Feasting at Fireplace UPDATE – Brookline

I’m still not over the fact that Fireplace is named for a miniscule fixture that is cute yet hardly a defining feature. But it’s not about the size of the fireplace; it’s about how hot the fire burns. Let’s let the flames tell the story because the food that this place fires up spins a juicy tale of its own.

Sorry to start on a sour note, but I don’t know what story the Grilled Artichoke Tart was trying to tell. I guess it was the story of the tartest tart I’ve ever had. The sheer volume of lemon drowned out the sharp cheese, which in turn drowned out the lighter artichoke. The crust was crisp, the texture was rich, and the ingredients were clearly top-notch. This was a story of potential unreached, the Little Engine that Could that needed a tow. Perhaps he was carrying too many lemons…

The Braised Beef Short Rib tells the story of a first. First times are just our rite of passage to get to have a second time though in cases like the appetizer, we may wish we didn’t have the first. The short rib was a better kind of first. The first dance at a wedding, the first time you put a carrot in a snowman’s nose, the first time you wake up on Christmas day to see the milk and cookies gone. This short rib was the first good short rib I’ve had, and it was phenomenal. The tender meat fell off the bone and shredded with the faintest flick of a fork. One slight sliver and a couple of chews got you a mouthful of juice despite there being only the tiniest detectable amount of fat. The cornmeal porridge may have been my first visit to heaven. This dish had to be a gift from a magical chef in a Santa hat. I didn’t even believe in non-dry, non-tough short rib before Fireplace and now I believe Jim Solomon is Santa.

If the short rib were a novel, the Fireplace Burger is an epic. Ulysses fought the Harpies and survived a Cyclops, Achilles slew Trojans like it was going out of style, and Beowulf left a monster unarmed (groan!). The Fireplace Burger fought its own epic battle, a poem unwritten in Boston Magazine’s Battle of the Burger. I’ll never forget my first epic bite, mostly because I had to dislocate my jaw to fight through all that smoky bacon. Like me, the Vermont cheddar only got better with age, and the English muffin added a touch of novelty. No one forgets the epic heroes, and it turns out no Bostonian forgets this grass-fed patty either. It won People’s Choice for Boston’s Best Burger.

Think about the most incredible story you’ve ever heard. Think of homeless to Harvard, the kindness of strangers, the dog who saves his owner’s life. Take a moment to appreciate them because after a bite of the Carrot and Feta Ravioli there is no story that will top the tale your tastebuds tell. The ravioli is perfect, the arugula pesto pure genius, and the dish is brought together with a polish that makes it entirely, miraculously too good to be true.

Dessert is always a tale of desire, the woes of the wants. We crave the indulgent sweetness and no matter how stuffed I was, I was desiring a skillet of the Strawberry and Rhubarb Pie. I still desire that pie because they stopped making it despite my pleas. (Come on Jim, I begged!) So I wanted the Maple Fudge on a cookie complete with vanilla ice cream and salted caramel sauce instead. They ran out of vanilla so I substituted espresso. I want them to run out of vanilla every night.

I want Fireplace every night too. With legendary tales of the epic, the unbelievable, and the downright incredible, it’s impossible not to get as hot and bothered as the fireplace at full blaze after a night of one fantastic story after another. So write your own story at Fireplace. Their menu deals no disappointment and lets you choose your own adventure with no way to really go wrong.

Feasting at Fireplace - Brookline

I never understood why my favorite cartoons of all time were called the Looney Tunes. Sure, they were looney, and they got even loonier when I figured out that they weren't really for kids. But tunes? What tunes? Fireplace is almost as incongruous a name for the place as a name like Looney Tunes. Looney Tunes has a single theme song that is forever seared into my brain like Fireplace’s duck (more on that later), but "toons" would have made a lot more sense. Fireplace has one generic-looking fireplace that comes with every standard suburban home, yet everything that touches your lips here is anything but standard.

Looney Tunes appeals to all ages and its humor is timeless. Fireplace offers drinks for all ages, cocktails for the carefree grown-ups and mocktails for those in the throes of cramming for yet another board exam. I don't remember what cocktail Jo ordered, but I remember it being gabaliciously girly but not too pink to have two. My Raspberry Lime Crush mocktail was perfect for keeping the company of a friend who didn't want to drink alone.

Sufferin' sucotash, it really was duck season for the Crispy Duck. Daffy has an amazing breast filet and his legs filled the “Johnnycake” which was really just a sweet crepe. I’ve had real Johnnycake, and the crepe is the more appropriate choice. Never mind the bewildering conclusion that Elmer Fudd actually shot something, he clearly shot him in the thick of winter because there was a layer of oh-so-savory fat. Those who favor fowl would lisp that I'm despicable, but how does anyone say no to skin as crisp as an unruffled chip over meat is just red enough to be juicy but not red enough to bleed. Even the side of sweet little carrots looked almost too pretty to be real, but they suited me perfectly. I've been hearing "Ehhh, what's up doc?" a lot in the past year, and my rotations would be a lot less boring if I gave my patients these carrots to crunch during rounds.

Daffy is a high-maintenance duck, requiring lots of embellishments on his plate. Sylvester is his foil here, a minimalist kitty, who would have loved Fireplace’s Ribeye. Sylvester salivated night and day over a few bites of no-frills Tweety, no bread, no sauce, just a few juicy bird-bites. The red medium-rare ribeye needed no embellishments, just a simple enhancement from the so-called fireplace sauce. The hash brown potatoes were a casserole cheesier than Pepe le Pew's pickup lines, and every bite from this plate tasted like my Tweety.

The dessert menu was Fireplace’s inanimate Pepe le Pew. No means yes, and though you don't want it, you get it anyway. The Strawberry Rhubarb Pie was the best kind of gooey hot mess with a happy ending of honey-thyme ice cream, which Pepe never seems to get. Unlike Penelope, I actually wanted it.

The Ricotta Pie had a crust like sweet playdoh and a lighter-than-air cream with juicy berries that blows your minimalist mind faster than Speedy Gonzales. The lemon zest was about as easy to taste as Speedy is to catch, but it was an amazing pie so no complaints whatsoever.

Don’t let the location deter you. Looney Tunes may be off prime time but you can still get to it through youtube. Fireplace may be way out in Brookline, but I'd tread through brimstone and fire to get there, and I’d walk on water if it rained (because rain puts out brimstone and fire, duh). Don’t let the incongruous name fool you either, if I were to name the place for what it really is, I would have named it Fabulous.