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Posts Tagged ‘Boston’

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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Continuing from the “Get drunk, get naked and BE somebody” post: The day started off well enough, although a little out of sorts from the previous night’s festivities. Coco had scampered off with her man and Zoe made it safely back to her hotel with her boy. Dallas went back to her abode to recollect herself, having been sober the night before and not planning on repeating that feat on this Saturday night.  Post breakfast, Coco presented herself just in time for us to all make a break for it to North Station to hit up a dress shop where I am getting my dress made. We made the train, arrived in the quaint little town and then promptly got lost.

My Google Maps was failing me as I reassured the ladies that, “This is in no way a precursor to how the wedding abroad is being planned!” Luckily, after walking into multiple establishments, we were told that it was indeed on “Main Street,” except that it was one town over so we had to walk a mile or so to get there. We stopped in a local liquor store to pick up some bubbly, settling on poor man’s champagne, aka Prosecco, to commemorate the dress fitting. “Did this town just get better looking or are you not from around here?” remarked the shopkeep warmly.

“I don’t know about that, but you will all be better looking after some of this…”

We trekked down Main Street and passed some lovely New England/colonial-type homes, a horse farm/stable and finally, the shop. Inside, we met the bubbly lady who would be creating my dress. Before trekking upstairs, we meandered around her shop, looking at the little knickknacks, headbands, purses and other girly items that struck our fancy. “I need to buy some stuff,” announced Coco, who felt her cash burning holes in her pocket.

With mental notes made, we marched upstairs to the design table and got right to it. Scarlett, the future Esq., made sure the contract was in line as I was in no mood to hammer out loopholes and details. Zoe was snapping photos, creating “memories” to reflect on after all was said and done and Coco was….hungover. I felt a bit overwhelmed myself–the amount of “swatches” of fabrics and colors were massive.

After selecting a design and fabric–this close to deciding on a RED wedding dress, I signed a contract and felt like I’d accomplished something.

We headed back to the train, myself still wondering if I could really do a red wedding dress. Coco walked up beside me and reminded me: “You don’t get to pull off wearing a white gown all that often unless it’s your wedding–you’ll end up regretting it. And what about your mom–would it bother her?” Her simple remark and traditional take on the situation made it clear that white was the way to go and I could squeeze in some red perhaps in my hair, in lieu of a traditional veil.

Waiting for the train, Coco and I decided we needed some “travel juice” for the ride home. Scarlett was avidly opposed, having gotten into some trouble with the law for relieving herself on the streets of Philly, her mind cloudy with the effects of whiskey.

Still, Coco and I had no law schools to impress, so we signaled to each other to “make a break for it,” before the train came–in truly a over-dramatic fashion, Coco darted to the liquor store. She rushed back, bottle in brown paper bag and we boarded the train. Unfortunately, the train was packed with commuters and some sketchy guys who seemed like they’d had their fair share of hooker spit and Natty Ice–it was not a situation to get saucy in. So we saved the bottle for later. We’d soon find out the consequences of drinking all day and into the night…

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The ladies came together and bedlam ensued. The scenery changes, but the revelry remains a constant in the lives of all of them. Two ladies touched down in a newly-chilled Boston, anxious to begin some seriously overdue face-time with their east coast counterparts. The cobble-stoned streets of the North End, lit up with holiday anticipation, fueled the overall excitement of the reunion as the thought of alcohol coating their throats quickened their steps.

I screamed out to the cyber world via Facebook to no one in particular that my cronies were coming–and quickly noticed that one of them answered with the phrase that became the slogan of the weekend: “Get drunk, get naked and be somebody!” A well-weathered and straight-up inappropriate “mentor” of Coco’s had inadvertently christened the weekend and we were happy to try and live up to that standard.

There were four of us at the first bar, with Alexis leaving to tend to her comparably grown-up home-life situation, but expecting to rejoin us later that weekend. Meanwhile, Zoe, Coco and myself met up with some other college friends while bouncing around the North End, dropping in and out of bars, wondering if they’d been there years before. Coco smiled while at Bricco, where she recalled a tryst with an off-the-boat Italian pizza-maker whom she fancied for an evening while in college. We kept drinking…

We rushed over to a dive bar over on Commercial Street, the ocean-effect snow stinging our cheeks and chipping away at our buzzes. There we continued our party, talking faster and remembering less of what was being said. We left with one less of us, Coco having drunkenly decided to pass out face-down a few blocks away from us with a Masshole of Irish descent, who warned her of his people’s affliction of having ‘small members.’ She awoke the next morning to find that her original portrait of him had been greatly affected by an overload of booze and a lack of dinner. We realized that the weekend was only beginning.

Coco cursed me as she crept up the five flights of stairs the next morning, “Five flights of stairs–really, Reese??” She promptly passed out face down on the pull out sofa bed until she was peeled off and shipped downstairs for some retail extravagance with Alexis and Zoe.

After work (yes I made it to work that day), I joined them at Copley Mall, losing interest in our shopping tasks quickly and wondering where my first drink was coming from. We snacked and drank up at Haru, with Susie from the night before stopping in and chatting it up. We enjoyed our happy hour appetizers, the salmon avocado roll being fresh and the warm sake satisfyingly numbing. We were awaiting the arrival of Scarlett from her laborious bus trip from Philadelphia. The bar was dark, drafty and lulled me into a state of lethargic impatience. The scene didn’t seem to fit the crowd and after lingering a bit longer, we set out back to the North End to regroup and “go all out” for Coco’s post-birthday fete in Beantown.

Now, it’s not often a new presence is introduced into this group’s dynamic. The girls in town this weekend all happened to be bridesmaids, with bonds running deep, crooked and often half-remembered. Dallas was forewarned but also reassured that she would “love them,” and I knew they’d love her too. She met up with us back in the North End as we gussied up and continued to drink our liquid courage to face the bitter cold outside. Zoe joined us in the midst of our whoring up, having checked into a hotel earlier that evening, expecting her man to meet us all out later that night. Meanwhile, my man, having rewarded himself after a stressful week of work with a $10 bottle of whiskey, downed it with a vigor I was all too familiar with–he wouldn’t last long tonight.

We all joined together and headed out toward Alibi in The Liberty Hotel. While I’ve been to places with onslaughts of vagrant douchery, this place served as no exception. Glassy-eyed metros eye humped the tits and asses of the ladies that funneled in. After downing a round of tequila shots (of which, I’m not a fan of, yet always seem to succumb to), the room got smaller and someone farted. We bolted to airier spaces.

I glanced over to my man, leaning against the wall for support, a half-sided grin across his face. Aw, my preppy lover had had his fill for the evening, and let me know he was calling it a night. I walked out with him to ensure he got into a cab, but when I was told I couldn’t have my drink outside and they’d have to take it from me, I quickly placed my concerns for my fiance aside and darted back toward the club. Of course my man scampered off, choosing to walk from the Beacon Hill/North End spot, saving the cab scrill for the following night.

Zoe’s dude showed up and the drinking continued. We shimmied over to Bond at The Langham Hotel in the Financial District. The interior was impressive, if not memorable, despite the alcohol. However, the douchery level in this place was beyond belief. All of a sudden I felt less cool. I was quickly and happily distracted by the carefree Dallas as she shook her ruffled décollage, her eyes veering toward a Brian Urlacher-like bouncer. She quickly decided against it, having heard him try to utter a intelligible sentence, and the party went on.

Coco, combing through the douchery, found herself a decent conquest and he quickly took a liking to her. They danced some kind of tequila-laced salsa and I knew she’d found a favorable bed fellow for the evening. The night came to a close and I headed toward the door, hoping to find my man in bed, myself ready to pass out.

I found myself sidelined by a douche of Kanye West-like proportions. “Hey there, I like me some vanilla–why are you alone?” Wondering where the rest of that crew went, I smiled and said I was just dandy but felt I was more of a buttercream than a vanilla. He continued, his Burberry/Hermes/Chanel knock-off scarves (yes, he was wearing all of them at the same time) and cheap aviators made me smile, except he took that to mean I was enjoying our witless exchange.

Meanwhile, knowing Jake would appreciate his efforts, Zoe’s man, Rodge, began his chivalrous attempt to deter the douche–to no avail. Not believing that myself and Rodge, more of a toffee himself, were an item, he finally relented, noticing that an unsuspecting Zoe was smiling at us, amused at the situation. Kanye mistook that for eagerness and moved in on her.

“Hmm…you realize my plan has backfired, as he is now hitting on my actual girlfriend,” sputtered Rodge. We laughed and found ourselves interrupted with yet another character handing me a business card.

“Cha?” I asked.

“Just call, I’ll see what I can do….and they always call–like you? You’ll call.”

“What? Isn’t this from vistaprint.com?” I laughed and tucked the card away, if for no other reason, but to be able to refer to it the next day when I wouldn’t believe myself. Cha, satisfied that I’d secured the card, bowed and exited…what just happened?

The weekend continued…

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