Florentine Café: One-Sauce Wonder? – Boston

I say tomato you say tomato. Like this famous saying, the tomato “sauces” at Café Florentine are the same sauce once they hit the plate, just pronounced differently. Sometimes, they even have the same flavor with different consistencies, and not in a good way…To be fair, it’s a decent marinera, but you’d think a couple years of culinary school could offer a little more variety…or something!

Dinner here made me nostalgic for the time Ben and I went to Hersheypark and rode all 12 rollercoasters. Dinner here was a rollercoaster, except my palate and my flipping stomach might have handled Hersheypark better.

Dinner started on a promising note. I sat in my slowly ascending rollercoaster car, being pulled up slowly by the comforting buzz of a good glass of Chianti, ordered by a man of excellent taste.

Then an entrée manifested as the huge initial drop where the camera flashes and catches your look of sheer thrill, right before it turns to terror. I tried my friend (the man of excellent taste)’s Mushroom Tortellini first, and it turned out to be the best dish at my table. The big, ricotta and portebella-stuffed tortellini put the bella in portabella, though I was sad about not having the opportunity to taste the cream sauce it comes with (my friend asked for tomato instead). Note: it does NOT come with the pound of red pepper flakes pictured here. 

My friend’s brother’s Gnocchi al Pomodoro was that lingering high that comes after the initial drop - perfect little chewy balls of potato goodness. Right on with the texture, right on with the flavor, and this particular version of the sauce was a good consistency.

Like all rollercoasters, the thrill wore off after the initial drop, as the ride turned into a series of unimpressive little hills. Those little bumps in the road were my linguini with clams and calamari. The clams were fine but the calamari didn’t taste fresh. Surprising considering my plateful of liquid should have been enough to keep them alive while I ate them…Same tomato sauce, more water. Sadly, the flavor of the seafood wasn’t at all cooked into the sauce, which makes me wonder where it actually went...

The final leg was a more pleasant series of tortuous fusilli-like turns but was still barely half the original thrill. The fusilli with seafood and half a lobster tail (at least I thought it was fusilli…) had a great pasta texture, but the sauce was a bit dry. Once again, both seafood dishes lacked unity – the seafood seemed more like an afterthought or a garnish, a pretty presentation that doesn’t really improve the overall quality of the ride.

Lingering conclusions/thoughts: the boot of Italy is probably giving the chef a giant kick in the…ummm…hat…for his ability to make one lone tomato sauce and for his inability to incorporate seafood into that one sauce…How is that possible when Italy is pretty much a giant isthmus?

Finale is Just Fine - Boston

Finale’s dessert tasting for two was my Tuesday-night indulgence, and my half-off buywithme was my student-rush ticket to a concert by well-reputed composer. Sadly, like many of its predecessor symphonies, some of Finale’s movements fell short.

The concert began with an opening sonata of chocolate-covered strawberries. Pretty, sweet, light little tune that puts the audience in the mood for the chocolately genius that promises to follow. Love that the chocolate shell didn’t fall off the strawberry after I bit into it – seems like a trifling detail, but not so much when you fear the irreversible stain to your white conducting gloves.

Our adagio was the Manjari Mousse, a rich full portion, to be slowly savored. The bittersweet chocolate mousse balanced the instruments well – just the right combination of sugar and bitter cocoa. The accompaniment of blackberry cabernet sorbet was probably one of the most moving second violins of the entire performance.

The Boston Cream minuet was utterly disappointing – cake with dried-up frosting. Like the minuet, it was a soft, slow dance, one so weak and diminutive that the dancers fell asleep standing up.

The Lemon Sorbet was more of an intermission than an actual movement. Light with thank-god-no-sugar and just a hint of tang, it is the breath of fresh air that accompanies the compulsory trip to the powder room, a necessary break for an overwhelmed palate. But the intermission lasted for 10 minutes instead of the promised 15 - it didn’t come in the promised white chocolate Florentine cup. Instead, it came in what tasted like a toffee crisp shell, which proved ideal for the talkative old ladies in the next row, as it literally glues the mouth shut.

The concluding sonata, the Chocolate Crescendo was where the chords began to resonate, and the solo pianist began to show off her nimble fingers by playing trill after endless trill, which while initially impressive becomes an interminable droning oversaturation of the senses. The crescendo was literally the song that never ends, consisting of sappily melodic lime and peanut cream in white chocolate with cayenne pepper, a sickeningly sweet truffle trio crushing two gelatinous pâtes de fruit, and a smooth panna cotta that should only be fed to a suckling calf because I think this is what a bite of cow udder tastes like. Fortunately, the cacophonous trills eventually subside with a tasty white, milk and dark chocolate mousse Symphony, hazelnut cupcakes with a well-placed arpeggio of Nutella cream. Sadly, the signature Finale melting cake seemed overcooked, and rather than the smooth-as-running-lava notes that were expected to trickle off the soloist’s nimble fingers, his worsening arthritis made it more closely resemble a stagnant stream.

Five fine but fallible finales is what this tasting was all about. All in all, the sorbets probably overshadowed the other instruments in the orchestra, and though the mousse was probably worth the cost of the concert ticket, the finishing crescendo was a bit of an oversaturation. My balcony-seat buywithme was a reasonable cost, but I’d never pay the full $50 for mezzanine tickets. So next time this deal arises and you’re gunning for gluttony, use an anti-emetic for earplugs and bring two friends to split the cost, but if anyone tries to charge you full price, run the other way.

Pip at Pipa - NYC

The décor here is creepy, just pure, cringingly creepy. Those who actually read the assigned reading in high school English will feel like they just stepped into Miss Havisham’s house, a la Great Expectations, Charles Dickins style. The myriad chandeliers are seriously eerie and the pricetags hanging from them do nothing to assuage my creepedoutness…

The good news is that the beautiful Estella’s Spiked Orange-Nutella Stuffed French Toast kiss seductively awaits you behind a small fountain of banana-maple syrup. And like Estella’s kiss, the hint of orange gets your pulse racing, and the sweetness of the nutella stuffing lingers. Sadly, the nutella, like Estella’s affection, doesn’t extend to the edges of the toast and leaves you hanging just enough to want to try again.

The rich, gooey gruyere decorates the Baked Eggs like Miss Havisham’s jewels decorated Estella; only on the surface. Estella is stunning in her jewels, and though they temporarily deflect the empty soul that wears them, a few more bites and you soon realize that you can’t really taste the prosciutto, and the gruyere is the only flavor of this dish. Then again, you appreciate the gruyere the same way you appreciate her beauty – enjoy it this time, but keep a safe distance away the next.

The Gambas al Ajillo were as dried up as Estella’s heart, but like poor Pip, I loved how the chiles burned. I had great expectations for this and the baked eggs, but imagine my disappointment when I found Estella falling short in true inner beauty.

At the end of the day, I probably wouldn’t go back to Pipa thanks to the haunting chandeliers and the good but I-can-do-better-in-NYC food, but Pip didn’t totally regret loving Estella, I didn’t really regret trying Pipa...and neither should you.

Vilifying Villa Francesca - Boston

The server at Villa Francesca thinks I’m fat. She thought that I was so fat that she refused to let me eat bread.

After 20 give-us-this-day-our-daily-bread minutes, another server came over with our entrees…which would have been helpful if we had received our appetizers first. I had to flag (flag = waving arms manically for 10 minutes) the server for an explanation. “I’m sorry, there was a mistake. They made your entrees first for some reason”. I would have saluted if I’d know that Captain Obvious was serving us today…

Then I had to actually ASK for bread. Again. Clearly, she thought I could skip the carbs.  

Fortunately, the food was markedly better than the service. Not that it could have possibly been worse…The mussels were fresh and the white wine sauce was a perfect companion. The mark of good seafood is that it doesn’t need sauce, and the mussels held up. The fried mozzarella appetizer was quite good – who can object to stringy fresh mozzarella covered in tangy marinera? If only it didn’t resemble a liver-shaped puddle of clotted arterial blood…

We got our entrees shortly after, and they tasted hot and fresh. I can only hope they weren’t the same ones that appeared before the appetizers, and I can only pray that they were fresh off the stove, not the microwave…

The palatably pestoed spaghetti with pesto had just the right amount of garlic and bold basil, and it’s not easy being perfectly green…

The Fettucine ai Carciofi was al deliciously dente. Wish the artichokes were fresh – these had that sour aftertaste that only accompanies the pickled. No real complaints though – the touch of chili added a kick, which made for a pretty unique sour-kick flavor. Love that they didn’t skimp on the artichoke – plenty of half hearts to make you feel whole, though I wish they’d chopped them up a bit more – the sheer size of these half-hearts became, like all things unmanageably large, uncomfortable…

The dessert is not pictured because it wasn’t worth picturing. The crème caramel was hardly noteworthy, though the cannoli had a cream worth breaking my much-needed diet for.

Sadly, the food was pretty much 4-star quality, just skip the crème caramel. I’ve never docked a full star before for service. In fact, I’ve never docked for service because it’s unrelated to the quality of the food, but I couldn’t let this atrocity go unnoticed. I suppose I should thank our server for making me wait for the bread. I probably ate less of it and therefore consumed less calories. Based on the service we got, Villa Francesca may be North End’s answer to Jenny Craig. So next time you’re looking to lost weight, go to North End, walk toward Villa Francesca…and go to the nearest gym. At least you won’t wait 30 minutes for a towel.

My Thai is Better Than Yours – Boston

I’ve always wanted a place in Chinatown to call MY own, and since Juice Bar belongs to my friend Jeff, it’s a good thing I discovered MY Thai. MY Thai makes good food just the way I like it (minus the meat but more on that to follow), and MY place in Chinatown is undoubtedly formidable.

My Thai is one of few places where it’s a good thing the chicken wasn’t chicken. Note: this concept does NOT apply at McDonald’s… My Thai serves vegetarian versions of every kind of meat, even shrimp and scallops!, and it tastes a little too much like the real thing for my comfort…the savoriness of the meat-free dishes isn’t lost here, and the rich flavors of the sauces don’t leave even the most legendary bleeding-steak lovers i.e. ME feeling like they’re missing something. As a solemn believer that some things are just not meant to be vegetarian, this place gave me a new belief that MANYmanyMANY things are just not meant to have meat.

The meal started with a HUGE disappointment: the restaurant had run out of the Bird’s Nest.  May be the smartest thing this restaurant ever did. It made my friend Jeff burst into MANLY (repeat, MANLY) tears of anguish, and not that I blame him – have you read the description?!?!

The Red curry with Beef was probably the best thing I had. The curry was thick and sweet, the chewy texture of the beef almost resembled really tender meat, and every bite was intensely curried.

If the Asian Sizzling Platter is good enough for my anaphylatically-allergic-to-peanuts-friend to risk his life, it’s good enough for me! The zucchini and onions were cooked but still crisp, the way veggies should be, and though I despise celery, the celery was miraculously not overpowering. Although everything in this dish had a hint of celery flavor, I could still taste each vegetable, which is really saying something. Besides, there were so many different veggies, who the heck has time to worry about the celery?

It’s a pity the Ginger Fish is buried in the photo… There was (I’m guessing) some sort of seaweed-based strip wrapped around the slices of fish so it looked exactly like the ginger fish my father was so fond of braising every weekend I was home from college. The fake fish even managed to taste fishy!

Overall, my place def knows how to make their fake meat. I was wary at first because the concept of fake meat sounds so gimmicky, but this was anything but. The fake meat tasted better than half the real meat I’ve had in Boston, and the different types of meat have distinct tastes, a brilliant way to overcome the limitations of vegan dishes. (You can only be SO creative with veggies)…The prowess of the sauces is undeniable, and running out of the Bird’s Nest may be the smartest thing this restaurant ever did – I will certainly be back to try it.