From South End to Saus – Boston

I was really hoping to get soused at Saus after the worst exam of my life, but it turns out that they don’t serve beer. Not that it matters – the food did wonders for the symptomatic management of my post-medicine shelf PTSD. Still, if they started doling out beer that was as Belgian as their waffles, I would truly be in heaven…or Tucker Maxx hell…

If I were to go to Europe and order Poutine off the street, this is exactly what I would get. The poutine gravy is a bit too salty and the starch in the gravy was separating like day-old hot and sour soup as we ate, which made the fries a little soggy in the middle. But it’s somehow still good, and the boulder-sized chunks of cheese curd melted into the gravy, and if I had a hangover and a genie, I would wish for this.

Saus is Dutch for sauce, and it really is all about the sauce here. The Spicy Frikandel is as urgently good as its name. This surprisingly well-seasoned but not too salty sausage in a toasted bun doused in chipotle and jalapenos is one of those things that if you’re starving and need a classic meat-and-bread meal, you’d say something like “GET ME A FREAKING-DEL!” We were told that the special is even better than the spicy despite being an acquired taste, but I just couldn’t bring myself to choose curry ketchup and mayo over chipotle…Maybe next time…

The name Saus is a harsh sound, but there’s nothing harsh about a crispy Belgian waffle drizzled with half lemon cream and half salty caramel. The salty caramel wasn’t actually salted, but who can really object to caramel?

Saus is actually quite difficult to find. It’s buried between the expansive Union Oyster House and the looming Bell in Hand Tavern so it’ll force you to look hard for your food. But you are rewarded handsomely for scanning storefronts…So when you having one of THOSE nights, you’re clearly soused, and your night is going South, drink water, pop a multivitamin, and pass out (hopefully in your own bed) and dream about just how well Saus will cure your hangover in the morning.

Infallible Flour – Boston

Flour was truly infallible. There is literally nothing bad here. I don’t love everything, but I can safely say I’ve liked everything I tried. And you know how picky I am. If you don’t, you clearly haven’t read any of my blog. But that’s ok. I’m glad you’re starting now. Welcome to my cynical world of food! (Insert sinister laugh here…)

Overall, I’m a firm believer that a healthy dessert is an oxymoron. And although Flour follows that rule, it manages to use good ingredients that will probably kill you less slowly than some of the other stuff out there…but I will confess, I don’t love the oily texture of the vegan stuff. But aside from the greasy texture of the vegan muffin tops typical of substituting oil for egg, everything else here is like most men; delightfully dense. Flour’s food also relies on real flavor rather than an overload of sugar, and it’s probably the only venue where it is socially acceptable to display visible muffin tops…

As for drinks, the coffee is standard, the Chai Latte is good but not the best, and I swear there’s crack in the Raspberry Seltzer because it’s the most addictive thing ever. I took a sip of my friend’s drink, and I thought I didn’t really care for it. But 2 days later I found myself venturing to Flour in the middle of an icy Boston winter for an ice-cold raspberry seltzer and 2 days after that…and after that…and after that…Buyer beware. When you take that first innocent sip, know that you may whittle away your trust fund $2.25 at a time...

Flour has mastered the art of the sandwich. The combinations are original, and the flavors of the top-notch ingredients somehow combine to form something even more exceptional.  I’ve tried several, but I’ll limit my review to my two faves. You really can’t go wrong with the sandwich selection. Just start from the top and work your way down!

The Roast Chicken with avocado & jicama is the perfect combination of flavorful but not too much, not soggy but not too dry, and the jicama is the perfect crisp, sharp but slightly sweet refresher to the avocado spread and neutral flavor of white meat chicken. This sandwich ties with the lamb as my Flour fave, and I really wish I could order two half-portions every time.

Mary had a little lamb…little lamb…little lamb…Mary had a little lamb…and she made the mistake of bringing it to culinary school. The Roasted Lamb with tomato chutney and goat cheese is yet another perfect sandwich. I don’t really like tomato, but that chutney is the perfect touch of sweetness for a heavily meaty sandwich, and I thought that goat cheese was too heavy for lamb, but the chutney lightens it just enough and I stand corrected.

Other highlights from the sweets menu include the perfectly sweet and slightly bitter and sticky ginger molasses cookie, the cupcakes in chocolate and red velvet (believe me, South End Buttery doesn’t even come close!), and the pricey but decent berry bread pudding. The banana bread pudding didn’t have enough flavor for me but I still loved that densely moist-but-not-soggy texture. Don’t love the oreos, but I still get them from time to time when I want a sugar fix…Last but not least on the sweets, the iconic sticky bun. The sticky pull-apart pastry on which Joanne Chang built her bountiful empire…would it be going too far to say she has great buns? Get one in the morning while they’re hot – they run out pretty quickly…

My advice: steer clear around lunchtime on weekends. The line is out the door and around the corner, and though I would happily suffer for fine dining, getting sick dulls your tastebuds, and you won’t let ANYTHING to come between you and your Flour, would you?

It’s taken me a long time to get around to writing about Flour, and I hope my heaping teaspoon of praise will atone for my neglect. I just didn’t know where to start – I’ve tried a lot of different things there, and frankly, it’s hard to come up with a fair way to rate a place with such a range of offerings. Plus I feared my personal struggle with addiction to their raspberry seltzer and the crack-like effect of the sticky buns would cloud my judgment. But I can see clearly now after several failed attempts at seltzer-rehab, and I see that nothing will stand in my way to giving Flour a whole-hearted 5 stars. 

Bites at Bottega Fiorentina – Brookline

Good things come in small packages, and for once I’m not saying this to comfort my vertically-challenged (but horizontally-gifted…at least that’s what I keep telling them…) male friends or to defend my inability to see during the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade. Bottega Fiorentina may look like the Italian version of a bodega, the inside invokes a sweet simplicity that only Europe has truly mastered. Paris Creperie and Zaftigs are bound to catch your eye first, but if I’ve learned anything about this particular street in Brookline, it’s that the places that make you keep walking that turn out to the most remarkable.

Speaking of remarkable, I’ve had few sauces more remarkable than the fedora. This smattering of precious pink is as delicious as that jaunty accessory-that-matches-with-everything-hat is fashionable. The fedora adds a subtle hint of attitude to the crisp pinstriped vest and leaves a lasting impression. The cream in Penne Fedora adds a subtle richness to the crisp tomato and garlic and leaves a lingering impression on your tongue. Major points earned for that impossibly perfect mastery of cream – equally, if not more important than the mastery of the subtleties of menswear.

I’ve never had non-textured Manicotti before, but the al dente was irreproachable. The basil brought out the sweetness of the ricotta, but this dish unfortunately lost a star thanks to the nondescript meat sauce, which was obviously ladled over the manicotti as an afterthought, leaving the manicotti swimming in a plate of water than threatened to ruin any winter coat with a slight tilt of the plate. But the manicotti was soooo good…

I uncovered a sushi sanctuary one weekend and unearthed an Italian gem the next. And all on the same street. Between Mr. Sushi and Bottega Fiorentina, Harvard Street already boasts the close-enough-to-best of two distinct cuisines. So forget the mamma-mia! prices of North End and never mind the bad meat sauce at Bottega. I’ll be back here before you can say penne.  

Magical Mr. Sushi – Brookline

They say the seaweed is always greener in somebody else’s town. I dreamed about going out there, and it was no mistake to venture to Mr. Sushi though the name might suggest otherwise. To be fair, if you’re a restaurant named Mr. Sushi, your sushi better be good. Some people would shun the restaurant just to avoid admitting that they ate at the cheesiest name in town, but in this case, if you’re put off by that, you’re the one missing out. The sushi is fabulously fresh, and the extra free piece of nigiri lunch deal is pretty sweet. Almost as sweet as the seasonal mirugai they didn’t have…

I avoided all things with cream cheese due to my mild lactose intolerance and due to the fact that the name of this establishment provided all the cheese I could handle. Despite the overly cheesy name and the nondescript décor, after a few bites of sushi, what would I give if I could live out of the South End, what would I pay to spend a day at a sushi restaurant, betcha in Brookline, they understand, bet they don’t reprimand their foodies, bright young med students, sick of Seiyo, ready for Mr. Sushi…

I can’t think of a better deal than the Sushi Deluxe…except maybe the Sushi Special…Points (but not stars!) lost for giving me crabstick as one of my nigiri – Sebastian was my favorite character in The Little Mermaid (in case you didn’t get all the song references…seriously?!?) and there’s no way I want a fake crab on my plate…The salmon in the roll could have been higher-grade, but in all honesty it was fine, and my only regret was not ordering more nigiri.

I was informed…repeatedly…that Chef Mr. Sushi makes the best Idaho Maki ever. As in the most crispity-crunchity piece of perfection ever tasted by a vegetarian. Think large chef with moustache waving a large dripping sweet potato singing les patates, les patates, how I love les patates…

If bunnies ate sushi, they’d surely prefer the Ume Shiso Maki. Sharp, bitter mint refreshes the palate between bites of les patates and les poisons and keeps your breath non-cat-like after all that salmon. The Oshinko roll and Avocado roll were standard but well worth it – well-made, didn’t fall apart, etc.

There you see Mr. Sushi just sitting there across the street. He don’t got a lot of say but there’s something about him…And it only takes a few words, or a single word, go on and kiss the chef…

Divulging Dali – Somerville

There's a lot to divulge when it comes to Dali…hence the needlessly long review. Every dish is uniquely crafted with an impressive range of skill and ingredients, and the flavors are so unique that every little detail is description-worthy. It’s really saying something when you make something that a Chinese person has never conceived of…

With the exception of Malbec, I had yet to enjoy a wine from any Spanish-speaking country,  and ever since a most unfortunate encounter with Casillero del Diablo, which I can only describe as so devilishly disgusting it could only have been fermented in the 10^th circle of hell, I have been wary of wine with names that sound even remotely Spanish. At Dali we started our meal with a glass of white and a glass of red recommended by the server. I don’t remember what they were, but let’s just say that Dali cured my Spanish wine PTSD one sip at a time…

Hands down, the single best (and probably the most inventive) dish I had at Dali was the Queso Rebozado con Miel. Honey with cheese? Obviously a good idea…Cheese with onion? Conceivable…Honey with onion? Are you nuts?! Turns out, the chef wasn’t nuts, just genius. The caramelized onion retained none of the tear-jerking sting and added a textured depth to the sweet honey with gooey fried cheese. Contrary to Castillero del Diablo wine, this dish was pure taste of heaven.

Sorry Dali, but the Tortilla Espanola is a bit crude, and the alioli topper doesn’t hold a candle…or a glass of sangria…to Toro. Nothing reproachable about this dish and it’s sure to be a crowd pleaser, but meh…

The slightly-sweet but not sweetened chestnut with a homey, grainy, comfort-food texture made for a filling Esencia de Castanas. Dali’s equivalent of black bean or tomato soup on a cold winter day.

The Alcachofas Rellenas were like most neuro exams I’ve performed…unremarkable. The artichoke was sour, which clashed with the mushroom stuffing, and the cheese was the only really good part of this dish. Honestly, quadruple the amount of cheese could have saved the dish…like alteplase for a TIA.

Ever used invisible ink? I have. Ever had inedible ink? I have. It’s called Chipirones Rellenos, a tender tuna-stuffed squid bathed in its own ink. To be fair, it wasn’t the ink that was inedible, it was the tuna. Squid usually spray ink as a distraction or a way to hide from predators, buying them time to escape. These squid did just that – they sprayed their ink, I ate one, and I sent the dish back because the tuna stuffing was unbearably salty. Sad because if not for that it would have been an amazing dish. It’s ok squid, keep on spraying and one of those ink jets is bound to hit the mark…

Little bunny Foo-Foo went hopping through the forest…we all know that pain-in-the-butt bunny Foo-Foo got what he deserved. What we didn’t know as kids was that being turned into a goon by the good fairy was a euphemism for being turned into a Conejo Escabechado by a good chef. This was the first meat dish the server recommended, and I should have listened to him in the first place.

The Tarta de Santiago was a non-sweet, dense dessert, a good finish if you’re already on richness overload. Not that there was anything non-rich about the savory almond cake wading in a pool of coffee cream, but I for one appreciated the reprieve from the sweet-and-sour red wine sauce of Bunny Foo-Foo.

One of N’SYNC’s love songs from the 90s said “your soul is like a secret that I never could keep”, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Justin Timberlake was talking about Dali. Located within the cryptic land of Somerville, hidden by the winding streets that mark the end of Cambridge, Dali is probably Somerville’s worst-kept secret… I’ve heard about Dali’s prowess for years, but I never thought I’d make all the way out there to witness it. So I implore you, make Dali the secret that you never could keep and check it out for yourself. Just remember to order Queso Rebozado con Miel.