Plates to Share: 303 Cafe & The Gallows

We walk to 303 Cafe, with Roxie leashed up. The inside is all shiny wood and exposed brick, but we can't sit inside with the dog. The cafe couldn't be nicer and, when there are no outside tables left, the hostess brings a table and chairs out to the sidewalk. We're so happy and Roxie is too.

Our waitress laughs: "You've expanded the cafe!" I'm tempted by the omelets and the tuna melt, but I want something a little smaller. We order smoothies -- mine is the (non-alcoholic) Pina Colada with pineapple and coconut milk -- and we share the MidEast Antipasto. It's a perfect dish to share -- pita chips piled high, olives, a few moist falafel, and little saucers of hummus, tzatziki and tabbouleh. I wish that I had my camera. I really do. Because the sky is blue, and the street is quiet, and my smoothie is delicious. And I don't feel like I'm in Boston anymore.

With Roxie in tow, we head for the tennis court at Jeffries Point. We set the dog up in the shade with a bowl of water and a stick to chew on. We play, zinging the tennis ball across the net. When I look back at Roxie, she's sitting there happily, watching the game. She's such a sweet dog.

When we realize that it's late, we hustle back, drop off Roxie, take the fastest showers ever, and get in the car. We're trying to make it to the South End and traffic is bad. There's a lot of swearing and gesturing coming from the driver's seat. I don't drive in Boston and I'm no help. So, instead, I flip the mirror down and I put on some blush.

We've missed SoWa and we're hungry. We decide to go to The Gallows. I like The Gallows much more than expected. There are a few macabre touches -- skulls and small bird statues -- in keeping with the name and the dining room is beautiful, with walls of light wood planks.

And what do we share? Its version of a Mediterranean platter: the Farmer Platter. Smoked chunks of eggplant, cherry tomatoes and thinly sliced onions, yogurt and chickpeas, quinoa with plenty of parsley, and a little hunk of cremont cheese. The eggplant has a little bite to it, which is especially good paired with the tangy, gooey cremont. The cheese reminds me of the chevre I had so often in Paris... it's not crumbly like the goat cheese that we're used to here in the States.

Smoked eggplant... looks funny, tastes delicious

The bartender is hilarious and enthusiastic ("I've been here since 9... I love it!"). The cocktail menu reflects the move in Boston towards what I'll call crafted cocktails -- lots of playing around with bitters and infused liquor. We have a drink a piece -- mine is the Shanghai Mojito. I don't taste the lychee, but it's a great, refreshing mojito and not too sweet.

The bar is getting busier. But, since it's Sunday and we're a little tired from the sun, it's time to go home.

A Blueberry Indulgence

Confession: I’m an enabler. Yes, you should eat that piece of cake. Champagne is always a good idea. Play hooky... you need a vacation! I will totally bake you cupcakes for your birthday. And those stilettos? Oh, you should definitely buy them.  Definitely.

I love others’ happiness and pleasures – small and large. And the thing about summer is that there are so many joys to share: warm evenings and cold cocktails, sweating in the stands at Fenway as the sun sets, tennis games. Brunch outside, juicy cherries for a snack, and lobster for lunch. 

And blueberries. I’m so happy it’s blueberry season.

When the grocery store had a 2 for 1 deal on pints of blueberries, I felt like the grocery store was enabling my blueberry obsession. Thanks, grocery store. I mean it. Thanks for having my back.

It may be the summer of the egg. But guess what? It’s the week of the blueberry. I’m starting with crunchy, sweet coconut-almond granola over warm blueberry compote.

And then it’s going to get a little wild. Grey Goose, meet blueberries. Blueberries, meet Goose. You two will get along terrifically.

Coconut-Almond Granola over Blueberry-Cinnamon Compote

Coconut-Almond Granola

2 cups old-fashioned rolled oats

3 tablespoons honey

5 tablespoons canola oil

2/3 tablespoon vanilla extract

2/3 cup sliced almonds

2/3 cup tightly packed coconut flakes (I use unsweetened)

1/3 cup walnut pieces

Preheat the oven to 300 degrees.

Combine the oats, almonds, and walnuts in a bowl.

Melt the honey, canola oil, and vanilla extract together in saucepan over medium heat and stir until well combined (1-2 minutes). Pour over the oatmeal mixture and stir well so that the oats are evenly coated.

Spread the oatmeal mixture evenly on a baking sheet and place on the top rack of the oven. Stir the mixture at least every 10 minutes. I’m going to be blunt: it’s best if you watch it like a hawk. Burnt granola happens easily (and does not taste good). Bake the oats for a total of 30 minutes, or until the mixture is golden-brown and still slightly moist.

Let the granola cool on the baking sheet for about 10 minutes, then use a spatula to scoop up the granola and store it in an airtight container. Stir in the coconut flakes. The granola will continue to crisp up. Makes approximately 3 ½ cups of granola.

Blueberry-Cinnamon Compote

1 cup blueberries

¼ teaspoon – ½ teaspoon cinnamon, depending on your taste

½ teaspoon brown sugar

Wash the blueberries in a colander and drain well. Lay them out on several folded paper towels and pat gently to dry with another paper towel. 

Put the blueberries in a saucepan over medium-low heat. Stir gently and, when the blueberries began to soften, very gently mash them with the back of a spoon. Cook until the blueberries have a consistency like a very thick jam, about 5-7 minutes.

Stir in the cinnamon and the brown sugar.

To assemble:

Layer the blueberry compote in a parfait glass (or a martini glass, in my case….) and top with a ½ cup of granola and another 2 tablespoons of blueberries. Serves one person. Definitely, definitely eat it warm. 

Sugary Sugar: a Cupcake from the Kickass Cupcakes Truck

Cupcakes have come to Boston in a major way (only a few years behind New York…). There’s Sweet, Isabelle’s Curly Cupcakes, and many others. And then there are cupcakes on the go. When I passed the Kickass Cupcakes truck outside the Boston Public Library on Friday, I started thinking about cupcakes.

Why do I like cupcakes? They're pretty. They're whimsical. And there are so many different elements: you've got the cupcake, and the icing, and then there might be sprinkles or something sweet inside. I don't remember my mom making too many cupcakes (she's a brownie, cookie, lemon tart kind of mom... the best kind of mom!), but I still feel like a little kid when I have a cupcake. 

I woke up Saturday still thinking about cupcakes (this happens pretty often). 

Later that day, I was on the Greenway and I could have looked for the Cupcake Cart. But I’ve read that the cart carries only two flavors – chocolate and vanilla – and, ever since I made the chocolate chip cookie dough cupcakes, I’ve been into filled cupcakes. I guess they’re called filled. Or stuffed? All I know is I really like cupcakes with something at the center.

According to Kickass’ Twitter feed, the truck had moved from Kenmore to Back Bay. I get off the T at Copley and find the truck parked on Clarendon between Newbury and Boylston, just as advertised. (I stop to take a photo of the "Come N Get Em" sign and a big, burly guy goes, "I like it!")

I have a hard time deciding. There’s the cappuccino, and the mochiatto, and the crème brulee…. Or I could just get a side of frosting for $1 (yowza). I stick to my game plan and order the cookie dough cupcake for $3.

It’s cute. So cute. Just look at that blob of icing!

I take a quick bite and it’s like being hit in the face with sugar. I’m trying to walk and eat and carry my bags of produce from Haymarket ($7.25 for a pint of raspberries, a pint of cherry tomatoes, an avocado, a pineapple, one squash, and a half pound of cherries) and it’s not working. I decide I need to sit down and make a serious study of the cupcake.

It’s a vanilla cupcake with vanilla buttercream, glistening in the heat, and a little bit of cookie dough tucked under the frosting. It is unbelievably sugary. And, to be honest, I’m a little disappointed.

For all of the hype, the cupcake tastes like… well… every other vanilla cupcake. I do like the cookie dough, but there’s not that much of it. And the truck staffers looked totally demoralized… maybe it was the heat? Maybe they don’t like cupcakes? Sad. 

There are a few redeeming qualities: The cookie dough cupcake is super cute, it’s from a local business, and it’s from a food truck. Food trucks are so damn cool (and I’m glad Boston now has its own fair share). I love Clover Food Lab, and I’d like to try the Dining Car (best name ever) and Staff Meal.

When a food truck gets it right, it’s exciting and fun and you feel like you spent your money on something interesting and, in many cases, organic. But, in this case, I walked away with a too sweet taste in my mouth, wondering whether I ordered the wrong cupcake... or went to the wrong truck. 

* For more on food trucks in Boston, check out the list of food carts on the Greenway.

* And I have to ask: What are your favorite food trucks in Boston? 

The Summer of the Egg

I’m all for summertime. Everything just seems a little bit easier. What we do, what we eat, how we live… it’s all different.

I spent Thursday on a private farm about forty-five minutes outside Boston. Green, lit up by the golden afternoon sun, stretched out in front of me in every direction and the air… it sounds so dumb to say, but it really was fresh.

The goats were busy chewing grass, but they stopped and nuzzled me when I stretched out my hand.  They weren’t too interested when they realized I didn’t have snacks for them.

I was told I could go into the chicken coop if I wanted.  Absolutely not.  I liked having the wire fence between those pointy beaks and me. The hens roamed free and came a little too close. 

At the very end of our day, I had one soft-boiled farm egg, almost as an afterthought. The 1½ hour egg at Stir had a creamy, viscous yolk. This one was cooked for five minutes on the stovetop and the yolk was just barely firm.  Different, for sure, but so good. There’s no photo. I ate it too fast.

We drove back into Boston late. After a day on the farm, Back Bay at 11pm seemed  wild and noisy and bright. And really, Back Bay is none of those things.

Yesterday, I woke up with huge, swollen mosquito bites all over my body. They should really be called welts. On my ribcage, my calves, the back of my neck. They’re my proof that I wasn’t in Boston for a day.

And, sitting last night at the outdoor bar at Legal Seafoods in Harvard Square, the goateed guy to my left told me about a 70-minute egg he had just had. 

It’s the summer of the egg.  I called it first.