Inedible Estragon UPDATE – Boston

My approach to Estragon’s food is uncannily similar to my approach to flying. With TSA’s rigid rules and ridiculous restrictions, chances to stay grounded have never seemed more appealing. And with multiple attempts to like the food at Estragon, chances to fast have never seemed more appealing. But alas, a flight is a necessary evil to take you from point A to point B, the same way Estragon’s food takes me from hungry to unfortunately full. I’m never comfortable in those little seats, and I never quite like what I’m eating, both in air and on Estragon’s toxic ground. But I suppose that’s a good thing too – Estragon motivates me to eat less, which keeps me more comfortable in my economy class seat.

No matter how you slice it, flying is never all that comfortable. The Surtidos de Quesos was well-sliced with an awesome assortment ranging from light and crumbly to almost putrid. (Putrid is a compliment for cheese, imho). But what makes any experience just a little more comfortable is a friendly steward. A description of what was on the plate would have complimented the cheese. Instead, the server jetted back down the runway as soon as the platter landed on the table.

In my opinion, one of the greatest mysteries of life is the question of just how airplane food manages to be so impressively terrible. How is it possible that powdered eggs and lettuce leaves can turn to rubber while everything else turns to mush? In my opinion, one of the greatest mysteries of life is just how the same kitchen that masterminds the brilliant tortilla Espanola sandwich at Las Ventas makes such an abysmal slice of mushy, fresh-out-of-the-fridge frigid, unsalted, fall-apart Tortilla Espanola.

The Pimientos Shishito curbed my almost constant craving for the sharp, spicy kick of shishito peppers, and the Garbanzos Fritos have a nice kick of paprika. The fried crunch is the quick-and-easy emulation of chickpea batter, but too many of these cryptic little greaseballs will turn your stomach even more than an airplane salad. The pimientos and the garbanzos are the only two dishes I can really say I liked, but the sheer volume of oil was as unnecessary as the extra charge to sit in the exit row.

Encouraged by the promising veggies, we moved on meatier fare. The Pringa looked like a hot mess of gluttony on paper, and what you see is what you get. There were so many different things loaded on, it was impossible to taste any of them.

The Falda de Buey con Cabrales was topped with a solid steak, a far cry from the mystery meat served in flight, but it was drowned in a gross cheese, Estragon’s version of airplane gravy.

Sadly, Joseph the brilliant bartender has become the only reason I ever return to Estragon. I even had my birthday there for the amazing drinks, but my blog centers around the food. I did try to give the food a second chance…and a third…and a tenth…and though it’s never again been as inedible as my initial experience, but that’s the equivalent of a United Airlines flight that is only an hour late because you waited three hours last time. And no one ever waits with pleasure. So I occasionally still sample the food at Estragon, but I only find myself wishing it possessed a mere ounce of the polish I’m sipping. If the food had half the class and polish of Joseph and his marvelous mixes, Estragon could quickly become a place to eat, drink, and be merry rather than a place to drink and be merry and eat and be miserable.