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Archive for the ‘Deliciousness’ Category

Hankering for some delicious comfort food while strolling around Boston? I highly recommend:

Marliave
10 Bosworth Street
Boston, MA 02113

So far, each time I’ve visited, I’ve managed to pass it by. Why? Because it’s tucked away on the seemingly invisible Bosworth Street. We had friends in town–the infamous get naked weekend–and Jake looked up restaurants in the area on Yelp. He came across this place and we took a cab ride over on a pouring rain evening in Boston. I just had dinner with a friend here last week and feel the need to lament my disappointment at finding my beloved beet salad was altered.

The place is off of Tremont–bang a hard right after you hit the Beantown Pub and walk down the pseudo side-street and it’s on the right hand side. Sit upstairs. They offer an array of Prohibition Era cocktails and their wine list is good too. I ordered my beets, a.k.a. a beet salad with goat cheese, candied walnuts, greens and aged balsamic.However, when I returned last week, the chef had changed it. Instead of the bountiful array of greens and beets, he piled it in a small, round, circular shape. The goat cheese was sandwiched in-between perforated cut square pieces of beets. I didn’t like the presentation or the mix of textures. It seemed more gooey and less greens. Don’t change it up if it’s perfect as it is! I hope they revert back to the original layout and portions.

Despite that disappointment, I have to say that their raw menu is yummy and fresh and affordable with oysters being $2.75 a pop and clams $1.75. Make it between 4 and 6 p.m. and they’re a buck each–not bad.

You get sides of garlic, cocktail sauce but I don’t remember horseradish–but delicious just the same.

I ordered the mussels in garlic wine sauce appetizer instead of an entrée and it was cooked well. They bring you bread and I can barrel through an entire basket. It’s a thin foccacia-type bread with a slightly salty/buttery crust. Soooooo yummy!

The first time we went, Zoe ordered their truffle mac and cheese. It was good but the truffles didn’t add much flavor to the overall dish. We both agreed it would have been better to integrate the truffles into the sauce, as opposed to slicing pieces on the top. With or without truffles, it was velvety and perfect for a cold, rainy night.

We got a simple burger with cheddar. The fries were good and the bun was fluffy and soft. It was cooked well and overall, a good burger but nothing to write home about. Meanwhile, the Sunday Gravy, comprised of San Marzano tomatoes, lamb, pork and beef was a definite crowd pleaser and gut buster. It was just packed full of stuff. We all cleaned our plates though and split a brownie sunday between the five of us.

This is definitely a go-to place when I’m in the mood for comfort food that’s a 10 minute walk away. I still haven’t delved into their cocktail menu but plan on it in the future. I find it hard to believe they don’t have some kind of signage around the area to let people know the place exists! I wouldn’t say it’s completely hidden as I’ve always seen a good number of people gathered upstairs. It seems to be a crowd favorite for larger parties. Delicious.

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Every year I find the need to inflict some sort of torturous deprivation and this year is no different. Today is day two of Lent. Ash Wednesday was yesterday and while I am not Catholic or receive ashes, I do like to give up some items I lust after on a daily basis. This year? Sweets, soda and cheese. This. Will. Be. Hard.

One of my favorite breakfasts is toasted whole wheat english muffins with cheddar cheese and sunny side eggs–covered in pepper and kosher salt. I suppose I can opt for the cheeseless variety, but they’re certain to be just a little bit lacking.

Why food? I suppose I could opt to forego other indulgences but other than eating, there isn’t much I’d rather be doing. Perhaps drinking, fornication or trash TV watching (Keeping Up With the Kardashians is scheduled to record on my DVR…I know…).

Jake is a bit of a self-taught prodigy when it comes to all things cooked or baked. I am lucky to have a guy who is hell bent on perfecting pizza dough or making profiteroles from scratch. I’ll have a separate post on those lovely babies in lieu of actually being able to have one.

I’m also running the Hyannis Half Marathon at the end of the month and Dallas will be taking on the 10K. I signed up back in November, thinking I’d start training immediately and curtail ruining myself during the holidays. Of course that didn’t happen as I was aware that I had plenty of time until February 28th. So I started training in February with a horrendous run in along the canal in the Cape. Cape Cod in early February is AWFUL. The wind and snow felt like pellets smacking my face and before long, I was picturing how I’d like to position myself when Dallas frantically led authorities to find my contorted, frozen body. My lips remained purple for three hours post race and it was a good half hour before I could bend my fingers enough to wrap them around a cup of coffee. Luckily, we stopped at Peppers Pantry on Falmouth Road in Cotuit, MA for a delicious cup of coffee accompanied by cream from their full-force cream dispenser! Light, regular or heavy cream! DE-licious! I then ruined my 8-mile calorie burn with a “small” but generous egg salad sub. The race is a week from Sunday and I’m plenty nervous about it. The most I’ve run is 8 miles so we’ll see how much of the race turns into a crawl.

I used to look forward to pizza nights prior to big runs as my go-to carbo load. Jake’s pizzas are amazing and I will miss them. He hasn’t perfected pizza dough yet and is beyond frustrated as it doesn’t seem like something that should be that hard to do. So until he does that, we drop $3 at:

Ernesto’s Pizza
69 Salem Street in the North End (which also sells yummy slices of their own) and bake it at home.

Laundry nights won’t be the same either as we usually stop over at Il Panino Express at 266 Hanover for a pizza and whatever other cheesy, delicious pasta concoction is on special that day. Their iceberg salad is overpriced but I could drink that dressing!

My birthday warranted a weekend of eating out and filthy while downing dishes with a Guinness or two. We stopped at:

The Times Irish Pub and Restaurant
112 Broad Street
Boston, MA 02110
617.357.TIME (8463)

It’s kind of off on its own so it was interesting to see it so packed, even for a Friday. Their clam chowder was the highlight. In fact, it was so good that I forgot to take a crappy-quality second generation iPhone photo of it before draining my bowl. Jake got their steak and cheese sandwich which was pretty good. Their fries don’t look like they’d be anything special, but I loved them. Straight up crispy with enough chewiness on the inside.

The service was good but I must note that my Guinness was not completely filled to the brim. Yes, there was a lack of frothy goodness and it was not lovely.

The ambience was…interesting. We could tell that the group of saucy-eyed patrons were all co-workers. It was funny watching the ladies get a little too animated with their male counterparts, gesturing wildly and making unnecessary attempts to slap a shoulder or lean unto a decent looking male counterpart. Luckily we finished our meals as a whore’d up troop of ladies marched in, asking if our third seat was taken and then proceeding to almost knock everything off their own table in a frantic attempt to “set up” before they went on the prowl. Good luck fending off those drunk female co-workers…

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“She’s going to have to leave if she doesn’t calm it down,” said the bartender sternly to Jake.

I’m 26 and engaged, so nights like this shouldn’t still be happening–you know, those liquid dinners accompanied by outpouring of deep secrets and revelations due to an obscene amount of Ketel One martinis and Gimlets. However, it was a couple of days before New Year’s and I was feeling “festive.” I went out to Ditka’s in Chicago on Chestnut Street with my three brothers and one of their girlfriends and Jake. We made our way to the upstairs dining room and were greeted by tables full of bustling people, Sinatra and Elvis tunes in the background. We sat down, excited and breathing in deep the aromas of BBQ sauce and fresh seafood. I felt a bit nauseous–my loss of taste and smell was definitely on the rebound and some days feel like I can smell the slightest tinge of aroma.

I immediately knew what I was going to order–oysters and the baby back ribs. With the ocean no where to be seen, the oysters were just as fresh as they’d be in some harbor-side joint in Boston. The calamari was light and fluffy AND they had a small list on their wine menu specifically for $20 bottles of wine. Happiness.

My brother Johnny was excited I was getting to know his girlfriend, Mae, whom up until that point, I had had little contact. I can be a tad intimidating so I think she was relieved to see that I was ordering some wine off the menu, “Want to split a bottle?” I asked her. She heartily agreed and we all ordered our entrees. The ribs were amazingly tender and the BBQ sauce was just the right amount of sweet with a kick. The other popular item ordered was the Fridge Burger–and it lives up to its name. Packed full of cow and all the fixings, the sauce they ladled over this decadent burger separates it from the norm.

We ate and bellowed with laughter when we all realized that the Sinatra and Elvis tunes we had enjoyed were emanating from one guy with a microphone and a guitar. Simply amazing (we were all wondering why people kept clapping at the end of each song as we thought it was a recording–we simply chalked it up to a bunch of drunken Chicagoans, which wouldn’t be completely hard to believe).

We ended the meal by sharing one ginormous slice of decadent chocolate cake, with all 6 of us digging into it. The boys patted their stomachs and thought we’d all be on our ways home…or so they thought.

“Let’s go to Luxbar or Jilly’s or something!” I shouted as I raced out of the restaurant. Having given away “tastes” of my ribs to my brothers and taking some of it home, I hadn’t really eaten much to supplement the wine. At Jilly’s, Mae and I ordered drinks–myself “upgrading” to a Ketel One dirty martini, “Let’s get this pahty started.” There Mae and I discussed Johnny and herself a bit–I didn’t know much so I was interested to hear more about her family and where she came from. I learned her stiff ass Irish grandmother held a muted disdain for her Italian daugher-in-law–with tensions remaining two decades after the nuptials. “How horrible!” and I continued to sip.

Meanwhile Jake and my three brothers were more than annoyed, having wanting to go home after a satisfying meal.

“Uh, we’re having a conversation here…chillax, it’s a pahty.” I told them.

From there we moved on to Kelly’s in Lincoln Park, where I switched to Gimlets. We continued with the tom foolery, enjoying ourselves and Johnny even starting to down a few. Jake sat next to me, watching me, most likely dreading what awaited him at the end of the night (I’d “pahtied” like this before). He began a steady momentum of drinking himself.

Well…I blacked out after Gimlet number two. I was later told that Mae, also hammered, started feeding me rum and cokes (which I don’t drink but apparently became my new favorite drink at that moment) and we partook in rounds of shots. A friend of Johnny’s was visiting from out of town and apparently told me some sentimental story, himself getting choked up at the fact that I was happily engaged. Touched, I put my arm around him and we continued to chat. I later learned that Jake was ready to kill the dude and my younger brother alerted me to the fact that, “You know that douche is in love with you right?” Smooth.

Channeling my neurotic and loopy aunt Wilma (for some odd reason as I haven’t seen or talked to her in years now), I started to yell, “I am Willmaaaaa!” In a ferocious rage…and it was then that we all headed back to Johnny and Mae’s.

As you can imagine, I did a number to their bathroom. I’m not one to vomit readily so that was an epic moment in itself. Hurling insults at Johnny and Jake, they peeled me off the bathroom floor and brought me home–to my parent’s house.

“Does she do this a lot–if so, I’m going to kick her ass,” mumbled my father as I stumbled into the house, my anger toward the men in my life still vibrant.

“No, this happens like once a year if that,” assured Jake. He paused for a moment, reflecting on the fact that most other guys probably don’t have to deal with this display of debauchery even on an annual basis. He hauled me upstairs and laid me on the bed.

I awoke the next morning, naked, face down, with my contacts still in and full make-up done up.

“Uh oh…”

My sisters, much younger than myself, marched in and reminded me I was taking them out that afternoon.

“Well maybe now you’ll lay off the sauce,” said the younger 12 year old.

We went ice skating for two and a half hours at Wrigley Field’s ice rink, the bitter cold being the only thing to slap the hangover out of me.

“You realize now why boozing is bad, right? I mean, just take a good look at me and remember this face,” I told them.

“Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwww!!!” they shrieked.

Jake smiled and shook his head at me. My family is more in love with him than ever I think hahahaha

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