The Big Oleana – Cambridge

Oleana sounds like something you’d say to a talented lover named Leana. Except your lover is a plate of Mediterranean mecca, and your love is as short-lived as your last bite of potato pie. But make no mistake, every petite plate you try at Oleana and every steamy bite that grazes your lips leaves a lasting imprint as poignant as your first love.

The vegetarians at the table raved about the Spinach Falafel, and I confirmed that it was indeed to die for. It was a tough job but somebody had to do it… The Asparagus special had a mysterious dark flavor to balance out the light, loved the savory spin. The hummus was also quite tasty – O Leana, how I love taking bites of your vegetables.

I initially feared that my appetizer, the Potato Pie with Bacon (special) would be as somnolence-inducing as anesthesiology. The unblemished white purity of the potato cake even resembled propofol. One bite and the bacon awakened my tastebuds, and this rich and heavy dish was as refreshing as Sleeping Beauty after 100 years asleep. Maybe the Brothers Grimm misheard, and her name was Leana instead of Aurora because this dish just made me understand why Americans wake up to bacon.

I have yet to say O to anyone named Leana, but I couldn’t contain a resounding O at the Soft-Shelled Crab. A massive golden crab, beautifully battered with a smattering of subtle sauce, as crisp as the edges of a new crescent moon, yet smooth as silk when you swallow, offset by the gritty grains of quinoa. Serious O.

When it comes to food, the more unsure I am of how it’s pronounced, the more I like it. And the Tamarack Tunis Lamb was no exception. The sausage was absolutely perfect; gamey, spicy legs logs of earthy comfort. I’m a firm, blasphemic believe that not all good things need to be heavenly, and at Oleana, the earthy lamb is the way to go. I’m sure I have no idea how to pronounce the deep, dark, delectable Turkish spices either, but though my lips cannot speak its name, its flavor will forever linger on my tongue.

I’m starting to think I deserve a slap on the wrist (though I’m willing to consider kinkier alternatives) for constantly overlooking Inman Square. It’s clearly a no man’s land and a transportation nightmare for bikeless, carless city dwellers, but so far, both onerous journeys have yielded gold mines housing a culinary mecca, well worth the hajj. So load up your camel with something to read while waiting for the bus through the Cambridge desert. Believe me, neither you nor your camel will be disappointed…just feed him some falafel.