Part One
If my recent weekend in Boston prevailed as a dip into the bric-a-brac of big city life, it also accomplished a curious mission: to compare a tale of two dining cities, Portland and Boston.

Perhaps these two shouldn’t be compared. After all, Boston has bright lights, skyscrapers and traffic jams cast in a worldly countenance of pedestrians bent on urbane cleverness. Here our tallest structures are parking garages and a squat skyline twinkling over a city civil with charm and livability.

Yet if I compared Boston dining to the New York scene it would be like witnessing the clamor of a bawling wallflower striving to be an international glamour gal.

Portland, the dappled country cousin, continually amazes me, though, with one pleasant surprise after another. Just last week I had two dining experiences fit for cosmopolites out for the kill.

My impromptu dinner at Cinque Terre earlier in the week was thoroughly satisfying by any standard, especially on a cold, snowy, somber night when saner souls stayed behind closed doors.

The evening brightened enormously as we sat in a charming, cozy spot enjoying first-rate Tuscan cooking, under the guidance of Chef Lee Skawinski, no less a Maine native, who brings authentic northern Italian flavors and style to Portland.

Several nights later we went to Bandol for a special dinner. When I’m there I feel like the sublimely undisciplined bad boy alit in gastronomic high society. I want it all.

So began a panoply of delights: an essence of lobster bisque, tournedos of veal (served to infrequently ) stacked with black truffles; finally an exquisite finale of a perfectly tempered cheese, Appledelice, and an exemplary sweet course-- thimbles of crescent-shaped puff pastry filled with an audacious apple puree. All this and heaven too along the outer corridor of Exchange Street seemed to suggest we were in another city.

All of which was a fine gustatory preamble to begin food foraging in Boston.

Checking into a swell hotel in Boston last weekend happily bore no resemblance to an inglorious Hilton Garden Inn, even if the rooms there do have great harbor views over the parking garage roofs.

We joined friends from Cape Elizabeth who were staying in Boston for a few days too. We had tickets to see the revival of Edward Albee’s Who’s Afraid of Virginia Wolf, not a play to see on an empty stomach. This alone led us to dine at an ungodly hour of 6 pm.

Boston has become an emerging restaurant city, aspiring, if you will, to be New England’s version of Paris. It’s certainly a far cry from the days of the old Ritz Dining Room, a blathering anachronistic bastion of Brahman haute cuisine. Yet, sometimes I think it’s sweet to keep old ways fresh to guide us through new territory. Especially in these days of crash diets and trashy gossip, a link to the past offers perspective.

From my point of view it’s nice to have Boston so nearby when the mood strikes

We arrived just in time for lunch. My favorite Boston restaurant is No. 9 Park, where chef/proprietor Barbara Lynch holds culinary sway.

For lunch I wanted to try one of her two restaurants that opened last year side by side in the South End.

So we went to her highly touted B&G Oysters along the windy wiles of ever-trendy Tremont Street in the 24/7 South End. Bostonians seem so proud of this neighborhood. It’s like a big sister who finally marries well. I suppose if you spruce up the row houses, clean up the streets and install edifying shops and services, a stylish place is born. In the end it’s good commerce to gentrify. Though I thought Boston did that centuries ago.

Last year I’d been to her other place, the Butcher Shop, a charcuterie-style bistro across from B&G. I loved it. In the back of the shop is an actual butcher shop where the same cuts of special meat and game are sold that is used in No. 9 Park’s kitchen.

I made a special trip there then to pick up one of their Vermont farm-raised legs of lamb. It was expertly butchered, very much in the French manner. But at $100 for the leg, a habit was not born.
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In fact, I now buy farm-raised lamb locally in Cumberland Center at the Sunrise Acres Farm off Winn Road for half the price and just as good. The setting might not be as glamorous. I toot my horn when I arrive and meet the proprietress at the back door carrying an armful of lamb like a country maiden.

My first impression of B& G cast it in a world of scene cuisine--a lot of posing and preening going on like wild wallpaper. Really, once settled, this was a seriously happy place to be. I suspected I was going to like the food too.

I surveyed the room for what it was: a cool, soothing and attractive. It didn’t hurt that a woman who sat down next to me was a gorgeous eyeful swathed in sable and sporting an extraordinary diamond ring with a stone as big as a sea scallop.

Seating is around counters facing the open kitchen or bar-height tables along the perimeter. We arrived early enough for Saturday lunch to get a spot for four easily. An hour later a line was out the door—dutiful, gustatory sentries patiently waiting in sub-freezing weather.

The menu is exemplary. It’s not unlike an upscale version of our very own Scales in the Portland Public Market. The difference is in the approach. While Scales opts to be hopelessly laid back, an ersatz indoor lobster in the rough eatery, B&G is more precious. Don’t get me wrong. Both are wonderful, serving fish so fresh they seemed to have swum straight upstream into the deep-fryer.

Local oysters, soups, bisques and chowders, fried oysters and clams, salads and various seafood entrees are on the menu. If, by comparison, Scales sends food out from the kitchen without blemish or pretense, B&G opts for slick, highly stylized plating.

Beyond the basic menu are unusual specials. I ordered one-- an appetizer serving of salt-cod fritters that were filled with a puree of sweet potato. These were so good I wished they were boxed up like Mrs. Paul’s fish sticks.

The fried oysters that one of my friends had were served in the shell, with an undercoat of sauce. The coating was light and delicate—deliriously good.

The tuna tartare that another friend had got rave reviews as did the proverbial clam chowder.

For a main course I chose an appetizer portion of scallops. These little morsels were pan seared with tiny florets of cauliflower, accompanied by a slash of luscious cauliflower puree and ceremoniously garnished with pine nuts and golden raisins. This dish was so off the cuff good, an invention of worthy praise. Double it up and I’d be set for dinner.

Others in our group tried the calamari and the wild king salmon. Everything was beyond perfection.

B&G has a short but very well devised wine list culled from 9 Park’s excellent cellar. We ordered a bottle of Chablis Premier Cru, reasonably priced, considering that the wine is so fine.

I must make note of one particular oddity at B&G’s.

The line chef in front of us displayed some odd cooking habits. To wit, every order of soup began this way: He would take a plastic storage container out of the cooler, empty the contents into a small copper saucepot and set it over very high heat to warm up. Then he’d walk away--sometimes out sight for minutes at a time. Where was he? Washing his hair?

Meanwhile, in his absence, the soup quickly came to the boil, threatening to spill over any second. We all watched this, marveling at how the liquid managed to stay confined and not erupt. Ultimately it did and I wanted to jump over the counter to turn down the heat and save the soup.

Why would you want to heat up the soup so violently anyway? It literally boiled away like a caldron of witches brew. I always thought that cream soups (in this case it was chowder) should be brought up slowly, like a well mannered child, to a lively simmer.

In any case, B&G is a great place to go for a casual meal (lunch and dinner) of fantastic food. I’m going to go there as often as I am in Boston.

After lunch, with dinnertime shortly on the horizon, we took a brisk walk down the picture perfect side streets from the South End to Beacon Hill. Lunch was officially walked off.

To be continued tomorrow.
Part 2, Dinner

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