taste all the different components on one plate.  The desserts are amazing, too.

The Local, Newton, MA: Fried pickles, macaroni and cheese.  Local means local: some of my favorite regional products are featured on the menu. 

Taqueria Mexico, Waltham, MA: Tacos pastor, El Presidente (one chile relleno, one chicken enchilada with salsa verde, one taco, plus rice and beans), and pastel de tres leches (cake of three milks!!!)

The Brewster Fish House, Brewster, MA: lobster bisque and pretty much any of their fish dishes.

The Gallows, Boston, MA: Bloody Mary, pumpkin butter on corn muffins, pork belly. 

Garden at the Cellar, Cambridge, MA: The spring meal I have in mind had some kind of rhubarb concoction with pickled ramps and doughnuts.  Sounds weird and it was, but in a fantastic way.  Lots of local farms represented here, too.

Sunrise Rang-Dong, Dorchester, MA: Vietnamese catfish clay pot with caramelized garlic and steamed rice (especially delicious after some urban peach-picking)

The Library Restaurant, Portsmouth, NH: Food and books: what could be better?  Despite it being a steakhouse, I found their lobster roll delightful.  (My dad was paying—thanks, Dad!)

Hungry Mother, Cambridge, MA: Get the #2 cocktail: Maker’s Mark, amaretto, sorghum syrup, and two boiled peanuts.  That drink is my favorite drink in the whooooole world.  Also, you can't lose with the corn bread with sorghum and anything else on the menu involving shrimp or grits or kohlrabi. 

So, tell me, what were your favorites?

Maple-Stout Marinated Brisket

Ever wish there was a cookbook out there with seasonal recipes and sprawling, high-quality photographs that pay homage to your favorite local growers?  I’m sure there are thousands of these kinds of cookbooks that revolve around California farms, at least one cookbook per farm I imagine, but not so here in Massachusetts.  Here, there’s just one.  (So far.)  (That I know of.)

I’m talking about Fresh & Honest, a beautiful collection of recipes and seasonal sources from Peter Davis, chef of Henrietta’s Table in Cambridge.  The focus is on simple, traditional New England fare with fresh, local ingredients, but he takes that a step further by introducing us to the fishermen, cheesemakers, and farmers that supply his restaurant, including Pat Woodbury of Wellfleet, Bob Stetson of Westfield Farm in Hubbardston, and Steve Verrill of Concord’s Verrill Farm, among others.  Recipes include roasted pumpkin soup, strawberry-rhubarb compote, lobster chowder, red flannel hash with poached eggs, and grit cakes with mushrooms.  It’s such a pretty book (it recently won a New England Book Festival award), that I kind of wish I wrote it myself.  But former Boston Magazine colleague Alex Hall wrote it with Davis, so that’s close enough.  The point is that such a book exists and is available for such greedy little hands as mine.

I’ve been agonizing over which recipe to share with you, and I’ve finally settled on one: maple-stout marinated brisket, one last hearty, meaty dish before we move into summer’s lighter fare.  I know I’m in a minority among the Boston-area, beer-loving public, but I don’t love drinking stout (I’ve discussed this before).  I find its meatiness offensive in a beverage.  But I do like to cook with it, so I planned to use Moody St. Stout from Waltham’s own Watch City brewery to continue the local theme.  But, of course, they ran out right before I got there, so I had to quickly formulate a backup plan.  Twenty minutes later, their Chocolate Thunder Porter caught my eye.  Come to find out, it’s made with local Taza chocolate!  And the fact that it’s a porter, which I do like, AND it contains chocolate, meant that I had no problem helping Husband polish off the rest of the growler alongside this rich, tender, dark-chocolatey brisket.  Win-win.  

 

Maple-Stout Marinated Brisket

This is not a weekday meal.  It requires marinating, browning, and long, slow cooking for 6 hours.  Start early the day before you need to eat it. 

1 4-lb. beef brisket
1/3 cup Dijon mustard
½ cup maple syrup (the darker, the better)
2 cups stout (or chocolate porter!)
½ cup red wine vinegar
2 Tbsp. Worcestershire sauce
4 bay leaves
2 tsp. Tabasco sauce (I used way less because that much Tabasco scares me!)
1 cup onion, finely diced

In a medium saucepan, whisk together the mustard and maple syrup.  Add the beer, vinegar, Worcestershire sauce, bay leaves, Tabasco, and onion, and mix well.  Bring to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer 2-3 minutes.  Let cool completely.

Soak the brisket in the marinade for 24 hours in the fridge.  Heat grill and brown over low heat on all sides, being careful not to burn it.  This can also be done in a hot, oven-proof skillet with a thin film of oil.  Preheat oven to 275°F.  In a tightly covered pan, cook brisket in the oven for 6 hours or so, basting with the marinade every hour.  When tender, remove from the oven and let rest tented with foil for 30 minutes.  Slice brisket across the grain and drizzle with pan drippings.  Serve with mashed potatoes and, I don’t know, maybe something green!

Source: Adapted from Fresh & Honest by Peter Davis and Alexandra Hall.

Local Food Sources:
Beef brisket: Chestnut Farms, Hardwick, MA
Mustard: Raye’s Mustard, Eastport, ME
Maple syrup: Williams Farm Sugarhouse, Old Deerfield, MA
Beer: Watch City Brewing Company, Waltham, MA

More Spring Events

I’m trying to get more than 24 hours ahead of the events I post.  Let’s see how I do this time: 

The 11th annual Boston Bakes for Breast Cancer is taking place all next week (May 3-9, Monday thru Sunday) at eateries in and around Boston, including Finale, Flour Bakery, Sofra, Mariposa Bakery, South End Formaggio, Aquitaine, Elephant Walk, Figs, Henrietta’s Table, and Hungry Mother.  Click here for the full list of participating restaurants, which extends well into the ‘burbs.  All proceeds from select desserts benefit breast cancer research and care at nearby Dana-Farber.  And I think we all know someone who might appreciate that.

On Friday, May 7 at 7 p.m., the Boston Museum of Science is hosting Food, Glorious Food: Our Palate vs. Our Planet.  Corby Kummer (The Atlantic Monthly) and Joanne Chang (Flour Bakery, Myers+Chang) join food sustainability expert Helene York in a discussion about balancing our enjoyment of food with the need to maintain a healthy planet.  Corby will also be signing copies of The Joy of Coffee and The Pleasures of Slow Food.  Event is free but seating is limited.  Passes available on first-come-first-served basis in Museum lobby starting at 5:45 p.m. the day of the event.

And, of course, don’t forget Sprout 2010, which helps fund Waltham Fields Community Farm in their important food distribution and education programs.  Event takes place on Saturday, May 8 from 5:30-8:30 p.m. at the Charles River Museum of Industry with food, open bar, live music, and silent auction.  More info here.

No Ice Cream Left Behind

Last week, during the First Grader’s school vacation, my dad took us out for some good, old-fashioned ice cream sundaes at Cabot’s in Newton.  Because my dad was paying, I ordered the biggest thing on the menu: The Brazilian Combo. 

The Brazilian Combo consists of four scoops of my favorite ice creams (coffee, butter pecan, maple walnut, and vanilla) topped with four different sauces (something chocolatey, something caramely, something mapley, and something with rum) and enough whipped cream to give several Brazilians a close shave. 

The waitress warned me of its ridiculous size.  I knew this—I’ve been there before—but, feeling a few pangs of guilt, I asked if they could make it smaller, maybe half the size, but with all the variety.  She said they could, but they’d still have to charge me full price (just shy of $8!). 

So, what do you think, readers?  You know me pretty well.  Did I:

(a) Accept the half-sized, full-priced sundae because: 1) my dad was paying, so who cares; and 2) we should be mindful of not wasting our precious ice cream resources.

(b) Change my mind and get a small hot-fudge sundae instead.  One that doesn’t cost as much as dinner for four in our house.

(c) Demand to know what kind of a fool she thought I was, order the full-sized, full-priced sundae in all its glory, eat half of it, have the waitress wrap the remaining puddle to go, peel out onto Washington St. and rush home to put it in the freezer, then devour the rest of it standing at my counter at 10 o’clock at night despite its compromised refrozen texture and unappetizing appearance, feeling something akin to shame but I won’t admit it and you can’t make me.

(d) All of the above.

And, yes, you will be graded on this.  Be sure to fill in the circles completely with a No. 2 pencil.

I Heart My Waitress

I totally forgot to post this at the time, but Husband and I went out to dinner for my birthday last month.  Since it was the Eat Local Challenge, we (I) wanted to go to a place where the chef really valued local ingredients.  This is not hard to find in Boston.  Most of the best area chefs buy a goodly portion of their produce locally, so it was really just a matter of picking a place.  There’s Steve Johnson’s Rendezvous.  Ana Sortun’s Oleana.  Craigie on Main.  Hungry Mother.  Harvest.  Why are all of these in Cambridge?  They do it in Boston, too, I swear.

We decided on the Garden at the Cellar outside Central Square.  The chef, Will Gilson, is the son of farmers who run The Herb Lyceum in Groton.  I figured he must really, really like local produce.  Also, according to certain customer reviews, word is that the chef is pretty tasty himself (be sure to read the one by Jennifer S.).  And, well, there is a newly opened position on my blog…

Whenever we go out to eat, I end up liking Husband’s meal better.  Like 100% of the time.  But, I’m starting to catch on.  When Husband decided what to order, I swooped in and stole his idea because it was my birthday, not his.  And, you know what?  It worked.  My grilled pork chop with roasted apples, Brussels sprout-bacon hash, and fingerling potato au gratin had me doing all the annoying Rachael Ray eye-rolling and moaning.  And if you don’t think I’ll be stealing the idea of hashing Brussels sprouts with bacon, then you’re obviously new to my blog.  Husband’s salmon was excellent, too, by the way.  Organically farmed, whatever that means.  But I still liked mine better.

Also, we had one of the most beautiful small plates I’ve ever seen.  It was thick curls of grilled calamari, perfectly tender, scattered with sprouts and edible flower petals all basking gently on some kind of sauce.  It all worked so well together, I couldn’t even identify the sauce.  It was sauce.  That’s all I know.  Anyway, it was spectacular-looking on its long, rectangular plate, but more importantly, it tasted amazing. 

But excellent food aside, I want to talk about service.  Great service is hard to find, and yet it’s so crucial to the overall dining experience.  Poor service affects how you experience the food.  But, admittedly, it’s also very subjective.  Every diner has different expectations and it really has a lot to do with individual personalities and your own mood, blah, blah, blah.  So, when you have a server who really clicks with you and does a good job almost effortlessly, it’s like magic.  My particular perfect waitress can be found at the Garden at the Cellar.  She was knowledgeable.  She was attentive without hovering.  She smiled often and her face didn’t crack under the strain of it.  And when I told her that I didn’t like my cocktail, did she get all defensive and hurl my glass across the room to smash against the bar?  No.  No, she did not.  She simply asked why and we talked about what I might like better.  Her suggestion was perfect.  I offered to pay for it, but she didn’t charge me. 

They don’t serve dessert or coffee at the Garden, just some nice chocolates with the bill.  I was secretly grateful.  I can’t not order dessert if it’s on offer, and I will ask unreasonable things from my digestive organs in order to cram some sugar into a space that’s already bursting beyond reason.  The focus here really is on the food.

The end result?  A fabulous birthday for me and a big-ass tip for my server.  Win-win.

Time to Eat the Doughnut

I’m not one to dwell on things, but I had a really great doughnut over the weekend.  It was a sour cream glazed doughnut from Hole-in-One in Eastham (or was it The Hole in Orleans?).  As you know, my heart normally belongs to the chocolate honey-dipped variety, but I have to make an exception in this case. 

Sour cream is, by far, my very favorite dairy product after cheese and ice cream, and to then bake it into a glazed doughnut is really enough to move me to tears.  See how craggily it is?  How it’s not a perfect circle?  You can’t build a machine to make it look like that.  Notice the glaze and how it congealed mid-drip?  That’s artistry.  And how the person pouring it missed a few spots?  Creative license.  Doesn’t bother me in the least, because at quality doughnut shops, even the plain doughnuts are delicious. 

Now, THIS is what I mean when I talk about doughnuts.  Real doughnuts.  Not this crap.  To borrow a phrase from my dad: Eat your heart out, Rachael Ray.

(Incidentally, to the left of the doughnut, you’ll see an ad in the Cape Cod Times for the Chocolate Sparrow, which is the only place to find ice cream in the off-season on that part of the Cape.  I would know.  Ben & Jerry’s is closed (WTF?).  Nauset Ice Cream is closed.  Emack & Bolio’s — closed.  Why is the promise of ice cream so hard to fulfill in the dead of winter?  You can’t explain seasonal demographics to hungry and demanding children.  Luckily, some birds are brave enough to tough out the cold season, and this chocolaty sparrow lived up to its name.)

Hole-in-One Donut Shop, 4295 State Highway, Route 6, North Eastham, MA, 508-255-9446; The Hole Donut Shop, 98 Cranberry Highway, Route 6A, Orleans, MA, 508-255-3740.

The Chocolate Sparrow, 5 Old Colony Way, Orleans, MA, 508-240-2230

Biagio, Waltham

Last month, we hit the newly opened Italian(ish) restaurant, Biagio, on Moody St. in Waltham.  I was curious to see what else it would bring to the table that the other high-end Italian places in the area haven’t already covered.

The big three are: Tuscan Grill, La Campania, and Il Capriccio.  Where you dine usually breaks down by whether you prefer rustic Etruscan ambiance (Tuscan Grill), cozy al fresco dining (La Campania), or a booth-and-frosted-glass- partition type of experience (Il Capriccio).  But, regardless of your taste in decor, you’re virtually guaranteed a great meal.

So where does Biagio fit into all of this?  Space.  It has lots of space if you get turned away from the others. 

Biagio's great hall of a dining room with its large framed mirrors and drapes is a refreshing departure from reproductions of Italian grottos, both real and imagined.  But, foodwise, it’s just not in the same league.  I’m not sure it’s trying to be.  Then again, that’s how it’s priced.

The tortellini Alfredo was pretty good.  Service was nice.  Big portions, to be sure, but I prefer smaller portions with some nuance.  I wished I could have traded some of it in for a little subtlety.  My cocktail, on the other hand, was a little too subtle (however, I was the one ordering the martini with neon blueberry alcohol, so really, I have no one to blame but myself).

With its roof deck and live music, I can see this being a popular spot to decompress after work.  Or as the least common denominator (or is it greatest common factor?) when dining in a large group since you can’t please everybody, anyway.  But, if you’re really trying to impress a certain someone who loves food (whomever that might be), then I refer you back to the second paragraph.

Biagio, 123 Moody St., Waltham, 781-891-0100

Strawberry Fair Restaurant, Norwell

As I was driving at 70 mph down Rt. 128 last week, a truck rolled over about 100 yards in front of me across three lanes of traffic.  Somehow, I managed to swerve into the breakdown lane and avoid all the other careening vehicles.  The three cars in front of me were not so lucky.  Miraculously, everyone walked away unhurt, including the driver of the toppled truck.  I’m still not sure how that was possible, but I suspect it had something to do with seat belts.

So, in honor of cheating death for the 416th time, I decided to treat my one-year-old passenger, who inexplicably slept through the whole thing, and my own jangled nerves to a delicious lunch at the Strawberry Fair Restaurant.  Actually, we were on our way there anyway for the article I’m supposed to be working on RIGHT NOW.  Good thing, too, because near-death experiences make you hungry.

So where is Norwell, anyway?  The South Shore, it turns out, somewhere between Weymouth and Marshfield.  I grew up in the South Shore and I’ve never set foot in Norwell in my life.  Does anyone live there?  No one knows.  They do have car dealerships, though.  Lots of them, and the Strawberry Fair just happens to be nestled incongruously among them along the main strip. 

A word of warning: the testosterone level of men who enter this restaurant is likely to take a steep dive.  The décor is very country kitchen meets Lilliputian fairy tale.  Shabby chic, to some.  Girly, to others.  It’s a cute little farmhouse with lots of cottage antiques crammed into every possible space.  Which is why the little girl in me thought it was kind of neat.  Okay, maybe it was one strawberry stencil design too many for my taste, but still, I’m a girl.

We had a quick lunch of onion soup, a Cape Cod chicken salad sandwich with cranberries and walnuts, a bag of chips, and the obligatory bowl of strawberries (they don’t force you to order them, I was just somehow compelled).  And it was good.  Better than average.  And the service was great.  (They also have meatloaf sandwiches on the menu so the girly men that come here can feel slightly better about themselves.) 

I dare say I’ll be bringing the family back.  I’m in favor of supporting the quirky little family-owned places serving up wholesome edibles where kids are welcomed with a smile (they even have a small toy stash for antsy little ones).  It would make a good pit stop if you’re stuck in rush hour traffic on Rt. 3, or if you decide to head down the Cape on a Friday evening in the summer like a dumb-ass.  It’s practically right off the highway if you need a bite from somewhere other than McDonald’s/ Burger King/Applebee’s/Ground Round and their ilk.

Maybe I was just glad to be alive, but I thought this place was just peachy.

(Strawberry Fair Restaurant, 14 Pond St., Norwell, 781-878-7878)

The Fireplace, Brookline

This has been on my list for a while, even as rumors flew that it was slipping.  My husband and I were looking for a cozy place to celebrate my birthday (which happened two months ago), and what better way to spend a balmy, 60-degree December night than at a spot called The Fireplace.

Luckily, we were seated nowhere near the fireplace.  It’s right by the bar, though I almost missed it because I was too busy trying to figure out where the hostess station was.  Here by the door?  Up there?  Come on, Tammy, think outside the box. 

Instead, we were led to the elevated dining room with a view of the open kitchen.  No wild innovations going on in there, but I gather that’s not the point.  Most of the dishes have some tie-in to tradition whether it’s a classic New England recipe with a few clever updates, or a modern creation meant to showcase local produce and regional cheeses. 

Some high points: a festive cranberry-ginger martini; an heirloom beet salad with walnuts, gorgonzola, and figs (though the beets didn’t really need all of those trimmings to shine); Grandma Gertie’s stuffing; perfectly-seared scallops (the orange-honey sauce was a bit weak, but who needs sauce); and butterscotch bread pudding with rum-drunken raisins. 

The service was fine: just the right blend of “there when you want them, not there when you don’t.”  The ambiance was warm and minimalist, and the food comforting.  You can get more (better) for your money elsewhere around the city.  Still, as long as you don’t expect fireworks, the Fireplace is pleasant, and you’ll likely make it home before the babysitter gets into your liquor cabinet. 

The Fireplace, 1634 Beacon St., Brookline, MA, 617-975-1900
http://www.fireplacerest.com/

December Restaurant Events

On Tuesday, 12/5, Tremont 647 will be hosting its second annual Holiday Champagne Social from 6-9 p.m.  Shoot the unseasonably warm breeze (indoors) over appetizers and bubbly while the staff hands out holiday cocktail and appetizer recipes, with chef Andy Husbands demonstrating.  Cost is $39 (including tax and tip).  Reservations required. Tremont 647, 647 Tremont St., Boston, 617-266-4600.

In celebration of their 10-year anniversary, Tremont 647 and adjacent Sister Sorel are offering 10% off your food bill during the week of 12/10-12/15.

Celebrate Christmas early with Stellina’s traditional Roman-style holiday dinner on Tuesday, 12/5.  Enjoy four courses with Italian wines, caroling, and prizes.  Cost is $45 per person.  Reservations required.  Stellina, 47 Main St., Watertown Square, 617-924-9475.

Some like it hot, and some like it hotter than hell.  For the latter, East Coast Grill is hosting Hotter than Hell Night times three, December 11-13.  Torture those taste buds (in a good way) with dishes like chile-crusted duck with red curry and pineapple chutney, crispy baby back ribs with scotch bonnet BBQ sauce, and harissa-grilled chicken with fig-pomegranate jam.  Call to reserve.  East Coast Grill & Raw Bar, 1271 Cambridge St., Cambridge, 617-491-6568.

All Star Sandwich Bar, Cambridge

First stop, the All Star Sandwich Bar in Inman Square in Cambridge.  Chris Schlesinger’s homage to the humble sandwich, located on the same block as the East Coast Grill, is humble neither in quality nor portion size.  It’s not cheap, either (sandwiches range from $7-$10), but what did you expect?

On offer: A pretty decent reuben as well as pulled pork, po’ boy, pastrami, meatloaf, Cuban, and grilled cheese sandwiches.  Daily specials are marked on the chalkboard, things like the Turkey Gobbler (turkey with mayo, gravy, stuffing, and cranberry orange relish) -- a perfect prelude to Thanksgiving (or to wean yourself off of post-holiday tryptophan).  If you prefer your turkey in liquid form, or like French fries in any form, don't miss their gravy fries – golden fried shoe-string potatoes topped with turkey gravy.  Next time, though, I'd vote for the gravy on the side.  No one likes a soggy fry, gravy or no gravy.

Space is tight at peak hours, but I found the service to be quite accommodating (despite early rumors to the contrary).  Dessert options are sparse and appropriately simple (chocolate chip cookies, brownies, 7-layer bars), but you probably won’t have room.  And if you do, Christina’s “All Star Ice Cream Bar” is mere steps away.

All Star Sandwich Bar
1245 Cambridge St.
Cambridge, MA
617-868-3065
www.allstarsandwichbar.com