Now that we’ve embarked on a cross-country tour of indulgence, it’s
time to come home so let’s bring it on back, all the way back to Beantown. And
let’s get low, all the way below the floor, to Garden at the Cellar. After
almost 4 years in Boston…ahem, excuse me, the “greater Boston area”, for all
that city snobbery and all your peripheral pride, I really thought that I was
over the food scene here. I’ve been there and done that. I’ve missed a few
major spots, but once you’ve had ten, you’ve kinda had them all. So now I have
my faves and I have my never-agains, but just when I thought I couldn’t
possibly find anything new, I stumbled upon Garden at the Cellar.
Now that I’m back in Boston after long months of travel, I’m back
to my life too. I’m back to my day-to-day as a med student, back to my food
scene as a Bostonian, two things I stopped appreciating until I realized they
could be missed. But then a place like Garden at the Cellar comes along, and
suddenly all those things I took for granted are twirling round and round right
before my eyes, like my classmates in their beautiful dresses dancing our last
dance at our last med school dance. I don’t love all my classmates equally, but
each of them witnessed my journey from clueless college grad to clueless doctor,
just like I witnessed theirs. And I don’t love all Boston restaurants equally, but
like my classmates, they followed me through my journey from opinionated eater
to fastidious foodie.
When I first came to Boston, I didn’t even know Bacon-Wrapped Dates existed. I knew
that dates sometimes came encircled by lard, but that’s another story for
another time. I also learned that you don’t really know the definition of fine
dining until you’re slammed with a gooey barrel of blue cheese bound by a salty-crisp
strip. And it wasn’t until my friends helped me study physiology to pass that I
realized just how exceptional they were.
There are some things a good med student never says no to. Every opportunity
to throw a line of sutures should be grasped with the vise-grip of a locked
Kelly clamp, and every chance to sink your teeth into Foie Gras and Cheddar Donuts should be jumped on like front-row tickets
to the Celtics. Unfortunately, the Celtics went down to the Rockets in
double-overtime at the one game I saw, a defeat as ignominious as my plate of
overcooked foie gras. The donuts were as dense as the opposing team’s field
goals, and the crabapple compote did nothing to sweeten the sour loss.
I wanted to try the smoked sturgeon, but when I heard the special
was Bone Marrow, I was all in.
Because bone marrow reminds me of my time in med school, something impossibly rich
that I will always be able to savor, for all the years to come. I’ve never
forgotten a single bite of bone marrow I’ve taken, and I don’t think I’ll ever
remember my class any way but fondly. Even when things aren’t ideal, like the
slightly stringy beef short-rib, a sprinkle of the bone marrow will still make
it just a little bit better.
After two years of science and two years of clinic, there is
nothing I love more than the satire of a serious subject. And Garden at the
Cellar had me at the Animal Burger, a beef patty covered with California
contraband, its namesake a staple of their precious In-N-Out.
My feelings about the Animal
Burger alternated with each bite, much like each and every med school
lecture. Med school tried to cram too many dense, rich, complex things from
cover to cover, but somehow we digested it all. And between the pate, the
crackling pork skin and the thick beef patty, I'm surprised I could even fit my
mouth around it. Just make sure multiple people share this burger, which is
hard when you're a med student, since most of us are too busy studying to
actually have friends.
In med school, I had the best of times and I had the worst of
times. Everything we did was the product of intense, over-achieving crammers
determined to palm the world with our fingertips. And sometimes, I think we
did, but part of the balancing act is to know when you’ve grabbed enough. A
little restraint goes a long way the night before the boards, and no one ever
failed from not doing the optional 5-hour surgery. And that's why I struggle
with Garden at the Cellar. I love it, and like all the places I hit during
indulgence week, this place has mastered the luxurious, the over-the-top, and
the bit-too-much. But a med student has limited power for a reason, and a chef
with free reign over the world's finest ingredients should see the great
responsibility that lies with his power. But there's also a reason that Garden
at the Cellar has become one of my greater-Boston favorites: Their chef has no
restraint, and neither do I.
