Tag: bars

TOWNSMAN

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TOWNSMAN

120 Kingston Street, Boston (Chinatown)

It has been, tragically, months since the BCC met on official terms, although quite a number of “off-the-record” outings occurred since our last review. Blame it on family, blame it on work, blame it on those three-day weekends people bizarrely insist on spending somewhere other than downtown—whatever the reason, it was a long, damnably dry summer.

So boy did we need a cocktail.

On September 29, BCC members met at Townsman, desperate for a raised glass and a means of evading reality for an hour or two. This just-over-a-year-old self-appointed “brasserie” sparkles with newness still. The warm orange interior and welcoming open kitchen can’t offset the mainstream feel of the decor. Paired with the high ceilings and overly formal hostesses, the entrance feels cold, although it admittedly warmed up as the streets darkened outside and the bar filled up with the convivial suits who worked within walking distance.

Our round wooden table by the extra-large windows felt very private, despite the restaurant’s growing crowd, and its shape and location made for easy conversation and a certain seated comfort we haven’t always found with a larger group. Our first round of cocktails were admittedly a resounding success. The Countess was what we think of as the perfect hostess: tart with a delicious bite, and persuasive enough to get us all to lean in for a sip. The Lion’s Tail brazenly mated allspice and bourbon with laudable results, and the 2015 Ernesto Picollo “Gavi” was the perfect measure of cool and dry that promised to pair well, wherever our appetites took us. And the Notch Pilsner, a group favorite, made a not unwelcome appearance with its balance and fair allotment of alcohol for a “school night.”

The hearty brown bread and YUM spiced butter danced on our table only long enough to cue salivation. Our hopes were high following this rustic teaser, but the charcuterie could have done us better. The Lomo and Bresaola were tasty treats tucked in the midst of mini biscuits (okay, points to the house), fried pickles (weren’t amazing), and rather meek portions of our chosen cheeses (Oma and Twig Tomme). Perhaps we are gluttonous in our sisterhood, but we might argue the want for a bit more on a platter such as this.

For dinner we went with the usual BCC share, ordering a smattering (albeit a significant one) of wildly varying dishes and sharing them in order to experience and dissect the flavors to our savage hearts’ content. Our choices came out fairly quickly and we thought well-timed, overall, with a nice flow in terms of entrance and exit…but sadly, we can’t say we were huge fans of much that made up our decadent food parade.

The Fish Cakes with chorizo and sweet chilies were unremarkable, and the Fried Dumplings (highly anticipated) left us with a single impression: fried. The Moules Frites and Cottage Fries were completely forgettable. Except that they didn’t come with a spoon (with which to indulge in the juice, of course…) The special menu item of Buckwheat Pancakes with Snails was different, but not ooh-la-la, and the Seared Cape Scallops were an epic fail—undercooked and gelatinous to the point of major turnoff.

The Deviled Eggs with Fried Capers were a right touch in the midst of other fumbles: almost soft boiled with fabulous texture, they were delicately seasoned to the point of delish. The Pear Sausage also pleased, with long, strong flavors and size that mattered in a night of small plates. We also were fascinated by the Crispy Shishito Peppers that came alive before our eyes (you’ll just have to order them to see what we mean) and an addictive quality that left us concerned for potential withdrawal the next day. But Shishito Peppers does not a dinner make.

The service at Townsman was a little like spending all day at the beach…for a while, the water was very close and it took very little effort to cool down, chill out, and enjoy ourselves, but then the tide went out and well…it took ages to get our third round of drinks. The backwaiters get props for a well-choreographed performance of serving, clearing, and resetting—there was a legion of them, and they really were very good. But that blank spot in the middle left us frustrated and wondering if Townsman wanted us like we thought it did, or if it was perfectly okay never seeing us again.

And dessert? Cheese ice cream tempted no one. But the Bailey’s substitute fed the sweet tooth so all was forgiven. This time.

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cock-rating-3-25

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BUKOWSKI TAVERN & UNI

Uni

BUKOWSKI TAVERN & UNI

50 Dalton Street / 370 Commonwealth (Boston)

Admittedly, only three members bellied up to Bukowski’s bar prior to the May BCC #BosCock meeting, but it still rates a mention in our review because…well…it’s Bukowski’s. How do we love thee? Let us count the ways: a fine array of brews, from cask to can; the wheel that you spin, joyfully and without hesitation; the tunes you may not have heard before, but hope to hear again; the bartenders, who would never call themselves mixologists; the White Trash Cheese Dip, just because; and the fact that it is cash only (really, that is a selling point). And why was it the pitch-perfect pitstop prior to the centerpiece of our evening (a meal down the street and around the corner)? Because it stands unapologetically on the other side of the bridge.

Our approach to Uni involved dodging post-work-Wellies and raincoats as we squinted unhappily through the rather unwelcome drizzle. But then, before us, stood the elaborately decorated door that indicated our destination had been reached. We all immediately loved the vibe: take sexy hotel lounge, add a dose of sweet 90s hiphop, and shake that thang with potent and colorful drinks. We joined those of our group who had already set up shop, beginning with cocktails at the bar. And here, yes, we had a mixologist who took himself as seriously as I suppose you should when you wield eyedroppers and measuring cups more often than you tug on tap handles. But to be fair, perhaps the title was well earned…he produced a FABULOUS beverage.

Every once in a while you get a drink that, well, is the reason why we drink. These cocktails were, in a word, delicious. Favorites included the El Diablo (tequila, cassis, lime, ginger, soda) which meant El Dangerouso since it went down VERY easily. BCC members characterized it as “refreshing,” “spicy,” “sweet,” “perfect.” The Mint Julep was served in a bodacious silver shaker with a tantalizing glaze of frost and a “HELLO” giant sprig of mint—a bold choice that seemed open to being shared, and we passed it along from member to member throughout the pre-dinner portion of the night. We also sampled a wondrous concoction, complete with hibiscus garnish—the Tropical Itch started delightfully sweet with a bitter/sour and dry finish.  Each sip was like a first kiss that gets serious. (And who doesn’t like that?)

We could have sat at the bar for another hour clucking like chickens, but our half-moon-shaped banquette nested our group nicely in a corner with a view of the rest of the dining room and a misty Mass Ave. The hostess was quite eager to seat us and very friendly—but BCC members found our server less than helpful. He looked stunned when we asked him to tell us a bit about several items on the menu, and frankly, he seemed annoyed by our presence most of the evening. If you have ever been on a blind date where one side or the other doesn’t “get” what he or she expected, well, it was a lot like that: he kept his contributions to a minimum, as if hoping that our time together would end sooner if he gave us the cold shoulder. Unfortunately for him, we were all in to see it through all the way to dessert. (After all, we were paying.)

We tamed our drink habits a tad at the table, with a misordered Gewurztraminer  that was presumed a match for spicy menu items, but went way too far down the spiral to sweet, a perfectly nice Chardonnay that was priced perfectly outrageously, and a martini that was less than impressive (ordered multiple olives, got one; ordered extra dirty, wasn’t—had to order a side of olive juice).

Each member ordered two to three dishes to share, as is our custom. The Uni menu is certainly extensive, overwhelmingly so. Where to go? Cold? Hot? Sushi? Not? We started with Brussels Sprouts that amounted to charred goodness, mixed with bright dill and other herbs.  An interesting flavor (“like potato chips you just can’t stop eating,” admitted one member, her mouth full). We’ll substitute grilled Brussels Sprouts for lame old Lays any day of the week.

The Spicy Tuna Roll lived up to its name. We agreed it was one of the best we’ve ever had, scantily dressed in a spicy sauce that had a serious kick and a lasting heat. Spoiler alert: It is served with a side of onions disguised as pickled ginger, which took a few of us by surprise as we chomped down. The Wagyu Beef Dumplings (cheddar dashi, braised lettuce) were fairly forgettable and a mystery dish with a heavy tomato-based sauce that we all agreed was not worth the presumed calories. The Asian Cheesy Corn with shrimp crackers got a nod, but thumbs down on the Japanese Milk Bread, which impressed no one. The group collectively enjoyed the Chang Mai Duck Carnitas (green papaya salsa, scallion pancake, cucumber), our official acknowledgment of Cinco de Mayo, Japanese-BosCock style.

The star centerfold of the evening was the Green Curry Crab Fried Rice (burdock root, egg, sesame), and it even came as a hefty portion that enabled us all to sample a sizeable several bites. Full of bold flavor with a lively kick and superb balance. Highly recommended.

We sampled all three desserts, including a “milky cereal” that L.L himself would be proud of. Want it straight? We’d save dessert for home if dining here. But there’s no reason you shouldn’t get in the mood at Uni first.

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DCBK & WALLY’S CAFE

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Darryl’s Corner Bar & Kitchen / Wally’s Cafe

604 Columbus Ave / 427 Mass Ave (South End)

Check this: Two of our members were in NOLA two weeks before the February BCC meeting—not planned, but a nice riff on the legit when it came to finally making the legendary Wally’s Cafe our destination du jour. Thing is, as much as we all crave the low-cal-high-return of a meal consisting of straight drinks-and-tunes, it doesn’t do nearly enough to sustain our middle-aged brains and allow for some small semblance of conversation. So a pre-game (substitute: real food) stop was a necessary part of the plan.

As serendipity (or brilliant development) would have it, not 500 yards away from Wally’s at the corner of Mass and Columbus is Darryl’s Corner Bar & Kitchen (or DCBK for the initiated) and I’d be lying if I didn’t say we got lucky when we made a reservation there. The space actually mirrors Wally’s, to some degree—long and narrow, although the “stage” (ie designated jazz space) was mid-room rather than all the way in the back. The atmosphere is warm yet “with it” and fresh feeling. In two words: so cool. We loved the super sleek, curved, penny-tile bar.

DCBK has a good selection of tasty cocktails that tease you from the menu: an image of the type of glass it “wears” is smart and fun and gets you in the mood. (Let’s admit it: the outfit plays into the end experience—ever ordered a martini and been served a pint glass? Immediate headache and lights off.) We’re a bit bummed it took a while for bartender to acknowledge our boozey desires, but in the end the Dark & Stormy, Manhattan, and Kentucky Mule warmed us from the 10-degree-cold we battled outside.

Once our party was fully in the house, we were awarded a cozy corner booth close to the Thursday-night jam. It was loud, but honestly, we dug. Our attentive but low-impact waitress brought our designated apps promptly: Catfish fingers with delicate tasty breading and spicy mayo were a definite turn-on. We sampled a cup of the house gumbo, which packed a nice kick but didn’t blow anybody’s hair back. Beets with goat cheese, served warm, had a lovely flavor and were a refreshing break from the typical fried foreplay fare.

Members then dipped into the chicken and waffle and “Glorifried Chicken”–both of which were tasty although if you’re hoping for two legs and only get one, it can leave you wanting. The stuffed pepper was well presented but the shrimp and grits (OMG fried grits!!) probably won the day. It has inspired playful, flavorful daydreams in the hours since. The Cajun fries lost their seasoning easily, but made our mouths happy and the collards were standard—if you like ’em, you like ’em, but if they’re not your thing, they didn’t lobby hard enough for a change of heart. A cozy dish of mac-and-cheese came off a little on the plastic side…but the jazz band across from our table was anything but, and the quality of the music, and fab art, and the chill-but-not-too-chill vibe of all the cool cats in the place means we’re keeping the DCBK number on speed dial. Our recent NOLA-venturing members agreed it all felt darned close to one of the clubs they were in down on the Bayou. I’d pay for that in Boston any night.

Oh and Wally’s? Wally’s kills it. Go early. Get a beer. Stay late. You’ll wake up happy.

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cock-rating-4.35

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THE GALLOWS

TheGallows

The Gallows

1395 Washington Street (South End)

Let’s just start by saying that The Gallows is the perfect friend with benefits. The place looks great and you like it enough to hook up whenever you need to get some (in this case fried food) but you know you could never live with each other on a regular basis.

Our November meeting commenced as usual with drinks in the bar area, which was not an unpleasantly packed, flannel-encased sausagefest…perhaps also telling, considering the pork-heavy Gallows dinner menu. The restaurant seats your party when you’ve all finally found parking (no small feat on Washington), and we had a great banquette table facing the massive Ouija-Board Wall—it felt private and roomy while allowing for a great view when we chose to look beyond our plates. Above us flew what might be the most diverting aspect of the decor: hundreds of suspended toy bats, which honestly add appeal and whimsy where you might not expect it (like that friend with bennies spontaneously holding your hand as you cross the street).

With a handful of BCC members claiming French Canadian lineage, the poutine was a highly desirable feature, and we went whole hog with the Out of Control “Chef’s Debauchery” option. The OOC poutine changes according to the whims of the kitchen wizards (or witches, if we want to hold close to The Gallows theme), and we chose to be surprised. What arrived was admittedly a great opening move: a massive mound of the required fries and cheese curd but lusciously laden with decadent slabs of duck that was deliciously done and Padron peppers, aka “Spanish Roulette.” The claim here is that some of these peppers are mild while others contain the fire of hell. We BCC members all like a good bite every now and again, so we divvied up the score and dove in. While none of us were rewarded with that so-bad-its-good burn, the peppers were still damn tasty and the perfect complement to the poutine plate. It was, all members agreed (“Quebecers,” too), hands down the best dish of the night.

Because we are greedy when it comes to drink, food, and love, we fondled our fries, ordered more drinks, and bellied up: The Scotch Egg was tastily prepared on an addictive fried, pork-sausage crust. While the Fried Green Tomatoes with prosciutto were flavorful, they too were (obviously) fried, and we could be said to have not found the fontina and aioli drizzle the most appealing aspect of our first-course foreplay. Chipotle Sweet Potato came paired with “bruleed” (aka toasted) fluff and curried pecans, and while the seasoning was not one any of us complained about, it did feel like eating cookies in bed, before dinner. A bit bad, but not in the best way. The Moules Frites were quite pleasing with lively flavors of fennel and peppers. What not to order? The Steak Bomb Pierogies. An overly salty fried (yes, again) disaster. We left several on the plate to be cleared. (Not our tendency…I mentioned that greed thing.)

There comes a time when you’re ready to stop fooling around and get serious, and we made that move boldly, going with the Franken-Burger for the table. While I don’t know that our server was thrilled with our penchant for sharing, it’s a good thing we did, because this baby (even divvied up into sixths) nailed us all to the booth: burger patty + bacon + pulled pork + fried chicken thigh + foie gras aioli = sigh, roll over, and fall contentedly asleep. (Note the amount of salt in the burger would require a midnight wake-up and emergency glass of water.) Agreeing on a side salad instead of fries, we then made the errant, several-drinks-in call to order “one more thing” and it was a disappointing mound of new potatoes masquerading as Patatas Bravas. We’ll admit to being over the potato by then, but the dish’s complete lack of, well, anything interesting, made it a table decoration and little more.

We finished the evening with the one dessert offered, billed as the “Stoner’s Delight,” and certainly living up to that standard. Chocolate, fluff, peanutbutter, bananas…it was familiar and comforting and tasted just as you expected. This, the restaurant’s vibe, the satisfactory although unremarkable service, and the poutine, left us happy enough to FWB The Gallows number, knowing there will surely be a night we’ll dial again.

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cock-rating-3.5

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ALDEN & HARLOW

A&H

Alden & Harlow

40 Brattle Street (Harvard Square)

We began our fifth BCC meeting (October 2015) in suitably boozy fashion, greeting each other over tasty cocktails and beers at Noir (in The Charles Hotel). Our club has grown by two members since our last meeting, and so the pre-eat drinks made good sense as we made nice and discussed general rules of engagement. BCC digs Noir, although (note to self) the banquette near the front door is a poor choice on a cold autumn night.

We gathered forces and marched ’round the corner, right on time for our resi at Alden & Harlow. Alas, our date was late—the hostess assured us our table would be ready soon and invited us to have a drink at the bar. Plus: Drinks at the bar and a very pleasant and attentive bartender. Minus: It was quite a wait for our table…and then there were somewhat false promises made when we were rounded up from our belly-up positions (think: “I’ll make it up to you” but he never brings home flowers). We loved the wine list (quality + reasonable bottle prices = happy) but thought there could have been a few more fall-friendly, brown beer selections.

This restaurant has a good overall vibe although rather “typical hipster” (ie ’50s school honeycomb doors, industrial lighting, tiles). It was bustling enough to make us feel loved and popular without the too-much-too-soon feeling of the T at rush hour. Our waitress deserves commendation: she knowingly helped us with menu selection and deftly navigated our loud, crass conversation (a BCC requirement). One member was left without a plate for one course (sorry, there goes a quarter cock). But happily, the drinks kept flowing without anyone feeling rushed, pushed, assaulted, or ignored.

The food selection was quite nice, although laden on the meatier end of the scale. We applauded the opportunity to order off the Prix Fixe menu, as well as the regular menu. Are you ready for this? We somehow managed to consume several bowls of chips and 3-onion dip (freakin’ delicious) before inhaling chicken liver pate—a smooth, rich, mouthgasm with a strong kick of chili oil. Oh yes. The crispy baby bok choy, while interesting, had a strong charcoal taste that rather than lighting our fire just felt burnt. The Kentucky wonder bean succotash had a spot-on balance of flavors and textures, while we were split in opinions over the smoked steak tartare (some hungered for the heat while the Calabrian chili came on too strong for others). What made us melt? The chicken-fried local rabbit (dug the shaved celery in this dish—gave it a bright and light aside) and the roasted bone marrow (can’t ever have too much bone…or meat-butter) was a fun conversation starter (like we needed any help in that department), seeing as not everyone at the table had reveled in the marvels of marrow before. We were put off by the SINGLE egg raviolo (very soft and tasty…but oh-so-all-alone). And we may have hit our ceiling on pork belly—this was too fatty.

So where did A&H lose our interest? The “secret burger,” of which they only sell 30 a night. When asked why this was (a lack of burger-worthy bovines?), we were informed that the chef wants to encourage people to try other items on the menu and the burger is so popular, it overwhelms. Hmmm. A bit pretentious and a whole-lot gimmicky. When a restaurant sells small plates, you’d think they could just make the “secret burger” smaller, and everyone would be happy. Whatever it takes to get people frothing at the mouth, I guess, although we might suggest that the overall A&H experience is good enough to do away with this kind of semi-lame marketing ploy.

Speaking of frothing at the mouth, mid-meal we began to feel the sodium. And while our water glasses never ran dry, the salt in our bloodstreams most certainly was high. The very tasty ice cream with caramel helped soothe our palates, but it soured the kiss just long enough for us not to deem the night perfect. A good time, though. One worth having.

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