Mysterious Marliave – Boston

  

Imagine the sulky sultry mysterious young stranger on a barstool, cane in hand, black fedora pulled over his eyes, sipping 3 finger-breadths of the bar’s smokiest scotch, both a toast and an answer to the binding edicts of prohibition. You know nothing about him, but you know you him every night in your dreams. If you’ve spent your life searching for this man, look no further – such a man would only go to Marliave, and Marliave is where you belong.

Marliave stands proud with a modest, invisible-to-the-untrained-eye front and an unassuming entrance, reminiscent of the obscurity of the prohibition-era speakeasy. The upstairs is a lovely place to dine – it’s quietly tucked away from the touristic hustle and bustle (read: euphemism for slow-walking crowds who make a lot of unnecessary noise) of DTX. The full-length windows are luxurious, and ambiance is ideal for a girl’s night dinner with your 3 closest friends, especially the ones who possess flower rings that match yours. This versatile tranquility is simultaneously suitable for a pretend-its-casual-but-your-job-actually-depends-on-it business dinner. Just bear in mind that the quiet fails to drown out friends with no filter, and the ample lighting is a no-go for dates who look better with the lights off.

As for the menu…Tangential is one of my favorite words in the English language. It is concrete but obtuse, and it sounds simultaneously boxy yet unrestrictive. Tangential is a great word. It embodies the French concept of “le mot juste” and serves as a diplomatic term for that friend who can never focus on one thing, whose mind is in a million places at once and never really comes back. Oh wait, I AM that friend…Unfortunately, tangential not a flattering word with which to describe one’s meal.

Fortunately for Marliave, we chose to eat family style. We ordered four dishes and passed them around the table, which helped us overlook the rather random, or tangential, way with which the food was plated. If you ask me, the combination of items on some of the plates was as mysterious as that sulky stranger at the bar…

The Mussels were an incredible starter – the mussels were plump and juicy, chewy but not hard, clearly cooked but not yet victim to the hazards of oversteam. The sauce is too salty, even for dipping bread, but it actually represents an insightful decision on the part of the chef – mussels lack the innate ability to absorb sauce so a stronger sauce is necessary to compensate, especially if it’s a soupy sauce that lacks the sharp tang and cling of marinera. A sizable appetizer for two, a palate-whetter for four.

My least favorite dish was ironically the one I was most excited about. (Yes, English majors, I know the definition of irony, and I know this isn’t it. Instead, I’m consciously misusing it in the same way as Alanis Morisette). I can’t help but feel like the Rabbit was made by a team of three squabbling top chef contestants – the three components lacked unity to that extent. The first chef was clearly the worst; the rabbit wrapped in prosciutto was hard and dry. Funny because the prosciutto is supposed to seal in the flavor…I didn’t even finish my piece because it just wasn’t sliding down. The second chef’s interwoven chicken sausage was just plain random and pretty unremarkable – the only thing they had in common was that sausage and prosciutto are both Italian and I guess there’s the running joke that rabbit tastes like chicken…The polenta, in stark contrast, would have accompanied any dish well, even this one. A perfect creamy grain with sweet caramelized onions, it was easily the best part of this dish and clearly stole the show. My advice: if no one orders a dish that comes with polenta, order it yourself.

The Diver Scallops were perfectly seared and memorably plated – each scallop was topped with a sunburst of pea ravioli. Who decided that pea ravioli was a logical companion to scallops? But still, the aesthetics were impressive and the ravioli were incredible. I don’t even like peas, and I dove right in. The wild mushrooms were a side surfeit of salt, but the unusual texture and the unique flavor of the chewy yet tender strips wasn’t quite lost.

The Chicken was the only dish that was completely coherent. The bed of risotto made sense, and though it’s more watery than risotto should be and lacked the expected bitterness of parmesean, it was probably a good move to tone it down so that it didn’t interfere with the chicken. The chicken was tender and the skin was perfectly crispy, but the meat was lacking in real flavor. As I always say, the way a chef makes chicken can be a very accurate way to assess his/her talent, and this chicken was consistent with my overall assessment of the food at Marliave; It’s pretty good, maybe even quite good, but it’s a ways from exceptional, and the salt should be taken out of the mushrooms and transferred to the chicken.

The Sunday Gravy was probably my favorite dish. Other than the chicken, it was the only one that made sense. To be fair, it was also the only item on the plate. Under that sheath of regularly-irregular red sauce lies a plethora of savory meats that kept you guessing – your teeth never knew what they’d chew next! I’m not sure beef, lamb, and pork were necessary – it makes for indecisive bites of furtive flavor. Then again, I’m not a fan of spontaneity, and I just don’t do surprises, but I liked that this deceptively uniform dish kept me guessing. But if you think I wouldn’t order it a second time, guess again.

Overall, Marliave does win major points for polish. The old school metal covers with etched silver heart rings stay on your dish until the servers lift them off to simultaneously unveil your well-protected meal, which adds a little flourish to your fine dining and as a bonus, allows you to rest assured that no one sneezed into your food between the kitchen and your table.

In my mind, Marliave earns at least a 4-star rating based solely on how much I like the place. I actually like Marliave more than some of its higher-rated competitors. I’d readily return for the serene setting and the polished, old-school glamour. Sadly, the food earned significant deductions based on my internal rating system, and you know I’m all about the food. Each dish was presented to beautifully with clear organization and clever aesthetics, how is it possible that each dish was so disjointed within? Then again, despite the tangentiality, there is a reason Marliave is one of Boston’s oldest restaurants, and I dare you to find it for yourself.