As soon as you walk into the Back Bay Grill you see the open kitchen, the staff in white chef’s jackets and the promise of something wonderful for dinner because the scents and cooking aromas coming from the kitchen are brilliantly satisfying and soothing.

On the other side of town, Hugo’s, perhaps Portland’s most press worthy restaurant after Fore Street, one gets a different first impression altogether. For one, there’s no open kitchen. In fact that part of the dining experience remains securely behind closed doors.

These two restaurants, worlds apart, co-exist happily in the fabric of our city’s diverse dining scene. I had the opportunity last week to go to both on successive evenings, a feat in itself.

Back Bay offers classic American bistro fare—rich, satisfying, easily enjoyed as a full panoply of culinary contentment.

Hugo’s is an experience unto itself, the rapture of floating in billows of culinary invention that are world class.

I’ve been a fan of Back Bay for years. In fact it was one of the first restaurants I went to in Portland when I would visit the city. Often I’d plan a trip here looking forward to the dining experiences the city offered. Then the must-haves were Back Bay and Fore Street. Later I added a third, the Commissary in the Portland Public Market.

The Commissary has left a bad taste in the minds of many in the aftermath of its demise. That is too bad. Mathew Kenny, whatever his faults and missteps, created a beautiful space in the nascent Public Market. His style of cooking was clean and uncluttered. I, for one, am sorry that he left. The sleekness of his restaurant was unmatched in a city then littered with cozy dining joints.

Every time I pass the Commissary’s final replacement, Maverick’s, the market’s answer to family dining, an awful equation of sooty mediocrity, it makes me mad that we had to forego such a promising enterprise and component of the market for the dullness of something perceived as more economically viable. Is it?

In terms of décor, there are few places in the city that stand out. At least Oolong has tried to offer us something different. Yet other establishments in town are sprucing up as their fortunes rise from success.

Hugo’s, on the other hand, could be so much better inside. To be sure, proprietors Rob Evans and Nancy Pugh have done wonders with the place, but it deserves more; it would take hundreds of thousands of dollars to create a décor that’s appropriate with the otherwise superb dining experience. Perhaps that will come. The economics of owning a restaurant are tough.

Back Bay, on the other hand, has developed a patina of age that’s nearly landmark status in terms of restaurant ambiance. The original murals on the walls, the nifty new bar, the comfortable plush chairs, the gleaming white tablecloths and the attractive china and glassware all contribute to make this a casually luxurious dining spot (luxurious for Portland, that is) where dining is almost always a tethered pleasure both on the palate and the eye.

I’ve never had a disappointing meal at Back Bay. Larry Matthews’s style is big and bold without offending. If the principles of flavor and technique count for everything then that’s what one encounters here. His foie gras preparation, for example, is the best in town as is the confit of duck or the perfectly prepared rack of lamb.

On one recent visit, while my dinner partner happily had the foie gras, I started my meal with a parsnip soup that was so richly textured and flavored and delicious that I had to call up the next day to ask for the recipe.

It was simplicity personified. Larry told me in typical restaurant chef’s vague recipe direction that one merely sautés parsnips and onions in butter first, then cooks the vegetables in duck stock until soft and finally the mixture is pureed—not like a cream, but roughly pureed—and finished off with a touch of truffle oil.

The combination of the earthy truffle oil and the sweet dominance of parsnips was an alluring match.

Such pairings are more elusive at Hugo’s. Truth be known, I’ve always preferred Bandol to Hugo’s, their credos being a certain precious if not precocious style that are really quite unique. Erik Desjarlais of Bandol takes the basics of classical French cuisine to new levels of preparation and presentation.

I used to find the style at Hugo’s too gimmicky-- creation for the sake of style over substance.

Either approach-- Desjarlais or Evans--has limited appeal to the dining public. All those little plates and requisite matings of exquisite thimbles of food that are meant to dazzle discreetly will never please a meat and potatoes crowd. Well, who cares about the meat and potato crowd anyway? Eat it at home.

Quite emphatically I admit here and now that my opinion of Hugo’s has changed dramatically. Last week my meal there was one of the best I’ve had anywhere in a long, long while.

I can’t remember when I’ve been so tantalized and mesmerized by such successfully inventive cooking.

Each course was a revelation. There’s no need for me to go into an analysis of each dish I had because ultimately that gets a bit boring.

And why spoil the surprise?

A few standouts though were such creations as deep fried cornichons—one component of a dish described as shavings of beef tongue presented on a large square plate with such wondrous embellishments as a beautifully set quail egg, a dreamy mustard mousse that defies comparison and other creations and nuances that go beyond my ability to describe.

Even the bread course, often a nonevent at many restaurants in town, was fabulous. Quite frankly I just don’t understand why so many otherwise good restaurants go to the trouble of presenting us with bread in baskets hidden under elaborate white linen napkins only to encounter tepid slices that have never seen a warming oven. I’m not a fan of cold bread at all.

Though these offending baskets of bread are of good quality made at the restaurant or supplied by our best bakers like Standard, 158 or Rosemont, why doesn’t anyone heat up their bread?

Here at Hugo’s you’re served these delectable multi-layered warm puffs that are in fact his interpretation of a potato biscuit alive with herbs, sea salt and copious amounts of butter. They’re fabulous.

Fabulous is the simplest term I can think of to describe the rest of my meal. Our party of three that night almost ate in silence, interrupted by gasps of pleasure as we went from one course to the next.

From the chilled four texture lobster course, to Evan’s rendition of parsnip soup, a silken cream spiked with an essence of wild mushrooms, to the aforementioned shavings of beef tongue to a main course of pork belly with lentils and poached grapes--well it was all superb.

The style at Hugo’s is in some ways similar to the much vaunted, highly hyped Arrows. I prefer Hugo’s. It certainly costs less.

In the end it’s so gratifying that our small city has such big options for fine dining. You can feast on the classic pleasures found at Back Bay Grill or go on an exotic, rhapsodic romp of culinary discovery at Hugo’s.

Yet we have a roster of other wonderful restaurants in Portland—Cinque Terre, Bandol, Five Fifty Five, Fore Street, Uffa, Ciaola,’s, my list of the top names—all quite different--that the decision of where to go is ultimately tempered by mood, economics and the pleasure of being able to pick and choose as we wish.

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