Tag: BCC

WINK & NOD

wnnWink & Nod

3 Appleton Street (South End)

It was a jovial crew that met at the South End’s tucked away Wink & Nod in November. This was pre-election, post Halloween, before the holidays, you know…good times. Our destination du jour plays the part of a modern-day speakeasy, but not to a fault. In fact, the quiet door on a seemingly residential street is all quite appealing, and the interior consisting of bar and high tops on one side, and intimate small table settings on the other, surpasses charming. It gets a grown-up grade of Cool.

We arrived in bits and pieces as can be our habit and the host was affable, welcoming us to wait at the bar for our party to complete itself. Upon reflection, we wonder why he didn’t point out that we would be, in effect, sitting at a long table within the bar (which sat unoccupied while we caused all manner of movement this way and that at the bar itself). Honestly, it didn’t bother us but the other patrons were forced to accommodate our ever-growing numbers, and we feel for them.

The bartender at Wink & Nod was superb. We loved his forthrightness (ie, he said when a drink wasn’t worth it) and his timeliness (he saw to our needs, and made efforts to ensure our comfort on the belly-up side). And there was this drink OH MAN that curled our toes (in that good way). No, seriously: Go and get the Holiday in Holland. You should only order one, but if it was a hard day, two should make everything better.

Eventually we found our way to our table (not far–we could feel the annoyed stares from the customers who had moved to make room, and we did feel for them). And it was cozy and private and easy discourse ensued. We ordered a round to keep us company whilst we considered the menu…alas, our waitress took a LONG time. And then one BCC member received a glass of red wine when she had ordered Sauvignon Blanc (easily remedied, sure…except it took 15 more minutes…) But the food. Now, the food was fun.

Wink & Nod is a foster parent of sorts to up-and-coming restauranteurs and fledgling eateries. It hosts a new “restaurant group” every few months, giving them a chance to test their menus and their skills on a clientele they’ve no doubt wooed back time and time again with that Holiday in Holland cocktail (really, it was that good). During our visit we were treated to Nepalese fare: Gita. And overall the BCC enjoyed the meal hugely and recommends going before the rotation means Gita moves on as something new moves in–presumably this happens in January 2017.

Being a largish group with a somewhat piggish tendency, we ordered one of each of the small plates: the Momo (pot stickers with pork, spicy tomato chutney) were tasty; the Lamb Kofta a nice example; the Singara (yes, there was phyllo dough with beef and eggplant) delish; the Puri (lentil, chickpea, potato in pastry) YUM; and the Paneer with Chickpea Salad and Date Chutney simply excellent. The big loser here was the Garlic Cheese Naan, which was hard, tasteless, and a pass. We included a full order of the Butter Chicken (almonds, cashews, cocunut rice), which again brought pleasure as expected.

But while our revolving door of food offerings moved quite satisfyingly, we frequently sat unattended to, with empty drink glasses (Rule Number 1 in service: drinks increase the check total, please the patron and the house, and result in better tips) and no water (and the food had moments of fire!) What we enjoyed in time and privacy we also would have traded for experience in our waitstaff. The restaurant was not overcrowded and there was little reason to be left wanting.

We ended the night ordering one of each of the desserts on the menu and people, let me tell you…if any place can promise you’ll get lucky, this might be it. You can’t help but scrape the plate and lick the spoon…lingeringly. The chocolate cake went to that place that few dare. And it was “ooh la la!” BIG. The mascarpone cheesecake delighted and we dipped into a brulee type dream, but the big winner of the night was a pineapple shortcake that dripped of butter and inspired very sweet dreams indeed. The BCC hesitates not in suggesting a scotch and a sweet at Wink & Nod, whatever night and whatever time it might be.

As to be expected, there was an excellent selection of scotch and bourbon on hand, which satisfied some. But one BCC member desired a White Russian. And as many know, you shouldn’t defy a girl’s wishes right at that moment when she’s just about convinced…that you’re as good as you say you are. It is too bad, then, on several accounts, that the bar chooses not to stock the not-so-rare ingredients necessary to satisfy even one fair maiden’s post-dinner desire. The result is a few cocks short of perfection. Go back, but only if Kahlua isn’t the elixir you have in mind.

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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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Hojoko & Tiger Mama

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Hojoko & TigerMama

1271 Boylston / 1363 Boylston (Fenway)

It’s been a while since we linked the words Crazy-Sexy-Cool together in a single sentence, and with full-on props to TLC’s humble beginnings, we’re going to go ahead and attach all three adjectives to the March ’16 BCC meeting. In honor of the holiday that happened to bedazzle our date of choice, we did indeed go out for drinks, but we turned the leprechaun on his head in our choice of venue, beginning our night by sidling up to the Fenway’s Verb Hotel bar rather than the generally prescribed South Boston pub.

Hojoko is a “Japanese tavern” with hipster kitch, tripping on bright colors and Hello Kitty, but in a way that titillates rather than annoys. The gregarious bartenders gave us a shock when—in a city where haughty “mixologists” rarely deign to acknowledge your physical presence, never mind smile and make idle conversation—they joyfully (yes, really) welcomed us to their not uncrowded establishment and gave us the inside scoop on ordering unusual drinks in fun, tiki-style glassware. Combining a certain amount of showmanship with (OMG!) laughing and (NO way!) the occasional friendly gambit not only indicated they were having a good time behind the bar and cared that you had chosen to spend a few hours in their company, but they might actually be fun to hang out with in general. This old-fashioned kind of barkeep-flirtation was the perfect way to set up a long night in each others’ company.

We loved the design of the drink menu and the nice array of cocktails, beers, and sake, while admiring the brightly colored drinks prepped for the masses in serving tanks—complete with floating toys inside. Some favorites concocted by our bearded, tattooed man ‘o the hour included a tasty but VERY strong MaiTai (honestly, pretty safe to say all drinks were strong), a Dark&Stormy with a badass bite, a sweet and pretty Pina Colada with a bar-side toasted marshmallow, and spicy frozen daquiri topped with Nerds that was not only enjoyable because Nerds rock, but also because it deserves accolades for accessing that hard-to-reach place that gets you all warm and tingly while making you shiver uncontrollably at the same time (oh, baby, yeah!). Overall? Hojoko is a one of those great dates that deliver: cute, fun, engaging, with one hell of a “Oh, no reason” kiss. An A+ for after-work drinks for all you crazy-sexy-cool kids who are looking for a good time, sans pretension.

A short and admittedly cocktail-chatty amble down Boylston brought us to our culinary complement to our early St. Patty’s Day drinks: We stayed true to the Asian theme with TigerMama, although the restaurant hosted a far more sophisticated feel than Hojoko. The vertical garden, neon lights, and wooden lanterns provided ambiance that geared us up rather than tuned us down. A Vietnamese street gone Hollywood. Not a huge space, and perhaps a tad overcrowded by encroaching palm branches that while providing privacy, table to table, interfered with some necessary transit to and from the kitchen (and for us) the ladies’ room.

Although we had a reservation, we had to wait at the hostess station for five minutes or so without anyone informing us that they were setting up our table. While, in our Hojoko-cocktail-fueled state, we were perfectly happy to entertain ourselves with the mosaic-mirrored baby elephant at the door, we would have liked a more organized greeting and better service at the front of the house. The table we eventually sat at wasn’t ideal, either, with two members on  endcaps that, when combined with the stop-and-go traffic patterns caused by the overeager greenery, made them feel a bit like speed bumps on a busy Cambridge side street.

But awkward beginnings can be overcome, and our pleasant, bright, and attentive server was immediately on-hand and happy to bring us beverages as we considered the night’s food options. One member went for cocktails and wasn’t overly impressed, but TigerMama has a pretty decent list of beer and wine to choose from, including traditional offerings and tasty pairings that weren’t meant to be the highlight of the meal as much as to highlight the meal itself.

The menu, as so many are these days, is designed to be shared plates, building from smaller and lighter fare to heavier dishes. Apps are usefully classified as “Cold & Fresh” and “Crispy & Spicy” so you can address the particular needs of your palate appropriately. The Bun Cha Hanoi (crispy pork rolls, sour broth, grilled pork patties, lettuce, and herbs) had potential to be a delightfully tasty dish, but the server who dropped this dish at our table failed to explain how to eat it (the lettuce wraps were buried under the pile of fresh herbs), so we picked at it in semi-confusion and sacrificed the unique combination of tastes for inept sampling. The Southern-Style Pork Laap (lime-spiked hand ground pork, thai chili, mint) was SUPER SPICY and the wok-roasted okra was Tasty with a capital “T.” The texture (tricky with okra) was fabulous and while it again brought the heat, it wasn’t over the top. A great dish for sharing and just gazing at, if you’re a fan of vegetarian-variety eye candy. The Short Rib Rendang was a tender, delicious, coconuty treat that again won admiration for presentation.

Even though it was recommended that we get two to three dinner dishes each, members went for one apiece (note that the recommendation would have been way too much). It was, admittedly, hard to narrow it down as everything truly looked delicious, but the Sticky Lamb Ribs, Lamb Roti, and street noodles set off fireworks by turns, and the surprise of the night was the Pad Thai—a thoroughly unadventurous choice but we figured a good marker of the restaurant’s quality if it stood out from all the other PTs we’ve ordered over the years via Foodler. It was the dinner-and-a-movie dish of the night: when your date can blow you away in a totally mundane and obvious scenario, it is probably worth doing it again. Let’s just say we would have missed most of the movie—the Pad Thai was that good.

We almost didn’t get dessert because from the description on the menu, they looked pretty standard. Talk about a lesson in open-mindedness! These were two of the best-tasting creations we have—literally—ever tasted. The Milk Toast was sent from heaven…with wings of butter, condensed milk, and coconut cream. COME ON! And then there was the rich and luscious whipped coconut cream over tart mango and sweet coconut sticky rice—the perfect post-coital smoke following a spicy meal. We wanted to climb inside and bathe in this mixture like Roman gods.

With its raucous and off-beat beginning and divinely sweet and satisfying end, this night was damn close to 5-cockworthy. Crazy. Sexy. Cool.
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4.8

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YVONNE’S

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Yvonne’s

2 Winter Place (Downtown Crossing)

Those of you who follow our imbibement-motivated wanderings through our delicious city and its surrounds may have wondered what happened to the December BCC meeting. Well, we were simply waiting to finally get a reservation at our most recent destination.

Yes, it takes a month. Well, for normal folk. And you kind of get why when you get there. Down a dark alley near Downtown Crossing, there glows a beacon: A dayglo sign with sexy script emerges from the wall high above, illuminating the crowd of expensive coats and unbelievably smooth hair below. They’ve made the play for that feel of exclusivity fairly well, opting for a doored lobby over a velvet rope. But the hosts number many and you can only hope that on your very best days in your hottest of hot pants you are maybe-sort-of-almost as attractive as they are.

The interior of Yvonne’s is a mashup of snobbish blue-blood wood paneling, dazzling candelabra, tawdry wall art, and visually appealing staff in snug white shirts and suspenders. You immediately feel like being naughty. And the cocktails encourage the instinct—the 1989 (yes, shoutout to TS) provided champagne infused with vodka, which sounds like a terrible idea if you think long enough about it. But Yvonne’s is a place where they try to make sure you DON’T think. At least not for too long, or for too hard.

The music is loud and clubby. Paired with the cocktails, you immediately get that buzzy happy feeling and really don’t mind that you can’t hear anything. The host who seated us had to ask thrice. But he was delightfully patient. Our waitress gave us a smiley 10-minute chat of which we only heard “takes 45 minutes” and then spent the time we might have been perusing our menus trying to decipher what that could have meant. The bar was backed up? The apps would be slow? The burlesque show that was most certainly going to begin on the big table next to us any moment now?

We ordered Yvonne’s “sharing plates” (aka Tapas/small plates) and honest-to-goodness they were freaking fantastic. The buttermilk hush puppies and crispy tater cubes vied for our attention, each delighting in their own way. The Kentucky prosciutto toast was generous with the carnivore in mind with a hidden spread of beer cheese and pickled onion that altogether made us go “OH!” We opted for a stone-fired pita upon recommendation of the waitress (or so we think), and the KFC (Korean fried chicken, kimchee, gruyere) was a fantastic combo with perfect balance—a feat not often accomplished on anything that resembles “personal pan land.” And oh god, the seared brussel sprouts! Our table believes that brussel sprouts get a bad rap, but in their Yvonne’s outfit, they had to be cute enough for the hatiest of haters. Pepper sauce, garlic walnuts, and feta were like pasties and panties that made the dish just delish. The only share we might not reshare were the chicken and quinoa meatballs. They drove us to our water glasses with their salty innards (a theme in this column, it would seem).

Our meal was well matched in our beverage selections, with a fabulous Gruner Veltliner and Bantam Rojo cider winning the raves. So why, you may ask in the midst of all this ra-ra-ra, doesn’t Yvonne’s get 5 Cocks, our much-sought-after prize that has not yet been awarded in all of our booze-soaked foodie adventures?

You’d think in a place so sexy and decadent the desserts would seal the deal, but ours were a bust. We ordered one of each of their Tasty Treats (full disclosure, the small fare, not the main desserts) and found them all very pretty but when it came down to getting down…disappointing—lingerie full of ice cream. And they don’t have decaf.

It wasn’t just the shallow sweeties, really…the “scene” is intoxicating, indeed, but the tables are too close (even when the Secretary of State is sitting in one nearby), and it is like eating in the middle of a dance floor. You’re surrounded by beautiful people, and one might even kiss you or grab you on the bottom, and that feels great in the moment, but in the morning, you’ll likely wake up and realize you never DID catch his name. Do you go back to that dance floor and look for that happy place again? Sure you do. It will always be effing fun…but not quite the perfect night.

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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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