dLicious

A good friend of mine has recommended dBar to me at least a dozen times... he knew there wasn't much about it that I wouldn't like - it's reasonably close to my house, it attracts an upscale eclectic crowd, it has decent parking, not to mention that it also has a great reputation for both food and drinks. Somehow, however, I'd just never made it over there - until last night.

Now, heading to a bar that is especially popular with a gay crowd was definitely a bit of a risk on the night of the Pride parade - it could have been a total mob scene. However, being out in Dorchester seemed to actually work in our favor, as it was a mellow night at the bar, with dinner seating easily available. Despite a slight chill in the air, we opted for outside seating... in a rare moment of clarity before leaving the house, I'd grabbed a sweater and was ready for the weather. While the interior of dBar is perfectly lovely - with dark wood, leather banquettes, and Italian glass pendant lighting - the outside seating is divine. The small patio has a very Asian Zen feel, with modern chaise lounges, potted bamboo and tall grasses, and minimalist table settings. We had the area nearly all to ourselves, which was great.

The service at dBar adds to it's warm, yet hip, vibe. Our young male waiter was quick to give recommendations as well as to compliment our choices. He was attentive to our table, friendly, and lightly chatty, but not over the top - he mostly left us alone to enjoy our setting, which was just the right balance. He was particularly helpful in navigating the drink menu, which was not huge, but robust and enticing. His descriptions of the drinks, as well as his suggestions were right on the money. I started with the special cocktail of the night, the watermelon martini. This is a drink that is generally sticky sweet, with an "out of the bottle" taste. But on an early summer night, I was willing to to give it a go. It's clear from the first sip that dBar serves up a different kind of cocktail - it tasted like fresh pureed watermelon, with a generous dose of high quality vodka, not at all sweet, just full of flavor. My second drink was the Blueberry Basil Gin Fizz - muddled blueberries and basil topped with gin. It was a doozy, but also excellent - all of the herbs (including the basil) are grown in a rooftop garden over the bar.

It would be easy for the drinks at dBar to overshadow the drinks, but they absolutely do not. The food is equally terrific, if not even more so. We started the night with the "Ham and Cheese" assiette, a board with a selection of thin slices of French ham, an aged bleu cheese, a semi-dry Parmesan, caper berries, tiny cornichons, and sweet marcona almonds. Everything in the dish was full of flavor, but each was just a small serving, so as not to overwhelm. It was a light, delicious tapas-style start to the meal.

For our entrees, Paul had the burger, while I went for the seared scallops. I sneaked a bite of the burger and more than my share of his fries. While the burger was a bit overdone for my taste, the fries were literally the highlight of the entire meal - handcut and dusted with sea salt and rooftop rosemary. They were crisp and fragrant... I could have eaten an entire plateful. Luckily, my own meal was enough to distract me... my three large sea scallops were seared to a caramelized brown; perfectly tender and sweet. They sat on a delicate bed of thin risotto which has a strong essence of cumin, dotted with asparagus and cubes of carrot. The only weakness of the dish was that some of the carrots are underdone. The finishing touch was a swirl of a ramp-leek sauce on the plate, which gives it a bright, fresh punch.

Eager to draw the evening out a bit longer, we decided to stay on for dessert. We were most drawn to the creme brulee and cheesecake options, but our waiter gave a strong recommendation for the chocolate semifroid - essentially frozen chocolate mousse, served with a raspberry coulis and fresh berries. Let's just say that that was some good advice. The mousse was creamy and rich, cut by the tart, incredibly fresh flavor of the coulis. It was a perfect end to a delicious night.

I'd give dBar at 1236 Dorchester Avenue in Dorchester an A. Head to Dot on a warm summer night and soak up the atmosphere on the patio. Be sure to have plenty of nibbles to balance out two or three of their killer cocktails.

Make me a dinner I can't refuse...

I love the North End, but I almost never go. It just seems like there are too many obstacles... it's absolutely no where near where I live, parking is awful, and the restaurants (while fabulous) are more concerned with maintaining the lifestyle of their waitstaff than serving their patrons - which, in fairness, is all very Italian of them. However, when you have an out-of-town guest, the North End is a no brainer - great food in a scenic old-school Boston neighborhood. So, when my dad and brother were coming in for a brief visit, I knew they'd enjoy a trip to Boston's Little Italy.

My brother's plane was due to arrive around 8:30 p.m. on a Wednesday night and I had in mind that we'd head right to the restaurant and get there around nine... would any place in the North End be serving dinner that late during the week? I called my two favorites, Giacomo's and Pomodoro, only to be told by both that they close sharply at 10 p.m. That certainly didn't seem like enough time for a leisurely dinner of catching up with my family.

Seeking a place that was open until eleven, I landed on Strega. Now, I have to admit that I had my reservations about this... I am a fairly regular watcher of the Phantom Gourmet and Strega frequently advertises on the program. If you've seen the ad with the owner, Nick Varano, all chummy with Vincent Pastore from the Sopranos, you'll instantly know the one I mean. It's kinda... creepy. Varano is this huge Italian guy who comes across like he's much more interested in photo ops with celebrities than whether or not his kitchen is turning out anything edible. So, needless to say, my expectations of Strega were limited. But, they were open on the late side and sometimes you need to make decisions on factors other than the food - sigh.

When we arrive at Strega, the decor and service do nothing to improve what I anticipate from the restaurant. With no host at the door, we are vaguely waived towards a table up the back which is free. Despite this slight affront, I feel lucky to get right in - even at the late-ish hour, the restaurant is still packed. The decor is - frankly - a complete fright. It seems to have a split personality between wanting to be hip and modern (a blinding wall of yellow acrylic panels and television sets line the back wall) and wanting to be delicately retro (with art nouveau-style figures painted on the walls). The tables are dinged up and the vinyl banquets are worn. Service remains spotty through the night, though the - mostly native Italian - staff is warm and funny, which helps to make up for long absences between courses.

The first dish out gives me a clue that Strega might offer more than just a chance for Varano to stroke his own ego. We've ordered the fresh bocconcini mozzarella wrapped in prosciutto on a bed of marinated red peppers. The simplicity of the dish, paired with the freshness and quality of the ingredients is spectacular. We also shared an order of the marinated grilled calamari over baby arugula. The calamari was tasty, but it was served in long, thick strips - making it a little chewy and tough. The lightly dressed greens made for a good pairing for the density of the squid.

For my entree, I selected the lobster and crab-stuffed ravioli in a pink sauce. I don't frequently order this dish, as I often find the lack of any discernible shellfish to be a disappointment. Not at Strega. The delicate pasta is jammed with lobster and crab and the sauce is creamy and mild, served with plenty of Italian bread to sop up every ounce. My dining companions ordered the cheese ravioli, veal parmesan, and the chicken alla romana. Based on the appreciative grunts and clean plates at the end of the meal, I'd say everyone enjoyed the dinner greatly. With the time growing later and bellies full of pasta and cheese, we opted to skip dessert and coffees and just enjoyed the remains of our wine.

Interestingly, at the end of the evening, the host finally appears to check on how we liked our meal... he could be a character straight out of a mobster movie at well over six feet tall and two hundred pounds, with a sizable tattoo on his neck. Having chosen to go to the North End to show our guests a little flavor of Boston, it's a fitting end to our night.

I'd give Strega, at 379 Hanover Street in the North End, a B+. Do your best to ignore the mobster movies flickering from the wall of TVs and focus on enjoying some terrific Italian fare. It's good enough to serve to celebrities.

Food: Ten, Looks: Three

Val might have looked like the dumb blonde in A Chorus Line, but she knew a thing or two about the importance of physical attributes. Restaurants may not exactly have "tits and ass," but for a truly great experience, they still need to show a pretty face. There's a reason that Zagat's measures restaurants on four categories and one of them is decor.

The importance of atmosphere was highlighted for me by two dining experiences that I had this week. Ok, way to state the obvious, right? Of course, atmosphere is important. But what really struck me is how it influenced my opinion of the food.

First I met up with some girlfriends at Beehive in the South End. I'd been dying to go to Beehive, so I was very excited when it was suggested for our get together. Despite battling epic traffic and the horror that is parking in that neighborhood, when I finally came through the doors at Beehive, all was forgotten. The restaurant is located in what could be super awkward space within the Boston Center for the Arts. There's a sort of L-shaped dining room upstairs, one big cavernous dining room downstairs with a small stage at one end (Beehive is considered one of the best places in town to see new music acts), and an adjacent bar area which is sort of up on a platform. It could feel really disjointed, but the overall eclectic decor ties it all together in a fun, warm way. The upstairs dining room and bar have a sort of French brasserie feel with dark woods and light walls, while the larger dining room is old school cabaret - straight out of the film Moulin Rouge. Beehive is almost painfully hip and each patron that walks in is more chic than the last.

Matching the decor seamlessly is the cocktail menu... retro and vaguely French-inspired. I was drawn the champagne cocktails and I was a bit disappointed that they were unable to make the Violette, which sounded unique and delicious. I settled for La Vie en Rose, which was sparkling wine with a shot of lychee-infused cognac. It was superb. We decided to share a few appetizers, including mixed olives dusted with parmesan, house frites with sage and sea salt, and marinated Shy Brothers' goat cheese. I was particularly excited about the cheese, as I'd read about the Shy Brothers' Farm (two sets of twin brothers who make artisanal cheese as the third generation on a working farm... interesting, right?). The cheese itself was mild, but unremarkable, but beautifully served in a crock with a drizzle of olive oil and herbs.

For my entree I had the oven roasted chicken with brioche stuffing. I rarely order chicken when dining out, but the stuffing sounded terrific - and it was. It was the highlighted of the meal - sweet, moist, and herb-y. The chicken itself was nicely cooked, with a light, crisp skin - and the portion was huge. I didn't even come close to finishing it. My girlfriends ordered the flatbread pizza, the baked polenta, and the gyro salad (which looked both gorgeous and delicious!). I was also asked to specifically point out that one friend really enjoyed the polenta (served with ricotta and ratatouille).

Overall, the food was good, but nothing to write home about. But here's where the atmosphere thing comes in... part of the reason that I wasn't overwhelmed by the food, was that is was pretty simple - which in a way was perfect, in that it didn't compete with the rich decor. Despite food that was only ok, I am still eager to go back! It was such an intriguing place and I would love to hear some of the music (which we missed). Goes to show, a pretty face can make quite the impression.

Later in the week, I found myself at Stix Restaurant, again with some friends. I'd heard of Stix, but I didn't know much about it. I picked it for a meeting spot because it had a convenient location near both parking and the T, as well as a varied menu for fairly reasonable prices - also, from the photos on the website, it looked very chic and modern. It seemed like a good bet for a group.

As soon as I arrived, I was immediately struck by how small the restaurant was - only 20 or so tables in a long narrow space. And, more importantly, how plain it was. Instead of cool, minimalist, it was more boring, generic - light toned woods, black a-lined seating, and simple cylinder pendant lighting. There was nothing particularly offense about the place, but there was also absolutely nothing interesting or original. It's also worth noting that there were several huge flatscreen TVs around the restaurant, including one right behind our table, which was both an odd fit for the decor, as well as a major distraction.

The menu at Stix is broken into four main parts - the signature Stix dishes, small plates, full entrees, and side dishes. As a group we decide to go for all small plates and dine tapas-style. The waitress was very helpful in navigating the menu and offering some suggestions. We ordered an ample selection of the Stix plates - which are meats or fish cooked on an infused wooden skewer (or "sticks," get it?), and a few small plates and side dishes to round things out.

A few of the highlights included scallops on a ginger-mango skewer seared in orange oil and
sesame, maple salmon on a "mexican fiesta" skewer, and the mushroom ragu side. A definite lowlight of the meal was dessert - warm chocolate fondant, served with chocolate sorbet and a mini strawberry milk shake. The sorbet and shake were tasteless and the fondant was dry. Overall, the food was very good and the infused skewers - while a little trendy, with the potential for hokey - made for full-bodied, creative dishes. Like Beehive, the complexity of the food's flavors, matched with equally intense dipping sauces, might have been too much without the simplicity of the restaurant's look and feel.

Now here's the interesting contrast to Beehive, while the food at Stix was better - the experience will be forgettable, in large part because of the atmosphere. You can get good food at so many Boston establishments these days, a restaurant really needs to go above and beyond to secure a return visit. Stix did not. And I haven't even mentioned the odd way the staff literally started to "pack up" the tables (they fold into the wall) at about 10 p.m., making us feel like we were dragging things out too long and rushing us through dessert. Apparently Stix turns into a lounge/club at that hour. Who knew.

I'd give Beehive at 541 Tremont Street in the South End a B for food and an A for atmosphere. Make a late reservation for the cabaret area so you can catch a local act over a champagne cocktail. Order something simple and soak up your surroundings.

I'd give Stix Restaurant at 35 Stanhope Street in Boston a B+ for food and a C for atmosphere. Go early, so as not to accidentally get folded into the wall when the electronica starts to pound over the sound system. Stick with the Stix and you'll enjoy every bite.

Moons Over My Spare Ribs

I went to college in mid-state Maine. It was the kind of place where you prayed that the snow would be melted for spring graduation, on Memorial Day weekend. Needless to say, we were far enough north that the selection of restaurants was limited at best. High-class dining was the Red Lobster and, if you wanted late-night diner food, you headed for Denny's. No matter the hour, one of my buddies always, always ordered Moons Over My Hammy. He just liked saying the name.

Since moving to Boston eleven years ago, I've wondered dozens of times what it would have been like to go to college here instead of the frozen tundra I called home for four years. I loved going to school in Maine, but there's no question that I would have eaten better here. I'll tell you one thing, if I needed some post-drinking diner grub as a Boston co-ed, I would not have had to be satisfied with rubbery scrambled eggs on toast - and that's because I would have had Myers+Chang.

I knew exactly two things about Myers+Chang before eating there. I knew that it served Chinese cuisine and I knew that it had some extra impressive owners - Christopher Myers, co-owner of Radius, Via Matta, and Great Bay, and Joanne Chang, of Flour bakery fame. While I didn't really have any expectations of the restaurant - aside from the fact that, with parents like that, it was bound to be good - it wasn't quite what I anticipated. The decor is urban and sleek, with maple-colored wood, earth-toned tiles, and mirrored walls, but it's irreverent too. The mirrored walls have grease paint graffiti all over them, the tables are unadorned with white Formica tops, the plush seats are covered in 70s-style vinyl, tea canisters on each table hold small paper menus and utensils (chopsticks only - so do your finger workout on the drive over), and kitschy Chinese decor cover every nook and cranny. The whole vibe is chic Asian diner. I love it.

The staff is pretty much exactly who you would imagine working at a hip SoWa restaurant - young, alternative, artsy. They help keep the casual, but stylish atmosphere going. Their one failing - though to no fault of their own - is that they are all wearing second-hand ("vintage") vests that have been hand-painted with Chinese characters. Maybe I am scarred from my evening at La Voile and the goofy busboy costumes, but I find that I am now vehemently opposed to putting waitstaff into outfits. It made them look ridiculous and it made the very cool Myers+Chang just a little less cool.

I think I might have been especially sensitive to the silly vests because they were so contrary to the demeanor of our waiter, who was funny, sarcastic, direct, and insightful. All of which was terrific, since we needed some heavy guidance on the menu. The menu at Myers+Chang is set up in a tapas-type style, with dim sum starters, dumpling plates, small plates, noodle bowls, and vegetable sides - all intended to be shared and all very reasonably priced at about $5-15 each. Our waiter recommended that we order between three and six items for the two of us - we could always get more as the plates came out. He also offered some input on the specialties of the house, how certain foods were prepared and meant to be eaten, as well as the finer differences between the noodle dishes. We ordered five different items and some cocktails - for me, a sake gimlet, which was delicious. It was dry and slightly sweet with a punch of lime.

The first dish out was the crispy spring rolls, which came to the table still sizzling from the oil. The tender-crisp wantons were wrapped around an abundance of scallions, mushrooms, carrots, and tofu pieces. The rolls were incredibly fresh and tangy, but the pungent vinegar sauce that accompanied them was overwhelming - I skipped it after the first try. The next dish served was one of the true highlights on the meal - braised pork belly buns. If you consider Myers+Chang to be a diner, this would certainly be their version of a burger. The tender, salty pork bellies were served on a traditional sweet Chinese bun (bao), smeared with hoisin sauce, with a slice of tangy and slightly spicy watermelon radish and lettuce. The combination of flavors and textures was outstanding.

Next up was the grilled prawns - whole shrimp on skewers with the head and shell still attached. Having eaten something similar at the China Pearl, I was not surprised by this serving method, plus the waiter had warned us when we ordered it. The entire shrimp is edible, though I do remove the heads. This method also makes the shrimp fairly "fishy" (much in the same way that serving meat on the bone can make it more "meaty"). The shrimp were coated in a tamarind-lime sauce, making them sugary and a little sticky. While good, they were somewhat unremarkable, making it the weakest dish of the night. It is worth mentioning that they were served with fresh, crispy fish chips sprinkled with hot red pepper which were delicious. If you've ever had the fish chips in a standard Chinese restaurant and wondered how exactly they were different from Styrofoam peanuts, having the fresh ones will make you realize what you were missing.

Unbelievably, two of the best courses were still to come. First, the tea-smoked pork spare ribs. From what I've read about Myers+Chang, this is truly its signature dish - a fact that was reemphasized by our waiter's enthusiasm when we ordered them. They lived up to their reputation - smoky and sweet, with meat so tender that it just falls right off the bone. The ribs aren't saucy - the earthy flavor was imbued in the cooking process and is enhanced by a light crust of peppercorns and tea leaves, which gives the dish a little bite of spice, as well as a nice textural contrast. We end on a bowl of beef and broccoli chow fun. I was more tempted to order the wok-charred udon noodles, but as soon as the waiter described the chow fun as "Chinese comfort food," I knew the battle would be lost to Paul (who began drooling at this description). I can't say what we might have missed with the udon, but the chow fun was spectacular. The thin strips of meat were nicely grilled, served in a deep bowl of wide rice noodles and long strings of broccolini, drenched in a salty, spicy brown sauce that gave great depth of flavor without being overpowering.

There is no dessert menu at the restaurant, which is just fine... the small plates are so tasty, you are better off just ordering more of them if your appetite is still lingering at the end of the meal. Plus, all diners are served a sweet treat from Flour just before the check is delivered. The night that we were there, it was a dense lemon mousse, sprinkled with coarse sugar and candied ginger. It was like licking the frosting off of a cupcake - creamy and delicious.

I'd give Myers+Chang, at 1145 Washington Street in Boston, an A-. Next time you are out on the town - behaving more like you are 20-something than 30-something - and you need something of substance, don't settle for a place that names it's eggs after old movies. Tuck into some bao and noodles at Myers+Chang and you'll recognize what you missed by not going to college in Boston. Your order is up.

Smooth Sailing

Boy, oh, boy. Is there anybody out there still reading this? After a three week hiatus, it'll be a miracle if so! I have no excuse for not blogging aside from pure laziness... and what's especially shameful is that I had a perfectly lovely dinner at La Voile about which to write.

Out for the night with a few of my girlfriends, we did not have the intention of ending up at La Voile... One friend suggested that we check out 28 Degrees, a hip bar/restaurant in the South End, which was our first destination of the night. We cabbed it together downtown and arrived at 28 Degrees around quarter past eight. Only to be greeted outside the door by a guy who looked barely old enough to get into the place himself. Holding a clipboard and doing his best to look down at us he asked if we had a reservation (we didn't). Immediately, I thought to myself - "great, a long wait." Oh no... no wait. No reservation? No getting in - at all. Were they kidding? This is why we don't live in New York, thank you very much. Once rejected at 28 Degrees, another friend mentioned that she'd once had a great dinner at Masa around the corner. Off we went. At Masa, we were pleased to learn that you didn't need a reservation to get in to the restaurant. You did, however, need one to eat before 10 p.m. Sigh. Not wanting to wait that long, we put our heads together for a brainstorm. While dismayed by our twice thwarted dinner plans, it did make me realized what a serious foodie city Boston had become. Word to the wise? If you are going out on a Saturday night, make a reservation.

Collectively we decided to head towards Newbury Street and try our luck there. On the cab ride over, I used my trusty iPhone to do a little research and came up with La Voile - which also holds a spot on my 2008 wish list. I called en route and was immediately taken back by the gentleman's greeting on the phone, "Bonsoir et merci d'appeler a La Voile, may I help you?" All delivered in a flawless accent. I knew La Voile was a French restaurant (duh), but I didn't know the depth of their committment to authenticity - clearly the host was a native. My - once excellent - French is pathetically rusty at this point, so despite my temptation to do otherwise, I decided to explain our predicament in English. By sheer luck, they'd just had a no-show and could seat us right away. I told him that my name was Courtney and that we'd be there shortly. The cab sped along and we came through the doors of the cozy subterranean space within five minutes, to be greeted by a tall, elegant Frenchman, asking, "Courtney?" I felt like quite the celebrity. As promised, we were shown directly to a table and were sipping Kir Royals before we knew it.

La Voile means "the sail" in French and the restaurant has a sailing/ship theme, but in a generally tasteful way - a painted quote (about sailing) that runs along the border of the ceiling, some old models of sailboats, and antique prints of ships, knots, and marine flags. Unfortunately, they also carried the theme to the busboys, who were required to wear - prepare yourself - a sailor uniform of a striped boat-neck top and wide-leg navy trousers. It was - needless to say - over the top. Additionally, while I appreciate La Voile's committment to keeping true to its French roots, the restaurant also requires the waitstaff to punctuate their dialog with guests with French phrases (for example, when setting a plate: "pour vous, madam..."). This might come off ok if all of the waiters where French. They're not. Ours wasn't and his accent was, let's call it, challenged. Amongst the three of us sitting at the table, two of us have lived in France, so, frankly, a bad French accent is like fingernails on a chalkboard. I would have preferred that he simply addressed us in English. The whole thing gave a slightly fake effect to the restaurant - as though we were having dinner in the France Pavilion at Epcot Center. At any moment, I expected the staff to break into song and dance. The busboys were certainly dressed for it.

Luckily for La Voile, the food was fantastic - nearly obliterating all thoughts of a giant mouse in a beret. First, we started with a selection of amuse bouche, including a gougere (a pastry puff made with Gruyere) and a bite of pâte à choux wrapped around a small piece of sausage. Needless to say, I love when a restaurant brings out free nibbles and these were exceptional - light and savory and melt in your mouth. After some discussion around sharing appetizers versus ordering our own, we settled on the latter. One friend ordered a seared scallop salad and another ordered the endive salad - a bite of each showed excellent preparation (especially with the shellfish) and a nice balance of flavors. My appetizer order started as a bit of a disappointment as they were out of, first, the foie gras terrine, and second, the rabbit terrine. I struggled to pick an alternative option and our waiter jumped in and suggested the foie gras creme brulee. At first, I declined - it sounded heavy and weird. Then I thought, what the heck, I'll go with his recommendation. Good choice. I'd never had a savory creme brulee before, but it was delicious - the creamy custard was smooth and thick, imbued with a deep essence of the foie gras, and the crackly sugar shell perfectly complimented the sweetness of the liver flavor. It was rich, that's for certain, but it was inspired as well.

For an entree, I ordered the seared halibut. Again, the execution was superb - the fish was moist and flaky with a crisp, salty crust. It didn't hurt that it was served with a generous dollop of caviar on top. The fish was laid atop basil mashed potatoes that had a nice bright flavor which was a good balance for the healthy dose of sweet, rich buerre blanc that covered the plate. Again, while decadent, each element of the dish was exceptionally well done - creating a delicious whole. We ended the night with a glass of dessert wine - which we also had to order twice, due to them being out of our first choice - and the tarte tatin. The apple tart was, again, truly authentic with thin slivers of fruit and a delicate pastry crust. It was tasty enough, but no match to the main meal.

I'd give La Voile, at 261 Newbury Street in Boston, an A-. Before getting your heart set on anything on the menu, ask what they are out of, then ask Mickey & Minnie for a recommendation - those mice, they know a thing or two about terrific French food.

Orinoco Flows

When dining out with friends, I try to not be too pushy about choosing a restaurant. Naturally, I always have a running hit list of places that I want to try, but you never want to be the person who puts up a big stink about where to go. However, when I made plans for a weeknight dinner with my oldest friend, I insisted that we go to Orinoco. First off, I figured that she's (mostly happily) put up with me through twenty years of friendship and that she would forgive me for my one-time foot stomping over where we needed to eat. Secondly, she speaks fluent Spanish and has lived in South America, so, if I needed any guidance navigating the Venezuelan menu at Orinoco, she was my girl.

Orinoco, like Gaslight, is located in the South End. Unlike Gaslight, it doesn't have the unique luxury of a parking lot. So it required three trips around the block to find a spot near the Shawmut Avenue address. Even once I squeezed my car into a tiny spot, I was still not certain that it was a legal space - at that point, I could have cared less. Needless to say, I was a little frazzled by the time I got there. As it turns out, that was not a problem. It seemed that every aspect of Orinoco is geared to put you at ease.

We arrived just as the restaurant was opening at six in the evening and we were given our choice of tables by a very affable young host. The restaurant was tiny and dark, lit only by the red votives dotting the tables and the diffused street lights coming in through the windows. We chose a snug table by the bar and, before I even sat down, I excused myself to go to the ladies room. This offered me a chance to walk through the entire restaurant and spy on the funky art work and distressed antiques that added to the decor, making for a cozy, but hip atmosphere.

As soon as I get back to the table we were greeted by our lovely waitress, who had a thick Spanish accent. She asked if we were ready to order drinks and I knew that I was going to have a glass of wine so I decided to choose quickly. I selected a glass of Torrontes, which is an Argentinian white that you don't often see on menus. The waitress tells me that it's light like pinot gris, which I actually know since I've had it before, but I appreciated that she helped give some orientation on the South American aspects of the menu - this guidance continued when she went through the specials, which is terrific. There is nothing worse than struggling through a menu of unfamiliar cuisine and feeling embarrassed about your ignorance. The staff at Orinoco know that eating Venezuelan is not an every day experience for most Americans and they seem happy to answer questions and encourage experimentation.

My friend and I decided to share both our appetizers and our entrees for the maximum tasting experience. For our first course, we went with the Palmito Ensalada and the Tequenos. The salad included several layers of flavors, including mixed greens, hearts of palm, endive, red onions, and bleu cheese in a tasty vinaigrette. Also dotting the plate are three dates wrapped in bacon, stuffed with a marcona almond - a perfect mouthful of sweet/salty and crunchy/smooth. The only culinary low light of the night was the Tequenos - guayanes cheese wrapped in dough and deep fried served with chipotle ketchup. I know what you are thinking - "fried cheese with spicy sauce, how could that go wrong?" That's pretty much the exact thought process that led me to ordering it, but it was a letdown all the same. The cheese was sort of lost in the bready coating and the ketchup, which I expected to have a homemade, chunky consistency with visual evidence of the peppers, tasted and looked like a cup of Heinz 57 with a dash of hot sauce.

Based on the advice of our waitress, we selected two of the specials for our main course. We decided to share each by eating half way through and then switching, so when they arrived, I randomly chose to start with the beef tenderloin. The meat is tender and well-prepared, but it was not the star of the dish - that honor goes to the crab picadillo. Fresh, creamy, smoky, and spicy... I could have eaten an entire plate of just that. This was served with several giant spears of asparagus - I prefer the small ones, but all the same they were prepared to a perfect degree of tender crispness. This dish was so delicious that I was a little sorry when it came time to switch. That's because I didn't know what I was missing. The other entree was lamb chops crusted in pistachios with a mixed salad. The salad was somewhat similar to the Palmito, so it was a bit overkill at that point, but it did not matter one speck. The lamb, served with a bright green herb sauce, was sensational - earthy, nutty, and unbelievably garlicky. It was so good, I thought about it all the next day.

We finished up by sharing (of course) an order of quesillo, which is traditional Venezuelan flan. I really like flan and this was as tasty as I've had - a little denser and more custard-like than a smooth, creamy Spanish flan, but still excellent. By the time we were scraping the last little smears of flan from our plate, the restaurant had literally filled to the rafters, with diners spilling out the door. Clearly, Orinoco had become a hot spot. Just as I was noticing how many people had poured in, the owner swung by our table to check in and see how we enjoyed our meal. We gushed about what we'd eaten and told him we'd be back. He mentioned that they'd become so popular, that they were opening a second location in Brookline Village. My first thought? Better parking.

I'd give Orinoco at 477 Shawmut Avenue in the South End an A-. Show up early and let your server guide your selections - you'll leave fantasizing about heading out on the next flight to Caracas.

Pretty Narcissus

Blogging is a funny thing.

Right around the same time that I started this blog, we had our annual company summer party and, as the director of marketing, I'd hired a photographer to capture the event for our website. The photographer ended up with a number of pictures that included a friend of mine from the office. I asked if he wanted copies and he replied, "what me, narcissistic? Yes, please." I laughed at the time because I thought he was being kind of vain (if he's reading this now, he's going to be a little mad, but he'll recover...). But looking back at that incident, I realize that we're all narcissistic at times, it just manifests itself in different ways. I'd rather pour lemon juice into an open wound than look at photos of myself, but if someone compliments this blog? I'll preen for days.

It's been fun to get the kudos and even more fun to learn who's reading, especially when it's complete strangers. It makes me feel weirdly connected to the rest of the world. I have one friend who swears that her whole office is addicted to it. My uncle reports that a colleague of his (in California!) is most fond of my posts that refer to the Sox. My mom claims that she has all of her neighbors reading it. (But she's my mom, she has to say that.) Oh, and who can forget the incident when I learned that the actual chef I'd blogged about had read my entry when he e-mailed me. It makes you feel a bit like a celebrity and it's sickly thrilling.

Blogging can be viral - that's sort of the point, I guess - and when it is, it can be exciting, overwhelming, and even a little scary. As a self-labeled type-A, one thing I love to do is to check my blog's stats. I do this through Google Analytics, which is absurdly easy to use and offers more information than any weekend-blogger could ever possibly need. Late last week, I hopped on and checked out where my blog stood. I pulled up the main graph (which shows visits to the site) and I immediately thought that something was off. The graph was all out of whack. It had this giant spike on Friday. I played with the settings a bit, but I just couldn't figure out why the graph was all screwy. Then, I realized... it wasn't wrong. I'd gotten nearly two hundred hits that day. Now, in case you are thinking at this point, "why, Foodie, your blog is so compelling... you must get hundreds of site visits every day," let me assure you that, no, I don't. On an average day, I'll get between five and fifteen hits... and that seems like a lot to me!

After a little digging, I figured out that my post on Gaslight had been referenced on a site called Universal Hub and it directed a ton of traffic my way... at least for that day. I have no idea how the editors stumbled onto my blog or why they felt that my entry on Gaslight was worth reposting on their site (when, in fact, I feel like it's one of the weaker ones I've written...). This is what I do know... on Universal Hub, readers can comment on the content and comment they did - about me, about my blog, about my opinions. Gulp. Some were complimentary of my writing and agreed with my assessment of the restaurant (preen, preen, preen). Some disagreed and were even slightly insulting (jerks! meanies! dumba**es!). Whichever way they felt, it was clear that I was out there. Saying what I had to say and opening myself up peer review. And... all under my real name.

When I started this blog, I debated the name issue a bit. Should I include it? Was it wise to give out (even the most innocuous) details about my life - where I live, where I eat, what I do for a living - with my name attached? Isn't this exactly what all of those identity theft commercials warn you about?! I have a good friend who blogs about her family and her daily life and she uses code names for her husband and her daughter. The names are pretty cute - including one that she calls Cook. I'm dying to ask her the secret meaning behind them. It makes me wonder, if I'd gone that route, what names I would have given me and Paul? In my house, I guess I'd be Cook. Paul would be Sous-Chef. That's what I call him when we cook together. It's totally demeaning and it irritates him, which is, naturally, all of the incentive I need to keep doing it.

At any rate, obviously I didn't go that direction. I went ahead and used my name... I figure I'm out there on LinkedIn and Facebook, why not Blogger? I have a sort of informal rule, however, of only using my name and Paul's name (from whom I got explicit permission) - never any of the friends with whom we dine. I figure, knowing that I'll be reviewing the very food we're enjoying (or not) is pressure enough for one meal, much less feeling like they might be inadvertently thrust in the limelight (otherwise known as Universal Hub).

This is the six month anniversary of the blog and it's been an interesting ride. Despite all of the feedback (mostly good!), I really do still write it as much for myself as for anyone else. Though, I'd be remiss if I didn't admit that it's the anyone elses that make my heart skip a quick beat each time I click "publish post." It's true, I am pretty narcissitic about the blog. And what do I hope to see when I look at my reflection in the pool of water? Someone who is decent writer. Someone who can make others laugh. Someone who loves food so much that she tries to do the nearly impossible with it - put it to words and make it a story. A good one. I hope that, when you read the blog, you see a little of that too.

Thanks.