Saturday, May 2, 2009

Bites at the Bar

In my opinion, if a restaurant doesn’t have a serviceable bar area that’s comfortable for dining – it might as well be a Chucky Cheese. Granted, many restaurants just aren’t interested in providing a comfortable atmosphere for this type of dining, with the bar area being more of a holding cell for waiting patrons.

If I could be promised a big comfortable booth in a dark and secluded corner every time I dined out I wouldn’t be writing this. My girlfriend and I live busy lives and have our own apartments. When we get together, especially during the work week, we need time to debrief. For the most part I don’t want to look at the menu until I’m done with my first martini and have spent some quality time with my sweetie. I also don’t want a waitperson all up in my face looking for an order as soon as I sit down. At the bar – there’s an implied “take your time” mentality for those who have chosen to saddle up. I also have mucho respecto for bartenders (well, the good ones) – knowing that for many of them this is a career or a way to support a not so well paying career. Mind you, I’m not here to disrespect wait-people, but you find far fewer wait-professionals and lots of transients.

On a not too recent visit to Ivy in Downtown Crossing (er, um…Ladder District) we were placed smack dab in the middle of the upstairs dining area on a tight two-topper table. The room was packed and included a large rambunctious group of pre-theatre goers. I immediately started getting anxious and the walls began closing in around us. We bailed and headed for the bar before our water glasses were filled. We had the bar to ourselves and we made that bartender our beotch (in a nice way). Ivy prides itself on having the largest variety or wines by the bottle for under $40 in Boston. The bartender must have spent a good twelve minutes offering samples, letting us each try three or four styles before we made a decision. I had a nice glass of spicy red zinfandel and she had a crisp un-oaked chardonnay. We indulged in few tidbits from their menu – the arancini ($9) was airy and cheesy but were about the size of a marble (I’ve been spoiled by Galleria Umberto I guess), but what could have been a miserable experience turned into a great night. Thanks bartender!

Our most recent dine-at-the-bar experience was at Tangierino in Charlestown. It’s a Mediterranean restaurant with a hookah bar in an old traditional Irish neighborhood, and from what I’ve been told the “locals” ain’t too happy about it. If you know Charlestown you know what I’m saying. We weren’t planning on going downstairs, our last experience there was upstairs and pleasant enough. But after hearing about the hookahs we had to take a look-see in the basement. We could have opted for a cozy corner (plenty of ‘em down there), but the bar was empty and we moved right in. There was a hint of spring in the air and I noticed a funky sangria on the menu. It was a North African version using figs and the bartender offered up a tasting. Man, you could really taste the fig and it wasn’t that bad: sweetness up front with an earthy figtastic finish, but not my thing. We opted for a variety of red wines and a couple of tapas. I really enjoyed the chicken phylo dish with cinnamon accompanied by a mint yogurt dipping sauce. This is surprising because I’m not a huge fan of either spice, but together they created happy little party in my mouth. At the end of the meal I took advantage of Tangierino’s grandfathered smoking license and puffed a fine cigar. I was told it was of the mild variety and it put me back $18. As I’m thoroughly enjoying my stogie the bartender poured about a half shot of cognac in a short stubby glass. Before I could reach over and suck it back (I was going for it) he explained that it was for dipping. Dipping the butt-end of the cigar I tell you…crazy shit huh! I’ve smoked maybe 20 cigars in my life, and I don’t ever want to smoke another one unless I follow this flavor procedure. It was a beautiful thing that could make smoking sexy again. Thanks bartender!

The bartender doesn’t always have to be on the top of their game for us to enjoy ourselves. We’ve dined at the bar at Marliave on more than one occasion and while the bartenders were adept in their mixologist skills - they lacked a certain over-all enthusiasm. You know the type – “too cool for school” or “too good looking for my job”. Whatever - I’m not out there to make friends anyways. What we ended up remembering about Marliave were the cocktails with Bostonian inspired names like the Molasses Flood (rum, molasses, lime, bitters) and the Boston Tea Party (tequila, early grey tea, ginger beer, lemon). They offer some outstanding starters too. The Rarebits is a skillet full of cheesy melted goodness that includes lager and Vermont bacon. Their mussels are served swimming in white wine, roasted tomatoes and garlic – you could dip old socks in this stuff and still crave more.

At the Beehive in Boston’s South End we enjoyed another memorable Zen bartender experience. I love walking into a place for the first time not knowing what to expect, and I’m not going to even try to describe the interior of this place. Let’s call it crazy chic. The bartender was kind of busy yet we found a decent spot for ourselves – it was a late Sunday afternoon and all the action was at the bar. He did a good job of answering our questions without ignoring the other patrons. He’d re-fill a regular’s wine glass with a nod without breaking stride in his conversation with us. We received a little crash course on Willamette wines and embraced ansplendid Pinot Gris from Oregon. We noshed on some small plates like we tend to do at the bar. The short rib grilled cheese didn’t live up to expectations but the blackened shrimp and grits made up for it. I’m still not sure what I think about the crowd in this place – I’d probably be more comfortable hanging out with the bartender and wait-staff than the patrons themselves.

To be continued.

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