Resto-Rant

Indigo and don't come back

2007-12-22T22:43:00.000-05:00

Time to come clean. I love Gordon Ramsay and especially love his BBC series: Kitchen Nightmares. I also very much like the FOX version, yet it's too censored.

I have never found Ramsay to be over-the-top or abusive. In kitchens, there is fire, gas lines, very sharp objects. Really --one screw up could sicken a customer or some one could get hurt.. It's very serious biz.

I learned food and service from two kinds of chefs:
1. Drug-or-alcohol-addled-whack-jobs
2. Intense perfectionist obsessive teachers/gurus

I have had Coquilles-St.-Jacques thrown at me, in the kitchen, because chef was on a coke binge. I worked with men who for all intents and purposes were indentured servants to an owner who had caught them stealing 15 years ago. I did an afternoon service with a chef who burned his arm so severely because of someone else's mistake, he was forever disfigured. Yet he continued service for the lunch before he went to the hospital.

That was the lowlands. Later, I ascended to fine dining.

I was service. Not a chef, not a saucier-- I was front of house. Later, I trained and became a sommelier. And in watching , I learned how to cook. And how to serve.

At Icarus, we took orders by memory. Not pen on paper. Why? Because it clearly demonstrates that your server is locked in, professional and not thinking about some other bullshit. That, and it's just plain impressive.

Ok, so...

Adgurl and I moved to Ipswich in 2002. The restaurants that were here then are mostly gone. All with reason.

Adgurl and I came from Brookline Village at a time when it was becoming a real hotbed of cuisine. Regardless, we could hop a taxi or walk down the street and find dining comfort. Not to mention that we both traveled a lot: Manhattan, San Fran, etc.

We have not been prepared for what has happened up here in Essex county in terms of dining options in the last year. In fact, we have become victim of our aspirations and standards; a sad testament to what we *hoped* would be a shining, much needed addition to the 1A scene.

As stated in an earlier blog entry, we thought Blue Smoke, now Indigo Bar and Grill, would fill the bill.

At least they've been consistent. Unfortunately it's been consistently bad.

This night, our strategy was to give them the best possible opportunity to succeed: don't order anything "cutting edge" and let's see how they get the basics.

1. Caesar salad, small portion
2. Beer battered haddock with french fries and slaw
3. Meatloaf with veal, ground Kobe beef, and sweet pork with whipped potatoes, roasted carrots and red zinfandel pan gravy and garlic aioli

We also ordered Cakebread SB by the glass. I'm convinced we got a Chard.

Caesar comes. Dead, brown lettuce bits throughout. Shame, I like the hot garlicky well -anchovied dressing.

Haddock: so dark a crust as to suggest they haven't changed the oil in a dog's age. Fish is flaky but un-seasoned, fried crust has uncooked doughy parts throughout. Why put hot condensing fish on top of crisp, nice french fries?

Meatloaf: this was an abortion. Two patee slices of mystery meat -too light to be considered meatloaf and too unflavored to be considered patee, gooey red sauce that was congealed and set, a garlic puree that was another blob of goo. But the mashed were fine. The carrots were fit for livestock, halved and BURNED on the flat side. When I tried to get a fork in them, they resisted. My God, the bottoms were BLACK.

When I explained to "Jules" the bartender that the meatloaf was not good, her response was:
" But people rave about this!!!"

I then went on to show her that the giant carrots were burned and tough and she exclaimed, " "But they're SUPPOSED to be like that!!!"

What? Has suburbia become so Velveeted that we confuse burnt food with carmalization? Or are we calling them Blackened Carrots now?

And since when has it become standard operating procedure to ARGUE with a customer?

The way I was trained, one wouldn't even allow a giant black carrot to be seen by a customer. And if chef ever tried to convince me that burnt was the new medium rare, I'd hit him on the side of the head with a pan and tell him that it was the new "love tap."

What is wrong with these people?

Catch no longer clutch

2007-12-22T21:49:00.000-05:00

Not sure how I came to know Catch in Winchester. Maybe a Globe review, perhaps Chowhound? Nevertheless Adgurl and I had dined there happily no fewer than three times before our last visit for my Birfday, back in November.

I've always had high regard for Catch. Fresh, seasonal, local menu focus with a distinct, disciplined approach. AG and I got into the habit of booking the chef's "table", in this case a dining bar right in front of the kitchen. I like watching a pro staff execute great cuisine.

Catch's kitchen talent is quiet, mechanical and adept. Precise. Professional. Focused.

This visit, it finally caught up to them.

Chef Chris Parsons was not present. But that was not the problem. It's obvious he has a well trained crew.

The problem was that everything came to us cold. We were within arms reach of the kitchen and our food was consistently served lukewarm, at best. Now-- I do not expect the cooking staff to serve us. And the server staff was right on delivery. It's the ventilation system and the lack of big ovens to create ambient heat. Catch doesn't have it. It's a small space. The meticulous care that the kitchen staff puts into saucing, garnish and finish takes time off the plate. From fire to plate is excrutiating in its precision; leading to a loss of lots of heat.

I also broke my golden rule: never order a lobster dish unless I'm at a lobster shack. Period.

I ordered the lobster dish. It was a supposed to be a multi-flavored, textured entree that was neither. Petite meatballs, lobbie thumbs, foam (did I order foam??).. and lukewarm.

I was sad. We really dig this place, but it's a bit of a haul. I should call chef and point him to this review. My guess is that he'll listen.

In the meantime, try Catch yourself and let me know what you think.

And this guy has access to knives?

2007-12-22T19:18:00.000-05:00

I've got a bit of a backlog on reviews/rants that I've been meaning to get to... But I'm not going to get to them just now....

Because something happened to me this afternoon at Cafe Zabaglione in Ipswich that left me physically shaking.

With the Urban Assault Vehicle dead in the driveway on a holiday weekend --Adgurl and I decide to go colonial and walk downtown to the awesome Coastal Green Grocer for provisioning.

As always, Dave hooked us up with wonderful salami, provolone, arugula, a stinky yet subtle Stilton and a fresh baguette. Thank God for the Coastal Green Grocer! ( and no-- I'm not using them all in the same dish..)

Cue ominous JAWS music...

Adgurl knows that I'm really hungry after not eating the night before (next blog entry, tomorrow) and suggests we hit Cafe Zabaglione for a late lunch/early dinner.
It's close to 4pm EST.

Now-we've done lunch there a couple of times and had some nice little sausage sandwiches, tolerable but not spectacular staples like lasagna and Caesar salad, and on some really dismal weather nights, we've ordered out. We both are fully aware that chef/owner Mike Elpidoforos is no Mario Batali (whose restaurants we actually like... See? I *do* like things).

We've also been around the corner to his more "fine dining" establishment: Restaurant Zabaglione. It's one of those places that sports a decent wine list, some delicious sounding menu items, a small -number-of-seats-to-price ratio to make the uninitiated think that there's something special going on, A ZAGAT RATING (OMGP0NIES), and a precious, dated, cramped decor.

And everything tastes the same.

Apparently years in cruise ship service have deadened this guys palette to the point of one note. Pork, veal, seafood: all seasoned the same. Lazy.

But I digress.

I'm walking through downtown, all happy, sporting my baguette, feeling very fwanch and ready to get lunched. Things start off well, as "Zabags" is serving Sam Adams Winter Lager, my new binkie. AG had a Chianti.

The service was as goofy as ever, but the staff is so nice and real (and as I was soon to learn: terrified), I didn't care. We shared a Caesar to start (under-dressed for a change, but fine), Adgurl ordered eggplant parm, and I, the chicken marsala.

I had asked our server if I could substitute garlic mashed for the prerequisite ziti and was told (as we had been on the "fine dining" side) NO SUBSTITUTIONS. NO APPETIZERS AS ENTREES.

The $16.95 chicken marsala comes out like convention center rubber. To be fair, there were pockets of edible meat. Just not enough. At all. In fact, I would bet the chicken had been prep cooked, then pan seared and sauced to the point of leather.

Keep in mind that I'm VERY hungry so the idea of sending this back is really bumming me out. I momentarily toy with the idea of taking one for the metabolism.

But I can't. I send it back. I thought I could hear a small weepy whimper from our dear server at that moment.

NOTE: As a former service professional, I have great empathy for those who do restaurant work; front-of-the-house, back, pot washer--all work as a team and deserve great respect. It can be, at times, a shit job--even in the finest establishments. However, I will not *not* send something back if it is poorly executed for fear of hurting some one's feelings. In fact, I am exceedingly polite in doing so. Hey--sometimes mistakes happen.

Sometimes egos do.

Our server brings the dish back to the kitchen, visible from where I sit. I start in on Adgurls parm and enjoy the lager.

There is a community review web site out there with a review of Zabags stating that the service staff is unsmiling and seems miserable. In fact, this afternoon, our server has seemed nervous and apologetic.

It's now 4:30pm. The dinner shift is showing up and the servers are whispering. One distinctly barks: "Here he comes," and goes off to polish a glass.

I look to my right and see who I think is Mike Elpidoforos enter through the front door of the cafe- in his chef whites. Apparently, he has come around from the other side to assess the returned dish. (I assume, given our servers fear, that this is policy and one in which strikes fear in all who work for Zabags). I watch as he enters the kitchen and inspects my former dinner. I expect him to pinch the chicken breast, nod his head, shrug his shoulders and chuck it in the bin.

Uh, nope.

Instead, he picks up the plate, and charges at our table. Halfway to us, he starts in:
"What??? this is cooked perfectly. You don't know what you're talking about,"

He then begins to claw into the chicken marsala and break up the meat as he shoves the plate in my face. His fingers kneading the chicken flesh while he is yelling at me is frightening. And gross.

"What, you want it raw? This...this... is like butter!"

In my mind I'm thinking.. "yeah, well shit is like butter too, dude"... but I'm too afraid..

Still seated, I try to maintain calm. Not that I'm about to lash out, but I'm fucking ASCARED of this guy at this point.

"Chef, it's overcooked. I can't get a fork through it."

The staff has moved to a neutral corner and are mouthing the word "sorry" to me. Customers are in train wreck mode.

"Chef, we liked the other dishes..."

I should mention at this point that chef is a BIG GUY. And now he starts to really amp it up.

"This is not 7-11! This isn't about what you like and don't like. You can't just return OUR food. We know what we're doing, we work hard...."

And then he goes into this loopy diatribe that we can't exactly follow. Adgurl is trying to reason.. I'm getting nervous and I'm expecting the plate thrown at me from very close range. The whole time he's just fingering and manipulating the chicken and stabbing it at me. It's appalling.

"GET OUT AND NEVER COME BAAAAACK!!!!!!" He then gathers up our drinks, Adgurls plate ( I'm amazed at his busing ability) and continues to abuse us verbally. "GET OOOOOOUTTT."

We grab our grocery bag and our coats and head for the safety of Market Street.

Wow.

Adgurl say "You're shaking,"
And I was. Tremors actually. I don't like being treated like that. And a guy that size with the alleged reputation that he has of violent outbursts...

Not to mention that the night before we had just gone through yet *another* unprofessional display... I was wiped. I'm a customer experience consultant who has just experienced a hideous, cliched AFFRONT to all that I love about dining. And customer experience.

I felt robbed.

But so should he and any investors in his restaurant. Adgurl and I put on coats, amazed that he didn't demand payment for the beer, chianti, ceasar salad, or parm. In fact, we even tried to reason with him to calm down, let us pay and call it a draw. Earler in the meal, Adgurl and I discussed getting coffee cocktails after dinner. With the mark up on the drinks alone, the plate costs would have absorbed and exceeded the cost of the returned item. What a dope.

Final irony? As I was leaving he yelled to me: "Open your own restaurant, then!"

Careful what you wish for...chef.

Up in smoke

2007-10-14T15:03:00.000-04:00

I should have done my research instead of letting my hopes set me up for dissapointment. I should have Googled "Cala's Manchester" or "Alchemy Gloucester." Maybe then I would have at least known that the chef/owner of Blue Smoke is known for some pretty mediocre fare.

But I didn't. I held on to my fantasy that the new joint in Hamilton was destined to be the replacement for The Salt Box, now gone two years. Three days ago, I walked into the two-month old restaurant and grabbed a menu. Cool, I thought, here was a small, stylish restaurant offering an interesting take on barbeque and comfort food. I was thinking East Coast Grille meets The Fireplace.

Well, Dorothy, you're not in Brookline anymore.

Let's start with the positives:
1. Cakebread Sauvignon Blanc by the glass.
2. Comfortable bar with a large screen TV.
3. Ran into Ian and had a few laughs about a goofy catering gig we did together this past Mother's Day.

As is pretty usual on a Saturday night out for us, we sat at the bar. The Sox were on and the dining room was booked, so it all worked out.

Things did not start well.
I ordered a Kir Royale which was served flat.

We ordered a round of appetizers: Buffalo Wings, Young Mountain Lamb Skewers and Big Eye Tuna Tataki.

One of my all time favorite foods is Buffalo Wings. They are also desperately difficult to find executed well around here. My gold standard are the wings at Buff's Pub in Newton. What Blue Smoke was serving was *not* a true Buffalo style wing. Sure, they had plenty of heat, but the wings were coated in a more asian-style glaze. The prerequisite bleu cheese dressing came across as more ranch-ish.

The Lamb Skewers were billed as a take on the Thai staple, satay. The lamb was over cooked and lacked distinct flavor. The peanut sauce was served cold and could have benefited from a warm up. The rare tuna was fine, but curiously shared the same accompanying cucumber spaghetti as the lamb satay.

When we ordered the 1/2 rack of baby back ribs, the wheels fell off the wagon. We ordered the beef ribs with the recommended Sugar Cane Bourbon sauce, or "wet mop," with sides of baked beans, mac and cheese, and coleslaw. Blue Smoke was kind enough to throw in a mealy watermelon wedge.

The ribs were, in a word, disgusting. When the plate arrived I knew we were in trouble. See, my parents moved to Virginia Beach (my Dad works for the Navy) a number of years ago, so we've feasted on good BBQ, both in VA and NC.

What is being served at Blue Smoke is the cliched New England interpretation of BBQ that is an over-smoked, over-sauced, glistening brown raft of mystery meat.

And the ribs were served cold, which seems to be a problem at Blue Smoke.

When we notified the bartender that the ribs were awful AND cold, she offered to " blast them" - a reference I took to mean that she would be happy to microwave them.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?????

I will say this: the Vermont Cheddar Mac and Cheese was very smooth, creamy and quite delectable. The Baked Beans were pedestrian (can anybody beat Stone Soup Cafe's?), the Cole Slaw was high on crunch, low on comfort.

I was ready to call it a night, but Adgurl wanted to soldier on through dessert. She ordered the New York Cheesecake as I was wincing. As anticipated, it arrived a dry, curdled,over-lemoned mess. Nevermind New York, I've had better from friggin' Alden Merrill.

What was most infuriating about the whole experience is that the bar staff seemed absolutely ill-equipped to handle constructive criticism. In fact, even though we barely touched the ribs, they were left on the bill. While we were exceedingly polite in our feedback about the food, it was as if we were pariahs. Customers known to the bartenders were fawned upon, and we were left sitting with plates full of food, obviously dis-satisfied, with no remedy offered.

Later the Sox would lose to the Indians 13-6. It was just that kind of night.