Boston Restaurant and Food Blog » Boston

My Post-Harvard Life, Part 1

Lingbo Li — Thu, 23 Jun 2011 08:06:59 +0000

Dear Internet,

WTF. I owe you an apology for never posting – or maybe you’re thankful I haven’t besmirched your walls with more image-laden food posts. (Then again, 4Chan and Space Ghetto really have me beat in the besmirching department. I’m not linking to them for a reason.)

My college roommate Felice, on Space Ghetto: “Don’t look! It’s a dead woman… in a bathtub… [redacted]”

Me, covering my eyes in genuine terror: “Oh my god! Tell me when there’s a picture of a kitten.”

What has happened in the past… oh, 6 months?

WIth the inimitable Quincy House masters, Deb and Lee. Thank you for the incredible support and being totally candid about life/the universe/42/evil people.

For one, I’m now a “real person.”

My last semester of college was a blur. I took 3 computer science classes and ran a full-time freelance web design business. Mostly to test the theory I’d be able to support myself without a real job. (Verdict: Can definitely afford my sub-$500 rent on my Allston sublet. Rock on, Craigslist.)

A week of rabble-rousing, two days of graduation ceremonies, one 6 a.m. wakeup call, and one red enveloped diploma later, I am a Harvard grad. I have a degree in Social Anthropology, and it’s actually kind of useful as a designer and business person. Eat it, doubtful Asian parents! (Not my own, they didn’t care what I majored in.)

Dat's right. Hot dog fried rice.

So now I’m subletting in Allston, cooking Thai food in the sticky, poorly-ventilated kitchen, reskinning a little corner of the Internet for mostly startup clientele, as well as working on a website concept with some friends. Who knows what will happen at the end of the summer, but I have a nice setup for now.

I drink bubble tea everyday and cook Pad Thai for my friends. We don’t have a living room, so they have to eat sitting on my bed and drink out of foam cups.

One of my two pairs of heels (~$20 from Forever 21), an American Apparel lace print dress worn under a skirt with zip back from China.

I only brought along 5 pairs of shoes, 2 pairs of jeans, 5-7 shirts, and a few dresses. I don’t have a hair dryer. I clip my nails with my Swiss Army Knife scissors, a graduation present. I clean floors, dishes, and toilets; it’s great. My only luxury: borrowing $300 Bose sound-canceling headphones from my Belgian friend… indefinitely.

Coco the Rat ISN'T SHE CUTE!

My roommates are also eminently likable, another Craigslist victory – Chinese nationals heading into consulting gigs who are charmed by the pet rat in my room (I am pet sitting Felice’s white rat Coco Chanel) and who blankly ignore my attempts to use Mandarin vocabulary. When I break out coconut milk or tamarind pulp to cook, they are fascinated – as I’ve brought home a chimp speaking in a particularly idiomatic Queens accent.

Sometimes there are particularly unfortunate translation problems.

Anna (name changed): Do you have any uh, I don’t know how to say this… wei jing?
Me: Pads? Don’t have any. I do have tampons.
Anna: What?
Me: I have tampons, do you want one?
Anna: What?
Me: Are you talking about your period?
Anna: What?
Me: You know, li jia [Chinese for period].
Anna: What?
Me: [Finally dawning on me] OH. YOU MEAN MSG.
Anna: What?
Me: [Grabbing a jar of Ajinimoto MSG off the shelf] Here. MSG.
Anna: Ahh, yes. What do you call this in English?
Me: Uh, monosodium glutamate…

I’m glad she doesn’t understand everything, so I can get away with pretending I didn’t embarrass myself.

Despite my spare closet, I still manage to put together some outfits from what I had on hand for a graduation photoshoot (taken by my friend Sam and his trusty Nikon):

SWINGS! I hurt my hands on them in elementary school... today, no improvement.

One of those well-timed hair-adjusting moments.

"Ok, done weaving my hair into the flower bush. Time to pretend I'm in a perfume ad." ...

... OR THAT I'M COCO THE RAT. (Body con dress from Bebe)

While I was taking some of these photos on Widener steps,an Asian tourist kept very obviously circling around Sam and me. Gotta love them and their urine-soaked John Harvard's foot touching ways.

Something I was supposed to have done more of in college.

Side note: I’m in love with the Urban Renewals thrift store in Allston. I got a cute yellow Abercrombie skirt (wool and cashmere blend, with a silk lining) for $2! $2!!! I spent $4.76 buying a drink from Starbucks! That’s like, two skirts and a pair of sunglasses! Unreal.

So to take us back to the food topic of this blog:

I had a really nice dinner recently, sponsored for media, at the newly opened Nubar in the Sheraton Commander (Harvard Square). Outside of the swordfish being a bit bland, the other dishes were great: creamy, rich polenta topped with spinach and fried egg, its yellow yolk oozing; lobster arancini with morels, arriving as a softball-sized vehicle of joy. Arancini is one of my favorite dishes (rice! fried! with cheese! you can’t go wrong).

Polenta and FRIED EGG.

I think the polenta is a stiff contender for favorite topped-with-fried-egg-appetizer in Harvard Square. The former title holder being Russell House Tavern’s crispy poached egg on brioche. Nubar’s appetizer is closer to entree-sized, and sufficiently heavy-handed with the fat content in the polenta that it renders any prior distaste for polenta superfluous.

Rock on, appetizers. Just don’t confuse the MSG with tampons… that would be bad.

Should Cafes Ask Customers to Leave?

Lingbo Li — Tue, 15 Feb 2011 06:04:28 +0000

My favorite cafe asked me to leave last week. For the second time.

I’ll tell you why I feel sad: when I first found Crema Cafe two years ago, I fell in love. I spent so much time there, my sweaters absorbed its scent, an inexorable melange of lattes, carbs, and indie-pop Pandora playlists. The owners described it as a place between home and work; I took that quite literally. I proudly told my friends I was considering moving in.

Over the past two years, I’ve spent so many happy hours in that cafe. I love bringing my laptop to do work on the upstairs level. I’ve forcibly dragged friends there and bought them my favorites, just so they could be converted. I’ve blogged about them, plugged them on Serious Eats, posted photos to various food sites. When I signed up for Mint.com, I budgeted a very liberal portion for “coffee.”

If you ask me for restaurant recommendations, you’ll likely hear raves about their turkey-avocado-jicama-slaw sandwich or their baked-fresh-from-scratch pastries.

So I disappointed when I was asked to leave during a busy Saturday afternoon to make room for other customers. I’d been there for a little over 2 hours with my laptop, and had planned on taking a seat closer to a wall outlet when one of the owners stepped in. (I had polished off a medium coffee and a chicken sandwich.) He had promised that table to another customer; since I had headphones on, I hadn’t seen the line forming behind me.

He was apologetic. As I was leaving, he apologized again. And this was the second time – a month before, a different owner had asked me to leave, but relented when I bought another sandwich. I’ve generally tried to share my table or buy another pastry during marathon study sessions, but I know I’ve overstayed my welcome in the past.

And I understand why they’re taking a more aggressive tack. Mostly. They charge reasonable prices for freshly made food. They have high labor costs and rent; they depend on table turnover and volume to pay the bills. I ended up chatting that owner for about an hour about the trials of the business world and how to solve the problem of being too popular.

I’m happy Crema has done well. It clearly has no problem attracting loyal customers and long lines. But I’m disappointed that the same place that I cheered for and championed feels that its success is dependent on asking me to leave. Are the two really at odds?

Perhaps this Seth Godin (a well-known marketer) post about “best customers” summarizes some of how I’m feeling:

If you define “best customer” as the customer who pays you the most, then I guess it’s not surprising that the reflex instinct is to charge them more. After all, they’re happy to pay.

But what if you define “best customer” as the person who brings you new customers through frequent referrals, and who sticks with you through thick and thin? That customer, I think, is worth far more than what she might pay you in any one transaction. In fact, if you think of that customer as your best marketer instead, it might change everything.

If you’re a cafe lover, do you think cafe owners should ask customers who have finished eating to leave?

Cafe owners, how do you deal with slow table turnover?

Myers + Chang in Boston – Dim Sum Review

Lingbo Li — Sun, 05 Sep 2010 21:09:15 +0000

Myers + Chang in Boston is not a Chinese restaurant.

Yet I frequently hear it compared to one. Chinese food in the US, as Jennifer 8. Lee would say, is the true American cuisine. It has wooed the stomach of millions. Its takeout vessels have become iconic of American culture itself. It is the gateway cuisine to other Asian foods. Myers + Chang (not Meyer’s and Chang) is the post-gateway restaurant.

Asian food has been pigeonholed mostly as… efficient. There are grease-cheap Chinese food joints that seem minted from a humorless factory line. The only ambience in these outposts is the sparkle of a sputtering neon sign. Then there are the cramped Chinatown places that Chowhound loves, serving regional specialties and packing serious heat.

But as in any major market, there’s room for niche players. Myers + Chang in Boston has angled itself as a pan-Asian restaurant with all the trappings of a hip bistro. It’s menu is self-aware, even preciously trendy (Asian chicken and waffles, anyone?). There are gluten-free options. It has the benefit of nimbleness without the issue of catering to the lowest common denominator.

Entrees are around $11-17. The waiters don’t wear those awful black vests. Food arrives on nice plates. My coke had a pink twisty straw and a lime wedge. There’s an open kitchen, a crimson dragon print on the windows, and airy, uncluttered seating. You could take a date here, not spend a ton, but not look cheap.

Some people might complain you can get more “authentic” food for less money in Chinatown.

I would say they’re missing the point. Even though I love the divey food experience, sometimes you just want the rough edges sanded off your Saturday dim sum brunch, you know? I appreciate atmosphere. Sometimes you have to fight for your food in a Chinese restaurant and that makes me cry a little inside. It reminds me too much of being in China.

Plus, those places don’t make things like fried egg banh mi! Myers + Chang does. (I took these photos with my Canon Rebel XS, for those interested in such things.)

I tried a few dishes off their weekend dim sum menu.

You should skip the congee. It is bland and not very good – go get it in Chinatown to experience its full, creamy glory. The fried egg banh mi is like the lovechild of an Egg McMuffin and Vietnam’s most famous sandwich. (Which is itself a fusion of French and local traditions.) It’s tasty, but could be improved with oozy yolk + more pickled carrots and daikon.

Their tea smoked spare ribs are excellent and fatty. You should pick every shred of flesh off the bones, then lick the rest off your fingers.

Grilled corn on the cob with Sriracha butter is juicy and a bit smoky, better than fourth of July. Anything with Sriracha is fine by me. I also tried a special. I don’t remember what it is anymore, sorry. It’s old age.

The coconut pie is a mini pie shell filled with coconut-flavored pudding, topped with cream, then sprinkled with toasted coconut. It’s serviceable, and probably better than any dessert you could ever hope to get at a Chinese takeout joint.

I saw another table with pork belly buns and got really jealous. I was full by that point, but I tried scowling at them. Pork belly buns didn’t magically appear as planned.

What I’d like to try some other time off their dinner menu: their Asian-braised short rib soft tacos on their dinner menu; chicken and waffles; Indonesian fried rice.

Awhile back, they had soft shell crab banh mi. Sad I missed the boat on that one.

I like this place. I think it has its place in the Asian food ecosphere. Keep doing your thing, Myers + Chang.

Persian and Italian Prix Fixe Traveling Meal

Lingbo Li — Fri, 27 Aug 2010 05:56:58 +0000

I ignore a lot of press releases, but I got an interesting one recently about a Persian/Italian dinner done by Lala Rokh and Bin 26 enoteca.

I had to reread the description before I figured it out. This is not some fusion dinner, per se. It involves two courses at Lala Rokh (Persian homestyle food) before getting up and walking over to Bin 26 enoteca (for the Italian portion). You can also pair it with wine for a surcharge, of course. Click through the jump to see the menu and deet – it’s every Tuesday. I actually might go.

I’m also doing a review soon of some cookware (ehm, I’m thinking of a chef’s knife or a cast iron skillet) sponsored by CSN who sells all kinds of crazy stuff in their 200 niche e-commerce stores – shoes, kitchen tables, etc. They’re also Boston-based, which is cool. I wonder if they deal with wholesalers or dropshippers. How many people doing SEO. Whether they outsource support staff. Anyway. That’s the ecommerce/Tim Ferriss-obsessed nerd in me.

Lala Rokh and Bin 26 Dinner: “When Persia Meets Puglia”

First Course

Persian Sampler

Borani-Esfanaj (spinach and yogurt)

Kashk-e Bademjan (velvety roast of eggplant)

Zaitun-e Parwardeh (olive pate)

Persian Smash (Persian cherry juice, lemonade, splash of soda)

Second Course

Morgh Pollo

Chicken simmered in tomato saffron sauce over cinnamon, cumin & basmati rice

Pinot Grigio, Alefurlan, Friuli, Italy, 2008

Third Course

Cocoa Tagliatelle

Porcini mushroom ragout scented with nepitella

Dolcetto, De Forville, Alba, Italy, 2008

Fourth Course

ThreeRamisù

Trebbiano/Malvasia, Le Fornaci, Vin Santo di San Gimignano, Tuscany, Italy, 2003

Tuesday evenings beginning September 14; Menu changes monthly

6:00pm or 8:30pm seating

$49.00 including tax and gratuity. $29.00 for beverage pairings.

Address:

Lala Rokh - 97 Mt. Vernon Street

Bin 26 - 26 Charles Street

www.lalarokh.com www.bin26.com

Reservations equired. Call 617-720-5511.

(Hi PR professionals reading this blog, I have a question merely because I am curious. Do you guys use Aweber? Automated scripts? I’m curious how technical the email process is, or if it’s just the standard bcc’d email list + press send.)

Zinneken’s in Harvard Square Brings You Belgian Waffles

Lingbo Li — Tue, 24 Aug 2010 16:19:50 +0000

This exclusive tip just in: Zinneken’s, a Belgian waffle shop, will be opening in about four months in Harvard Square.

Zinneke in Brussels dialect means someone of mixed origins, which not only represents the founders, but also their ambitions to introduce authentic Belgian food to Bostonians. They promise that Zinneken’s baked-to-order offerings will to put your standard Americanized “Belgian waffle” to shame. Zinneken’s signature showpiece is the Liège waffle, aka sugar waffle, which is sweeter, smaller in size, and denser than their conventional brethren.

But it gets better!

All photos courtesy of Nhon Ma.

These sugar waffles ($4-6) are named for their caramelized sugar coating and will be served with everything from Nutella to Chantilly cream. I particularly like the proposed “Oreos Freakin’ Party” (no joke) special which involves a grind-tastic blend of Oreos, strawberries, and whipped cream. See the menu from their brochure below.

Harvard Square’s Waffle Pioneers

Who would chase the perfect waffle recipe across continents? One founder, Nhon Ma, is a Harvard grad who jumped from the corporate world to pursue his true passion: food. But it wasn’t a random coincidence, by any means. In fact, his mother was the only Asian chef to ever get a coveted Michelin star in Europe. After spending his childhood taste testing her creations, Nhon cut his teeth by working for her.

He met his business partner Bertrand Lempkowicz in high school, who’s leaving behind his Brussels communication company to join the venture. They’re still in the process of signing the lease, but envision the shop will be “a cosy European atmosphere” that serves up authentically light and fluffy waffles to passing crowds.

Photos from their Facebook page and Twitter show a test run of snackers munching on waffles with a variety of toppings.

Beyond waffles, Nhon promises that Belgian chocolate, French macarons, flourless fudge, Belgian chocolate brownies, and sweet crepes are also in the works.

Their retail space will be at 1 Mifflin Place, #400. Looking on Google Maps, it looks like it’ll be near FedEx and Harvest. Actually, this is their administrative space – the actual location is under wraps. Nhon reveals that it’ll be closer to Harvard Square, not far from Tommy Doyle’s andUpstairs on the Square.

Can’t wait! Look forward to an interview with Nhon Ma coming soon.

Their tentative proposed menu – with delicious photos! – after the jump.

Review of Umami in Brookline, MA

Lingbo Li — Thu, 19 Aug 2010 19:26:25 +0000

The Chilean sea bass, the one thing I would sort of recommend here.

I visited Umami in Brookline because UrbanDaddy wrote it up.

The food is creative Asian (billed as Japanese, but it’s not that exclusively). From the menu, it reads, “Asian Inspired Global mix of culinary imagination with a creative twist.” I first had inklings of what was to come reading the Umami menu, which sounded more like a hopeful amalgam of seasonings than a clear vision. Also, they picked an ugly font, so the typographer in me balked.

Service was bumbling, but earnest. I liked our server, actually. He was kind of awkward, but very sweet.

My suspicions as to the food, however, were confirmed with their free “appetizer.” So there’s nothing wrong with free appetizers, but I mean… just look at this:

The matchstick cucumbers were actually the wet, seedy cucumber innards. When you picked on up, it flopped.

Somewhere, a supermarket veggie platter was crying its little ranch dressing tears. (I keep rereading this sentence. It’s so harsh. I feel kind of bad. But it’s true.)

The Southeast Asian black tiger shrimp were fine and unremarkable, and more noted for the absence of their promised complex flavor-amalgam. (garlic butter, smoked cayenne peppers, lemon thyme, baby cilantro) Unannounced was the high onion presence. I guess that’s ok – I like onion.

My dining partner’s Chilean sea bass fine but unremarkable, sitting on a bed of sweet potato and some bland bok choy. He asked for salt.

The real story of the whole meal, however, was my steak tips. Being an offal lover (brains, balls, and everything in between), I was excited by the promise of star anise-scented tripe and mashed taro. What came was truly confusing.

Some pieces of the steak tip gave my jaw a workout. Their heirloom tomatoes came in large chunks, to which the kitchen thoughtfully applied some grill marks before plating. The Chinese-ness and texture of the stewed tripe felt as alien as a male Wellesley student – a stranger bobbing amidst a sea of otherness.

And the mashed taro. Oh my god. I don’t know what they did to it, to be honest. I usually eat pretty much everything on my plate, even if it’s not very good. (Like bags of stale popcorn.) I left 95% of that thing on my plate.

The main issue with Umami is that it doesn’t deliver on the flavors the menu promises. If executed right, they would have some really interesting food, a more Japanese and ambitious Myers + Chang, say.

I’m predisposed to the concept – I love Asian food, particularly anything that aims to make it more creative and upscale. But with dishes like the steak tips with tripe, it points to the problems with innovating versus executing. What sounds good on paper doesn’t taste so good on the plate. And so it should be back to the cutting board.

I didn’t get the see the inside, but the outside seating was lovely.

The table next to us were some senior citizens chatting with the next table down about how great dinner was. My dining partner and I looked at each other with a kind of ferocity of disagreement. It had been a tense weekend, I remember, and our mutual feelings about dinner seemed to be a leveling ground. And to be honest, I felt embarrassed. I couldn’t fault Umami for their earnestness, but there’s a lot of work to do.

Deuxave opening in Boston’s Back Bay’s menu, hours

Lingbo Li — Thu, 19 Aug 2010 18:43:08 +0000

Photo courtesy of CBH Communications

I have been observing Deuxave’s construction on Mass Ave and Commonwealth for months now. I’m frequently found traipsing around Back Bay these days, so an ambitious new neighborhood restaurant is much welcomed.

The food is seasonally inspired new American, with emphasis on sourcing local ingredients, and priced at around $26 an entree. The whole shebang is set to open “around” Labor Day (September 6th) and is the foodbaby of exec chef Chris Coombs (formerly of Ming Tsai’s Blue Ginger; Aujourd’hui; Troquet; and the Food Network’s Chopped) and owner Brian Piccini (of Aquitaine and dbar).

I instinctively kind of like Coombs – he knows to spin his youthfulness to his advantage. How’s that for a PR lesson, college kids?

One thing that perplexes me is their pronunciation. It’s explained as “doo-ave” in their press release. But I remember that in French class, there’d normally be a “z” sound to transition between vowel sounds. So I’d been thinking of it as “duhz-ave.” Any French speaker input?

To see their sample menu, click for the jump.

Deuxave Menu

DEUXAVE APPETIZERS

A Duet of Prime Beef Tartare and Wagyū Carpaccio

herb encrusted wagyū beef, hanley style prime tartare, quail egg yolk, petite arugula, escabèche of chanterelles, potato gaufrettes, cornichons, rosemary-mustard aioli

“Night Moves” Scituate Lobster Gnocchi

with mushrooms, corn, green grapes, potato gnocchi, curried walnuts, & pearl onions with fresh herbs in a citrus fricassee

Crispy Crescent Farms Duck Confit

with petit heirloom tomato & frisee salad with bacon sherry vinaigrette, bing cherry sauce.

DEUXAVE ENTREES

Pan Roasted Atlantic Line Caught Halibut

with sweet corn succotash, chanterelles, peppers, herbs, Okinawa yams, laughing bird shrimp in ginger, espelette, tomato, and burgundy butter sauce

Seared Hawaiian Ahi Tuna

with pink peppercorns crusted big eye, pork belly, pineapple “aigre-doux”, sea beans, summer radish, cucumber, Asian flavors, lobster red curry emulsion and petit flowers

A Vegetarian Celebration of Summer

ragoût of wards farm corn & hand made gnocchi, porcinis, tempura celeries, fried blue aracuna egg, pousse pied & tomato salad, radish, saffron-heirloom tomato coulis and aged balsamic

Moroccan Spiced Colorado Lamb Saddle Pistachio

persillade crusted, persian style tabbouleh, a baby carrots, beets and turnips “en cocotte” minted cucumber raita & roasted red pepper vinaigrette, natural jus

A Duet of Giannone Farms Organic Chicken

crispy skinned roasted breast, and a crépenette of thigh, sautéed chanterelles, Ward’s Farm Silver queen corn, soft polenta, fresh herbs and sauce périgeux.

Deux ave opening hours, address

Deuxave

371 Commonwealth Ave
Open for dinner Sunday-Wednesday 5-10pm, Thursday-Saturday 5-11pm

Calling all Boston Vinophiles

Lingbo Li — Sun, 15 Aug 2010 16:39:23 +0000

Want to win tickets to Morton’s Uncorked Tasting Series? Have ace recommendations? See the blurb below:

Uncorked Tasting Series, Morton’s The Steakhouse Back Bay is asking Boston vinophiles to submit wine suggestions for the August 30 tasting (theme is “You Tell Us”) for the chance to win four comp tickets to the event. All folks have to do is send suggestions (sky’s the limit) to cm.mbo@mortons.com by August 26. The winner and three guests will be treated to five wines paired with five signature Morton’s hors d’oeuvres at the August 30 tasting from 6:30 – 8:00pm at Morton’s Back Bay (699 Boylston Street). Tickets are also available for $40 each (call 617-266-5858 to reserve a spot).

Genki Ya in Brookline: the worst Japanese restaurant flub ever

Lingbo Li — Fri, 28 May 2010 03:01:00 +0000

Hell is not bad food.

It’s other people. Specifically, hostile servers. After an atrocious experience at Brookline’s Genki Ya, I’m trying to pick apart the mess.

When I was 16, I was a cashier at my local A & P. Old ladies with tubes in their noses would squawk if a box of crackers rang up 20 cents higher, demanding that I follow them into the aisles to see the price sign. (They usually had misread it.) Soccer moms would mutter mild abuses about my incompetence as if I was wasn’t human. I was there once too. I sympathize.

But some servers have made me cry with frustration. There was pimply-faced one who worked for Western dining chain Wagas in Shanghai (Wagas Citic Square branch, August 8th 2009) who outright lied to escape his screwup, capping off a troubled relationship with China’s service culture. I wrote an incensed email to the chain but never received a reply. Some servers are merely incompetent – forgetting, dropping, blundering – and I tend to just feel sorry for them.

But sometimes there are spectacular front-of-house failures that deserve a writeup all their own. These require repeated, concerted level of incompetence that is really just embarrassing for everyone involved.

There’s a “normal accident” theory that arises in trying to explain tragedies. In these cases, there are many small mistakes. Each of these mistakes alone are normally not a big deal, but it’s the coincidental alignment of them that spells a lost customer.

So let’s explain my disastrous meal at Genki Ya, a small sushi restaurant that bills itself as all-organic. I’d eaten there before and enjoyed the food, so returned with boyfriend in tow.

We wandered in on a Friday night. It was busy, but not so busy since we were seated within two minutes at the sushi bar. I was faint with hunger; he was inured to the world after a week of hell and insomnia. We planned on ordering omakase – sit at the sushi bar, give the chef a budget, and let him/her pick whatever was fresh.

I swear I’m not making ordering omakase up.

We ask for omakase at $50 for the two of us. Blank stare from the waitress. We explain in plain English what it means. Outright refusal. “They’re too busy,” she says.

“Too busy? All they have to do is choose something,” I say.

“They’re too busy,” she repeats, as if we’ve asked for something particularly distasteful.

Desperate with hunger, and somewhat stubborn, I have an inkling she is not Japanese.

I speak to her in Chinese, explaining the concept of omakase in our secret-Asian-people-language-club tongue. I’m right, but am met again with cold refusal.

My dining partner and I look beseechingly at the men making maki behind the counter. They seem friendly. We try to undermine the servers. It’s beginning to feel like a CIA mission. No luck.

Meanwhile, I’m lightheaded with hunger. Our waitress has abandoned us. We finally get another waitress, who we repeat the same request to. Refusal again.

We’re floundering. Finally, after more hand wringing, the manager comes over, who nods several times, and says he’ll send over miso soup. We rejoice since we’re finally going to get the meal we asked for – or so we thought.

I drink my bowl of miso soup dry. Then comes a plate piled high with seaweed salad, delicious. Our entrees arrive – there’s a full size roll of eel and tempura maki, as well as “volcano roll” which involves a pyramid of rolls doused in tempura, crab, and mayo. Great. Enough food to get us full. Or so we thought.

A few minutes later, a waitress arrives with two more full size rolls. They’re highly Americanized rainbowed concoctions, and tasty. We have enough food for 4 people now. Our paces slows.

This must be it, right?

No. Another roll, topped with spicy tuna and filled with shrimp tempura arrives. We laugh. This is gluttony, this is madness. That must be it, right? We laugh a little, too tired and beaten down to care. The couple next to us starts to joke about it too.

We’re now clocking in at 5 oversized rolls, each of which takes up a platter.

It’s not enough, clearly.

Roll 6 and 7′s arrival feel like mockery, a cruel fulfillment of getting what you ask for. By this point, eat bite feels like tasting the thick slap of an insult.

The man behind the sushi bar awkwardly hands us another plate, compliments of the chef, whoever he might be. It as a few tender pieces of fish. We pick at it, aghast.

Surveying the damage

Then dessert, a bowl with a scoop of matcha ice cream, a tapioca pearl pudding, and azuki beans.

The bill comes. It is exorbitant, nearly three times our requested budget.

We are beat down by the tide from the kitchen. It’s been a long week, and all we can really do at this point is to laugh. So we do. And go for a walk, doggy bag in tow.

How could this have been avoided? The waitress could have turned us down politely, then firmly directed us towards a few recommendations. Or she could have at least immediately asked a manager to confirm her refusal. Either way, her tactic of dropping the table and adding an additional layer of confusion – and losing our budget in translation – was unacceptable.

Lessons for restaurants:
1) Know your product
2) If you can’t fulfill a customer’s demands, have a strategy for ushering them to an option you can do
3) If you attempt to fulfill an unusual request, communicate expectations
4) Do not use omakase as an excuse to write your own check

I eat sushi for breakfast and lunch the next day. After a quick run in the microwave, I admit that it tastes good. It tastes better, in fact, curled up on the couch, remote in hand. And there wasn’t a waitress in sight.

Russell House Tavern in Harvard Square is here to stay.

Lingbo Li — Fri, 21 May 2010 19:07:57 +0000

Harvard was built in 1636. As another transient moving through these classrooms and dorms – every spring, boxing my pathetic belongings and thinking towards a shrinking timeline – it’s easy to forget that the Square is transient as well.

After all, it seems that Spare Change man has been hawking his newspapers in front of Au Bon Pain forever, and ever, calling, “Young lady! Young lady! Won’t you have a heart?” And the Asian tourists spill eternal over the Yard, clutching their cameras like stunned mice and groping John Harvard’s storied foot. I remember freshman year, dodging and weaving through the tourists to breakfast, I’d feel superior to them. I lived here; I was real. But now, I think that I’m just as much a tourist as they are.

As an admitted high school senior, a freshman introduced me to the area. I remember one venue: Z Square, where the newly opened Russell House Tavern now stands. “This is where you take someone when you’re getting serious,” he explained, and it seemed like an institution to me. The unholy trinity of the Kong, ‘Noch’s, and Felipe’s seemed cast in stone. It was only years later that I found out Felipe’s had only been around for a few years, as had Z Square.

I’ve long stopped talking to that freshman after a mysterious tiff my first semester, and I never visited Z Square while it was open. So when I heard a new restaurant was opening, I was curious.

I’ve now visited Russell House Tavern three times in the past few weeks, more than any other restaurant. This has been purely by mistake. But I can see why I keep getting drawn back. They’re not perfect, but they are very good, and more ambitious than I would have expected, or need be.

Russell House is owned by the Grafton Group, which also runs Grafton Street, Redline, and Temple Bar, where chef Michael Scelfo still works.* Their promo blurb of “seasonally changing, classic American fare” did not excite me. But I eventually got dragged along anyway after a viewing of Top Chef Masters at Rialto, where I somehow sat at a table with Christine of Citysearch and Leighann F. of Yelp. (They’re friends!)

The space is heavy on dark wood, a kind of polished masculinity that’s not too old boy’s club. The dining room proper is downstairs – a sea of high tables and stools, a few padded banquets, a long U of a bar.

Crispy Soft Poached Chip-In Farm Egg 7 Pecorino Aioli, Toasted Brioche, House Pancetta

Danielle of Eastern Standard with the pizzas of the night

I wasn’t particularly hungry, but tried the fried poached farm egg, which was an oozy, bacon-laden, plate licking appetizer. It is a bit pricey considering a full pizza is only a few bucks more, but worth it in inspiration. It led me to attempt my own fried poached eggs, to little success. I also sampled a lamb tartare – a bit too raw/gamey for my tastes – and a cured and smoked lamb belly pizza, with fontina cheese and mushroom, although the intensity and saltiness of the lamb overpowered the rest. The chef clearly has a fondness for the bleating little creatures, and wasn’t afraid to show it.

lamb tartare

I came back again, on a whim, on a busy Friday night to catch up with a friend. I had the crispy poached egg again, and savored every last crumb of the brioche and smudge of the aioli. Unfortunately, service was pretty slow – it seemed that they were short staffed – and my egg was already cooling down. I tweeted my dissatisfaction, and the chef tweeted back: “so sorry!! please let me make it up to u next timer ur in…”

Semolina-yogurt cake with basil

Finally, about a week ago, I dropped by again after one of the worst meals in the past year at Shabu Ya. (Avoid at all costs.) My friends had ordered up chicken liver crostinis – richly satisfying bites, rounded out with a dab of prune-honey jam. The short rib wellington was fine, as was the caesar salad. The centerpiece ended up being a lamb shank, cooked to a melting, falling-off-the-bone tenderness, presented in a black lentil stew. I didn’t get to talk to Chef Scelfo, but the manager sent out a few desserts – a semolina cake (tasting akin to a more complex corn muffin), sorbet (a trio including a nice icy grapefruit), and carrot cake – served in a round pot, with gooey layers. The waiter, coincidentally, happened to read my blog.

Not everything is perfect, but I give the chef points for taking risks with the menu. And even when there were hiccups in service – a forgotten order, say – the staff immediately corrected it and removed the dish off the bill. The prices are about right, with pizzas $10-13, and entrees $10-28. This is not a restaurant that will change dining, but it’s one I could see becoming an institution. Then again, in Harvard Square, that doesn’t take so long.

*Correction appended: Chef Michael Scelfo still works at Temple Bar, in addition to Russell House Tavern.

Eat, Drink, & Be Social, Free Wine Toast at PF Changs, my Summer Plans

Lingbo Li — Sat, 08 May 2010 03:12:08 +0000

Dearest blog,

I’ve been busy pumping out 15 page treatises overnight, running a guac-off, judging Top Chef Harvard, sampling brownies for inclusion in new spa, and attending dinners sponsored by Eggland’s Best, among other things. Oh, and I watched Julie and Julia. That’s like, five blog posts I never made right there.

But you’re looking for some things to do in May! So I bring you two worthwhile events. I’ll be out of town for the first, but I’ll be attending the wine toast if you want to see a food blogger in the wild.

Eat, Drink, & Be Social – For all of us enamored with restaurants, social media, and the melding of the two. Here’s an event that brings together culinary powerhouse Barbara Lynch with FourSquare founder Dennis Crowley. There’ll be plenty of other Boston food and media movers & shakers out to discuss hot topics like geo-location and YouTube. Consists of two separate events:

Sunday Evening Social - May 23rd, 8-10pm - Dante Restaurant (40 Edwin H. Land Blvd, Cambridge). Networking event at Dante with cash bar.

Monday Symposium – May 24th, 8:30am-12:30pm - Technique @ Le Cordon Bleu (215 1st Street, Cambridge). The main event, with Barbara Lynch, the founder of FoodSpotting, @eatboston, and Barry Proctor of Upper Crust Pizza, among others. Annd more networking. Twitter hashtag: #eatdrinkbesocia.

Free wine toast at P.F. Chang’s – May 18, 5:18pm – P.F. Chang’s China Bistro at the Prudential Center (800 Boylston Street, Boston). Get a complimentary pour from P.F. Chang’s new custom label just by showing up. It’s happening on 5/18 at 5:18. Cute, right? I’ll be there!

I’ll also be attending Japanese brasserie Basho‘s opening party on 5/17.

Annd that rounds out May before I head back to New York! I’ll be working for NYC food mega-blog Serious Eats, as well as a food/travel iPhone startup.

Small Asian Girl vs. Pasta From Hell — East Coast Grill’s 100th Hell Night

Lingbo Li — Fri, 30 Apr 2010 04:18:01 +0000

There are nine circles in Hell, and I am determined to make it to the last, torturous one.

I wade through the murk of the river Styx, then step over the cold, bloated bodies that populate the circle of Gluttony.

Finally, I make it to the Ninth Circle. The red finger paint on the window reads, “BEWARE: Eat at your own RISK.” Sinning souls jockey for space at the bar while yellow strips of caution tape flutter over above their heads. I pick up a menu which has subheadings like “Lucifer’s Liquid Coolers” (spicy cocktails) and “Entrees from Hell” (eclectic dishes with the zing of Cajun hot mustard or bird chile-lemongrass broth).

I’m in Cambridge’s Inman Square, home of East Coast Grill, who is setting their kitchen aflame for their 100th Hell Night (April 12-15, 2010). For three nights, three times a year, they serve the spiciest food that sadism can muster. For decades, the event has attracted spice masochists the world in the past quarter-century who come to sacrifice their tongues to flame.

I figured if there were any small Asian girl who could handle Hell Night, it would be me. I’m brazen with my applications of Sriracha to dining hall food. I’ve eaten Sichuanese hotpot in Chengdu, which essentially drinking scalding, spicy oil. In frustration over Thai dishes not being hot enough, I’ve literally eaten spoonfuls of fish-sauce laden bird chilies to the admiration of waiters and professional eaters.

photos by Sam Lipoff

But only the truly deranged ask for East Coast Grill’s mythical Pasta From Hell. It’s a dish so hot that they make you sign a consent form. A manager personally requested that I not eat it. “I’ll give you a spoonful for free,” he told me. “Please don’t do it to yourself.”

In the interest of research, I have to. I meet Satan to do the deed. His name is Dr. Pepper, and he’s wearing a felt hat shaped like a jalapeno. His shirt printed with cartoon flames and a string of plastic chiles is looped around his neck. Rasta-colored sweatbands encircle his wrists. He seems positively… genial.

There’s a hellish ingredient in what I’m about to consume. It’s called the ghost chili (naga jolokia) – as omnious as it sounds.

It is the hottest hot pepper in the world. It clocks in at about a blistering 1,000,000 Scoville units.

You do not eat it; it eats you.

Dr. Pepper brings over the orange form. It reads “Hell Pasta Consent,” and the final paragraph describes what I am about to experience after eating this pasta of lore:

“Close your eyes and imagine an angry Goliath Birdeater crawling down your throat, the irritating sting of its barbed urticating hairs penetrating the membranes of your tongue and esophagus. The large hairy spider reaches your stomach and sinks its fangs into your intestines… Hours later, it tears out the other end, alive.”

I sign my name.

My dining partners and I had sampled the merely very spicy dishes already without much event. (I was actually somewhat disappointed at the level of spiciness, although the steak and Korean fried chicken were all very tasty.) The pasta came, quivering under its thick application of seasoning. I twirled a generous, wide noodle around my fork and placed it in my mouth.

I chewed. Then I took another bite. It took about 5 seconds for it to hit me. But when it did, I understood what I’d signed up for.

Imagine the hottest habanero you’ve ever eaten. Imagine the rip-roar flash burn of a Jalapeno, the prickly Novocain of a Szechuan peppercorn, the sour sizzle-pop of a hit of Tabasco.

Then multiply that by hundreds of thousands.

Imagine an unchecked forest-fire flame searing your throat and tongue and the roof your mouth to a well-done cannibal’s steak. Water only prolongs your agony. Milk barely dampens the flames.

That, my friends, is the Pasta From Hell.

I barely survived three bites before I succumbed to tears, mouthfuls of cornbread, and half a glass of milk.

But other people were more extreme. The man at the table behind me shoveled the entire thing into his mouth in thirty seconds, then looking pale, ran outside to throw up.

He came back, concerned girlfriend in tow, and declared victory. He’d only thrown up the three glasses of water he’d chugged after the fact.

Dr. Pepper came by with a free t-shirt for the pasta victor and posed for photos. But I knew that the Devil would have the last laugh. Come tomorrow, his digestive tract would burn anew. What goes in, after all, had to come out.

Drinks at M Bar at the Mandarin Oriental

Lingbo Li — Sun, 21 Mar 2010 19:25:51 +0000

M Bar at the Mandarin Oriental reminds me of Shanghai’s slickly overproduced watering holes. The difference is that in China, these kinds of establishments stock only the most svelte and snowy-skinned of waitstaff, the kind with faces that inspire as much protection as possession.

(The physicality of Chinese beauty hits you in a very different way from Western beauty. Even at its most objectified, the former maintains a certain distance from its sexuality. It’s softer – it doesn’t assault you from the front so much as it circles an arm from behind.)

In honor of last summer, I ordered their Mo-del cocktail, which featured notes of rose and lychee, very Shanghai. I appreciated the generous helpings of sugared almonds and olives, which helped cut a very stiff drink.

I could almost imagine those were expat men lining the sill of the bar and spilling over the banquettes. I was never sure what to think of them last summer, to see them as so many suited malcontents, or to envy how some were mindlessly adept at making the city their jungle gym. Somehow, it felt unfair.

No related posts.

Toro Restaurant in Boston: Ken Oringer’s tapas

Lingbo Li — Thu, 04 Mar 2010 06:16:58 +0000

The streets are slush. It’s late, past 9pm, and the MBTA’s 1 bus is late, too – lumbering around the corner like the crankiest of grandfathers, bearing nothing but ill will and obligation. It wheels through Cambridge to Boston, ribbed rubber floor collecting more slush as passengers board. I have dinner plans for Toro in Boston. My dining partner boards at Commonwealth and Mass Ave, half grin, hat pulled over eyebrows. Off we go.

It’s late, but Boston’s Toro is busy. It is a Tuesday night, the kitchen closes in a half-hour, and the place is still humming with all the might of a scenester beehive. We wait as diners linger. Waiters zip through the crowd, dropping off fried treats: a platter of patatas bravas, crisp and golden, in front of a lucky diner at the bar. I’m jealous.

The bartender offers us a drink menu; I peer at it, but want to hold every last inch of stomach space for the food. The hostess apologizes for the wait and brings a peace offering: two perfect bites. I miss the explanation, but pop it into my mouth. Not bad. Then our table opens up.

I like Oringer’s restaurants a lot so far. Viscerally speaking: they’re slick, they’re full of people, and they have plenty of offal on the menu. He has this way of knowing, mysteriously, precisely what I want to eat. Or maybe he teaches me. The lows are not so low, and the highs are very high – an octopus dish at Coppa, recommended by the waitress, was so well composed it sang. My favorite bartender, Asher, keeps vigil over the swank environs at KO Prime and mixes a mean martini. Tonight, it’s a chance add-on of Erizos En Suquet, a catalan stew of sea urchin, lobster and crab meat. It comes red, velvety, and proves luscious on the tongue.

Another standout is the crispy veal sweetbreads with blood orange and cinnamon, as delicious as it is beautiful. My first taste of sweetbreads, actually, and I suspect one that will ruin me. Beef hearts, mentioned by a reader, come sliced paper thin on bread, pronounced as innocuously tasty as beef brisket by my dining partner. I had been hoping for some sinuous veins. The corn, recommended by Ming Tsai, is like no other corn I’ve ever had. It’s perfectly charred, slathered in aioli and then topped with soft, aged cheese, two wedges of lime to add a bright zing to the fat-on-fat. This is a vegetable that no diet would allow.

Crispy veal sweetbreads with blood orange and cinnamon

Not just any corn

The only disappointment is the beef shortrib, which came bland and undersalted.

The pork belly, however, is at no loss for flavor. The top layer is caramelized to a deep hue and a even better crunch, reigning over a loosely plated dish of escargot strewn through a soft landscape of apple, pumpkin, and a surprising addition of smoked maple crumble; it dissolves in your mouth as readily as the pork fat.

The diner next to me strikes up a conversation when she sees my camera. It turns out we’ve communicated via Twitter – she’s a writer for the Herald. Small world.

We’re easing into home stretch. Dessert is sugar-crusted churros and chocolate sauce. I eat most of it, my stomach groaning. I look at the faces of diners as I walk out, wondering if they’re floating a little. It’s back to the streets, and this time, a cab.

Find it!

———–

Toro

1704 Washington Street
Boston, MA 02118
(617) 536-4300

Russell House Tavern to open in Harvard Square

Lingbo Li — Wed, 03 Mar 2010 22:02:40 +0000

Chef Michael Scelfo

Update: Check out my Russell House review.

Word on the Internet is that Harvard Square will soon have another restaurant to add to its roster – Russell House Tavern, headed by Chef Michael Scelfo from Temple Bar. Its opening is set for late March or early April.

Their Twitter account is currently silent, although following and being followed by well over a 1,000 tweeps. What kind of food will it serve? According to a Craiglist ad calling for service staff, the eatery will have “seasonally-changing, classic American fare with contemporary influences, carefully-designed cocktails and a resolute selection of American wines and local craft beers.” Expect a focus on local, seasonal ingredients.

Scelfo’s Twitter chronicles a bit of the excitement: “confirmed on 1st equipment delivery for this thurs -my highlights: double hearth oven, large cabinet (cold/hot) smoker, immersion circulator,” he wrote yesterday.

It looks like he’s got some good people helping out with his new baby as well: “solid 1st impression from new crew at RH, everyone on board showed up to clean & organize. 3 weeks of cleaning ahead, always rule number 1″ says a tweet from February 25th.

A recent blog post really gives away nothing about the restaurants menu, except that it won’t veer too wildly far from Temple Bar’s spirit – “I followed was to be mindful and respectful of Temple Bar’s style,” he writes, trying to balance competing interests.

Well, I’m looking forward to seeing what he’s got in store!