Southern Sweetness at Sweet Cheeks – Boston

Dear Fellow Foodie-Southern-Girl-By-Origin-Gone-to-Boston Transplant,

I don’t know who you are, but I know you’re out there. And I know you’re just like me. You went to college and figured out that there was nothing left for you in your small hometown that they claimed was a city, and you fearlessly took your diploma and the first flight north. You struggled through the city but found your way, but you tried to shed your southern roots on that long road to becoming a true-blue city girl. You artfully avoided the “Where are you from?” questions by answering “Fenway” or “South End” or “BU”, and you followed that with a snarky comment about your neighborhood or job or life so that people were too distracted to ask again. But once in a while when you’re drinking iced tea or that sugar-added afterthought they dare to call sweet, you start to crave the smoky fall-off-the-bones barbecue you spilled on your favorite faded denim miniskirt with your legs dangling off the back of your boyfriend’s truck.  

My southern girl, I know you get as homesick as I do sometimes, and I know that every time you go home you take daily trips to Bojangles and start to bleed their sweet tea after a few short days. I’m sure you may have despaired of finding a taste of home, but there is hope for you yet. Sweet Cheeks in Fenway is a high-end version of the real thing, but it’ll be just enough to curb your craving.

I know there’s no buzz like you get from the moonshine in Uncle Jethro’s bathtub, but the apple cider moonshine from the Rocky Top will make you just talkative enough to be charming...at least that’s what I kept telling myself…And if it’s the back-porch lemonade you’re craving, the Dollywood will make you as friendly as a southerner while quenching your thirst.

If you told me the food was made in a bathtub like real moonshine, I wouldn’t believe it. The food is clearly higher-end than your down-home southern, as exemplified by the Hush Puppies. These well-fried balls of cornmeal are irreproachable, and the honey butter was pretty…baller (groan!), but the finely ground cornmeal somehow detracts from the backyard connotation of coarse grains of ground corn.

The Fried Okra was clearly and easily my fave part of the entire night, brilliant use of half-slices of okra to prevent battered okra syndrome. This puts the chef’s brilliance on par with Eli Whitney, and we both know just how much we worship the god of the cotton gin.

The meat is clearly higher grade than what grandpa’s shotgun brought down, but the smoky essence of Texas-style barbecue unmistakably permeates the fatty Pork Belly, and I strongly suggest dipping everything in the hot bbq sauce – the regular isn’t nearly as good. The Brisket is a little dry on the outside but the flavor went all the way through – just tell grandma to take it off the grill sooner at the next pig pickin’. The Pork Ribs were fall-off-bone-pink, and your grandma needs to write Soulfire that this is how it should be.

Sides are often a lost art, but the ones at Sweet Cheeks haven’t suffered any neglect. The broccoli and cheese casserole tastes like a creamier, mashed-up version of quiche. I wouldn’t call it a southern girl must-have, but no one in their right mind would object. The collard greens can’t compare to Soulfire, but the mac and cheese is good stuff.

My pet peeve is that you can’t substitute a biscuit for the white bread on the trays, and I’m mad enough to shoot a gator over not getting to try the biscuits that night. A southern dinner without biscuits is like fried chicken without the breading, but we just didn’t want to order yet another side. Our loss.

My sweet southern girl, if you need to wait 40 minutes for a table at 7 on a Wednesday night, either the place is good or it’s new. Sweet Cheeks is both. And probably as pinchable as yours according to your grandma.

From one secret southern girl to another, own your southern roots sparingly, but let them show at Sweet Cheeks. Sweet Cheeks will make you momentarily unashamed to admit that your middle name is Mae or Sue, that you really do know the proper way to say y’all, and that your favorite pastime was daddy’s tractor-driving lessons. Meet me there so we can dip the fried okra in some moonshine and gear up for a long night of stargazing…and cow tipping.

xoxo,

Foodie Houser, MD

Soul Food at Soulfire BBQ - Allston

As you know, I’m in love with the concept of le mot juste. In this case, le mot is superficial. Superficial describes everything at Soulfire – it looks amazing on the surface but lacks real depth. Soulfire is like a salesman who exalts the greatness of the products the way Soulfire raves about their 4 different barbeque sauces and NC vinegar.

The Sweet Tea is about as real as that sleezy salesman on the street corner in Chinatown who’s trying to sell you what he claims is a real Gucci purse. Except it’s so obviously fake you spotted it from 2 blocks away. It’s so fake that he openly displays it because it’s such a bad knock-off that there’s absolutely no way anyone can arrest him for brand infringement. We asked our server. They don’t know how to make sweet tea. They just dumped sugar into iced tea. That’s like drawing G’s on a canvas bag with a sharpie…in Russian…and calling it Gucci.

We ordered the Pitboss Sampler because it includes all the features of the menu. Just like that greasy used car salesman who sold you the 1999 Chevy said. Sadly, everything was not worth having. You didn’t mind paying a little extra for the decent factory speakers that made enough noise to give you a pleasant drive. You didn’t mind paying extra for an amp, and I didn’t mind adding a little extra vinegar to the slightly-bland pulled pork. You started getting irritated when you realized the heating and AC take hours to actually warm or cool the car, and I started getting irritated when I realized that the brisket and roast chicken didn’t have hours to soak in any flavor. But you’ll just wear and extra layer in winter and sip an iced drink in summer and I’ll just dip the brisket in Soulfire sauce and drown the chicken in Fire sauce. You and I dealt with these little flaws and we handled them admirably. You didn’t expect the perfect vehicle because after all, your car is over 10 years old, and I didn’t expect the perfect barbeque because after all, I’m in Boston. But you broke when realized that you definitely didn’t need those dingy rims that the salesman claimed were intentionally dull to make the car look classy, and I didn’t need those ribs that were deliberately made to NOT fall off the bone because it “takes away the flavor”. You drove the car home, took a closer look, and realized that the classy finish was scratches from parking too close to the curb. I bit into a rib and realized that the meat wasn’t falling off the bone because it was flavorlessly dry rather than “flavorlessly” tender like Soulfire claimed. That’s when you realized that buying less pairs of shoes was worth saving for a nicer car, and I realized that enduring the homesickness was worth waiting for my annual trip home.

The only sides/food items worth having was the Collard Greens and the Baked Beans. The beans are the reason we’re called Beantown, and the collard greens were the best I’ve ever had. And I’m from North Carolina. I’ve had real Gucci. The greens were cooked but just cooked enough to retain some of the original veiny texture. Like that life insurance salesman in the beautiful lightly starched shirt – still soft but with fresh, crisp cuffs. The pork was as soft as the perfectly matched Hermes tie complementing that shirt, and it was so good that my dinner companion ordered an extra pint to take home. This salesman may look and act superficial, but the product he sold me was legit.

If you never come to Soulfire, I can’t say you’d miss much. There aren’t a lot of southern BBQ places anywhere up north, but this is hardly worth the hike to the depths of Allston. If you happen to be driving by, have the person in the passenger seat pick up a pint of collard greens for you. Eat them while they’re hot, and you’ll have taken the only good product that the Soulfire salesman sells. 

Southern Goodness at Biltmore - Newton

It helps if you read this review with a southern accent.

Biltmore seems so have two faces, equal in food and fun depending on what the missus wants. On one side, there is a down-home pub with high wooden tables, a gas pump, and a bar, where y’all can order a proper supper or have a few bar snacks like fried pickles and deviled eggs.

Then, the menu’s got two faces too. Have some speck – I reckon it’s more like prosciutto than ham, but it’s good anyway. Or eat up the foie gras, which dang near justified my trip to Newton. I know foie gras ain’t right, but anything that good cain’t be right. Don’t forget to try yourself some local aged cheese too.

Then there are the southern, back-to-carolina entrees that put overalls and a little square dancin’ after the fish fry back in style. The chicken and waffles is fried southern style – brown and crispy, with a portion size like your mama would make, perfect for sharin’. I woulda liked a less literal interpretation of the dish, i.e. a more unique seasoning/style - slice of pomegranate doesn’t count. Make it your own, boy! Otherwise, come on down to the place where eatin’ will make you feel like you can be friendly to strangers and start up a conversation at the Piggly Wiggly, even in ice-cold MA.

In the words of Buddy Jewel: carry on, carry on, sweet southern comfort carry on…