Boston
A few of my guilty pleasures in Boston.
We all have our weaknesses. Some are innocuous, like a love of Lady Gaga (nearly universal), and some a bit more questionable. Whether it kills your diet, your skin, or your dignity, here are a couple of ways to add some happiness and subtract a few years off your life.
In lieu of a real post, here’s some hot sauce.
Me and my favorite condiment, found in a Vietnamese grocery in Dorchester across from the AMAZING Ban Le, which serves incredible Banh Mi.
Valentine’s Day in Boston ideas: Shoulda put a ring on it
Since my foray in Jewish speed dating clearly hasn’t earned me a date for Valentine’s Day, I’m turning all my brilliant ideas over to you, dear reader. This list of a sugar-themed crawl of Cambridge is meant primarily for the adventurous and thrifty, a winning combination in my eyes. I realize that my awkwardly inserted mentions of makeouts perhaps should be cut. I’ve spent too long with my Macbook to know what you crazy kids do these days.
Or, if you’re sexy singleton, a la Bridget Jones and pre-Big-and-wedding Carrie Bradshaw, try my “For all the single ladies” v-day list. Except I’d probably switch out the movie options – I just don’t watch enough quality cinema to know of movies where men turn out to be evil puppy-eating beasts – a much better ointment for the soul than some 40-something tearing up as her man abandons her at the altar. Buzzkill, much?
I’ll be hitting the gym, regardless.
Tony Maws’ Fried Pigs’ Tails at Craigie on Main, Cambridge
Despite ordering very, very little at Craigie on Main (a cocktail and splitting an appetizer), my dining companion and I were treated like long lost family.
I probably have not been so coddled and swathed in love since I wore Mao-printed onesies as an infant. Despite explicitly only ordering drinks, we sat at a table, had a full bread basket brought to us, and finished off with two complimentary petite madeleines (which were unremarkable, but a nice touch).
Parked with one drink each and their famous fried pigs’ tails ($11), we camped out for three full hours.
If this were my restaurant, I probably would have kicked me out.
This is probably why I don’t run a restaurant.
Craigie, for the uninitiated, is a chef-owned restaurant that focuses on nose-to-tail cooking and local sourcing. The chef, Tony Maws, won Food & Wine’s Best New Chef last year. He worships at a porcine altar. I was told they now serve half a pig’s head. (Mark my words, I’ll be back to eat it.) When I ate there before, we were served a stuffed pig’s foot; a risotto dotted with cocks comb and blood sausage; and cured pork jowls. There’s obviously tamer stuff like a reputedly excellent burger, but for someone who is all about the quirky eats, the menu is my idea of Disneyland. I literally squeal and flap my hands – it can be quite embarrassing for my friends.
During our three hours, our waiter doted on us like the kindest and most selfless of grandfathers.
“Do you like your drink?” he asked, looking concerned. I had finished perhaps a quarter of it. It was very strong.
“Oh yeah, it’s fine,” I replied.
“I noticed you haven’t drank very much of it,” he remarked. “Just want to make sure…” Then he offered to make something else if this one didn’t tickle my pathetically-unable-to-imbibe fancy.
I said something about having the alcohol tolerance of a malnourished toddler.
Fried pigs' tails
Those famous fried pig tails? Each bite was unnerving. I hadn’t realized that a pig’s tail is mostly uh, fat. Think of it like a petite, very fatty version of a chicken drumstick or a spare rib – a small bone encased in a rich, lip-smacking casing of fat that leaves you feeling a bit stickier for the wear. Pile them up like ruby jewels, top them in a crown of delicately sliced onion rings, and sauce them in fine ethnic fashion (Vietnamese – garlicky, a bit of a chili kick), and you have what Food & Wine declared one of the best dishes under $12 in the country. I think the dish could have benefited from some extra dipping sauce on the side for the condiment-obsessed. It was the kind of thing where you would want to knaw endlessly on one tail, probably no more. I love fat as much as the next human being, but really, I wasn’t kidding when I said these babies just seem to dissolve into a fatty uber-substance upon mouth contact. I began slowing down around pig tail #4.
When we finally left – it was around midnight – I walked out in a kind of golden haze. Part of me wonders if my blogging ways might have accounted for the superlative treatment. (It turns out that an acquaintance actually works there.) I’ve done a proper meal of a tasting menu there when I just started blogging and had great service, but I’m curious to know what your experiences have been.
Which doesn’t take away from the fact It was a magical evening that utterly overdelivered on service. Which makes up for all those times elsewhere when I sulked into an improperly dressed salad, or tried to flag down an errant waiter.
Hospitality industry, you redeem thyself.
Harvard Square Cafes: the definitive guide
a brownie from Crema (good for camping out to)
Harvard Square is home not only to a lot of foot-fetishizing Japanese tourists and uppity academics, but also an overwhelming number of cafes. For real cafe die-hards, these businesses are much more than a coffee dispenser. (I’m looking at you, the one nursing your $3 latte for 6 hours.) Here’s to admitting that your trapped-on-a-desert-island essentials include your Macbook, a wi-fi connection, and a hard stool you had to elbow through the lunch rush crowd for.