Chef Tony Maws made an appearance at my gluttonous, over-the-top meal at Craigie on Main. He arrived, without any fanfare, at the presentation of the 6th course of a 6 course meal (a 3 part dessert was still to come, but I didn’t know it at that point). He seemed a little tired – he worked as a line cook most of the week, after all – having just exited the carefully curated chaos of an open kitchen at Craigie’s new Central Square location. (Their vacated location in Harvard Square is now filled by Krista Kranyak’s second branch of Ten Tables.)
Over by the kitchen, dishes rested briefly under glaring spotlights before being snatched up by an army of servers.
“Two runners!” a cook barked, setting down a gorgeous presentation of three cheeses as another cook deftly wiped the plate rim clean.
Maws paused briefly by our table to explain our sixth course. He accessorized his chef whites with a two day stubble. No smile, all business. I tried to take notes, but he rattled off culinary terminology too rapidly and matter-of-factly, with no sense of the intimacy of his own knowledge. His world was Craigie, and he expected that it was mine as well.
Then he disappeared, swallowed by the tinny clangs and buttery aromas of the kitchen.
I had told the waiter to go crazy with bizarre ingredients, particularly strange animal parts. Maws suscribed to the local, organic, tail-to-nose school of cooking. I only made one request: the farro risotto with blood sausage.
So it wa a surprise when at this juncture, Maws unceremoniously presented us with a pig’s foot, bones and all, filled with a blend of pork and mushroom inside the skin.
It was creative, visually thrilling, and well-executed, but unfortunately, not my favorite of the bunch. I was still glowing from the obscenely delicious farro risotto (an unmitigated triumph), and the heaviness of the pork didn’t sit well. But other courses ranged from beautifully interesting to inspiring the kind of sensation that I live for: that moment, when upon first forkful, taste becomes a glorious, cosmic slap. Divinity. Taste buds serve double duty as an opera, a schoolboy choir.
That “oh my god” kind of revelation. What is this gorgeous stuff that I am eating?
And to think, it all started with three amuse bouches.
First, a geoduck (pronunciation: gooey duck) clam with orange coulis, florida pink salmon with radish and grapefuit, and finally, a house-cured greek sardine.
Then a light, fresh second course. Australian yellow tail and avocado. Like the coolness of spring and a summer morning by the sea.
After clearing our plates and delivering a new fork and knife, the waitress carted over a real knockout – melt-in-your-mouth miso black cod with crispy ginger salad. Probably the best fish I’ve ever had. It was so good I ate half of it before I realized I needed to photograph it. Unbelievably juicy, with a texture I didn’t know was achievable.
This was followed by a lull in the meal, with a well-done but forgettable tagliatelle, cockle shells, cured pork jowls (reminded me of the thin, sweet Chinese sausages my mother loved), and thistle.
Then another round of plate clearing, utensil switching, and a hint at what was to come.
“I think you’ll like the next course,” the waitress says, with a wicked gleam in her eye.
So this comes out: brilliantly done, unusual, and oh my god, was it tasty. Roasted farro, boudin noir (blood sausage), and cock’s comb risotto with a farm fresh egg lovingly dropped in the middle. She suggested we break it open and mix the yolk with the rest of the motley ingredients. It was pure heaven. The blood sausage was just right – earthy, out of the ordinary, but not overwhelming, and each bite revealed some new discovery. Ah, there’s the cock’s comb. Oh, mushrooms, with all their wonders of umami.
I wiped the plate down with a piece of bread since I was too embarrassed to lick the bowl. But I would have. I really would have.
Finally, it was when Maws appeared with the sixth course – the pork and mushroom stuffed pig’s foot. Described as a pork “mousse” it was a rich, carnivorous crowning touch.
tea infused pannacotta
Then began the dessert course. My friend tried to order hot chocolate when given the after dinner drinks menu, but was told by our completely charming waitress, “Don’t worry about that.”
She came back with two small, unremarkable glasses, filled with what looked like milk.
It was jasmine tea and rooibos infused pannacotta. Dessert is one of the best mediums of pleasure, since it is uniquely posed to distill a flavor into something purer than the original, then injecting it into a sexier medium. Like gelato. Or ice cream. Or pannacotta. Drinking jasmine or rooibos tea again will look like a weak watercolor in comparison.
Our desserts were a warm corn grits, hazelnuts, calaminthe ice cream…
… then a Valrhona chocolate terrine. Frighteningly intense, a mouthful brought on a “what did I get myself into” feeling, kind of like when commitmentphobic you realizes you’re utterly infatuated with the person you’re dating.
Finally, to cap it all off, we were handed an ancho chili and cardamom infused Valrhona hot chocolate.
Overall, the food was stunning, the decor modern and unpretentious, and I loved getting lost watching the open kitchen. The Asian female waitress was my favorite, but a different waiter bringing over every course created a lack of continuity. One waiter, in particular, was more terse than the rest, dropping off our dishes with the briefest of the introductions and no smile.
Despite those hiccups, service was charming. Dishes were well-paced. If you can do a 6 course at Craigie, go for it. It’ll be stunning, I promise.
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