Toddler-ish at Tremont 647 – Boston

Dining at Tremont 647 took me back to the innocent days of my childhood. Back to those happy-go-lucky days when Looney Tunes entertained a mature audience and Sesame Street wasn’t so freaking politically correct (screw you Veggie Monster! Cookies are NOT just a sometimes food!). Unfortunately, it was only during my early childhood that I could have actually liked the food at Tremont 647…back before I knew better.

Biting into the Crab and Scallion Pancake took me back to the day I tried to jump off a moving swing. I flew face-first into the forgiving sandbox that broke my fall…but not without a mouthful of skull-saving sand. While there was nothing wrong with the crab, the curry sauce had the texture of paste, (which I was so fond of eating), and I had to scrape the sandy, gross pancake off my tongue after each bite.

The Asparagus with fried egg was about as scrawny as I was, and the fake-tasting smokiness made it the nauseating reason I hated all green food. The fried egg just didn’t go with asparagus, and choking that mess down was worse than picking all the chicken and mashed potatoes off my plate and then having my mommy tell me I can’t leave the table until I finish my vegetables.

The Mushroom and Ricotta Tart had a delicious filling with a tasty mix of mushroom and flavorful cheese. The underlying cauliflower puree was amazing, and it would have tricked any kid into enjoying a vegetable…just tell them it’s cake. Unfortunately, the tart was made with a childish mathematical error of fractions. 1/3 tart + 2/3 crust does NOT equal 1 good tart. Despite that, this was the only good part of my meal.

My Hanger Steak came with a well-grilled underrated cut of beef. The tater tots were whatever and the asparagus was even more anorexic than the appetizer, but it was the chimichurri I took issue with. Chimichurri is a marinade/sauce, not a side dish. There shouldn’t be more chimichurri than steak, and it shouldn’t douse the entire plate with vinegar. Never mind the acerbic taste, this plate of chopped bell pepper looked like my best finger-painting depicting the 4^th Christmas of my life.

Dessert is the sole reason kids eat their vegetables, and the Strawberry Rhubarb Crisp was close enough. I’m not sure it was worth choking down the chimichurri, but it’s really just fine. I haven’t had much rhubarb ever, mostly due to its physical resemblance to celery, which I loathe when cooked, but I’m glad I tried the rhubarb here.

I like to learn from every restaurant I go to, and I enjoy experiences that restore my youth. I got younger at Tremont 647, but I’m not sure I enjoyed anything about the experience. Nothing I ate that night helped me grow any way but bitter, but judging by my placating tone regarding a decent dessert, maybe I’ve grown in diplomacy? As for learning, the only thing I learned was to never eat there again.