Svelte Stella - Boston

I’ve walked by Stella for years, and I’ve admired her beauty. But I never met her. I gazed longingly on my rare trips to Foodie’s, and I would have pressed my nose to the glass on many a cold winter night, but I was afraid I’d smudge that perfect polish.

Stella is a lady through and through. Her marble tabletops are joined by sterile white chairs that speak of sophistication beyond what ordinary me can attain. The modern décor eludes to undeniable elegance, and Stella just felt so above a med student of modest means.

It took me three years to finally approach her. I strolled through the great glass door and sat down to a simple Caesar Salad, my first introduction to her ladyship. The romaine was crisp and clean in its simplicity, and it was presented as elegantly as Stella herself.

I moved on to the Spicy Mussels, a lavish indulgence of saffron cream. The mussels are tender and juicy, and without the hindrance of shells, they soaked up every possible drop of cream. This silky luxury is dish fit for a queen, but you can bet this pauper dunked her bread in every last drop of sauce.

Stella may be classy, but she eats like a real girl. Her Short Rib Pizza is an upscale comfort, reminiscent of marathon movie nights with the girls. Stella’s spin-off features sweet figs with a pungent gorgonzola.

Stella’s status as lady of the upper crust is manifest on every sterile plate, in every spotless corner, and in every perfected dish. She is beautiful and formidable, a testament to her status as a long-standing South End staple.  What surprised me about Stella was her modesty. Every entrée was an affordable plate of comfort, and nothing on the menu felt anything less than perfectly reasonable. Though Stella may appear aloof, she opens up readily to anyone with an appetite, and her composure quickly converts to warmth.