In Cambridge and Hingham: worldly dining, neighborly setting
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Boston has spent centuries perfecting (and defending) its neighborhoods. This has been shown, now and again, in an unflattering light. But good food is the great equalizer, and it can do wonders for a neighborhood. When fine cooking moves in - even brought by ``outsiders'' - the locals are bound, eventually, to embrace it. The neighborhood restaurant becomes a beacon as the weary commuter hobbles home.
Three years ago when Patrick Noe and his wife, Janet O'Donoughue, opened Cafe Celador in a basement in Cambridge's 02138, where The Peacock once flourished, they were hoping to be the place where neighbors flocked. They found themselves on the phone explaining where the visitor parking was located - a sure sign that travelers were arriving from parts unknown. As it turns out, Cantabrigians are particularly slow to change. Many are just now taking notice of the little gem in their midst.
Still, Celador is flourishing and among the neighbors who are devoted is a woman who appears to be rounding the bend to 80, a former Latin teacher who takes herself for dinner here several times a week. Once in a while, former students stop to say thanks. O'Donoughue, who runs the front on weekends, is delighted by her.
This unassuming place has only 49 seats and the color - a grayish green that might be celadon in the light of day - is one of the few design elements. Celador, if you say it fast with a Boston accent, will tell you its own origin. ``We played with the spelling of `cellar door,' '' Noe tells me on the phone.
The food is prepared in the style of the south of France, with Spanish and Italian influences. Both of Noe's grandmothers lived in the southeast region of France, just a couple hours from Spain. Noe was born in Paris and raised here (Natick High School, 1973). His father, also a chef, owned Le Montparnasse on Beacon Street in Back Bay until 1967.
Perhaps because he is French and already immersed in one of the great cuisines of the world, Noe isn't out to reinvent the wheel. ``Basically, I'm doing what I know,'' he says.
That means a beautiful grilled duck breast, medium rare, garnished with pleasantly bitter arugula bathed in vinaigrette. The duck is never too rich when backed by this green. Seared foie gras with very sour cherries in verjus brine (Noe brought them from France last summer) is another nice balance of rich, bitter, and sour. He keeps this up in a brochette of shrimp accompanied by onion chutney and a wedge of polenta, briny seafood against sweet onions and smoky cornmeal.
Noe uses Iggy's sourdough bread and apples to stuff a chubby poussin, which is smaller and rounder than a Cornish hen, arranged on sauteed kale with roast garlic and golden raisins. It's brimming with strong tastes, though none overpowering.
``Lollipops'' of lamb, as the popular wholesale butcher John Dewar calls rack of lamb chops (this is his meat, by the way), are oozing lovely juices. The chops are succulent with a little tangy goat cheese crepe, crunchy sauteed broccoli rape, and green olives. I admire that Noe tosses bitter greens onto a meaty dish as if they were universally liked. He'll single-handedly help their cause.
And together Noe and O'Donoughue will spread their considerable charm around this lucky old Cambridge neighborhood.
If one person were capable of motivating a room of 200, it would be Joe Simone, who arrived at Tosca in Hingham last fall from Papa Razzi, and proceeded (successfully) to purge it of its suburban tone. Tosca was always sitting pretty in its spot near Hingham Harbor. The South Shore, as residents endlessly complain, is restaurant hungry. Owners Ed Kane and Gregory Acerra have captured this whole market; they also own Stars and the bakery Fire King, both in sight of Tosca.
This is a big place, a Peter Niemitz renovation of the old Granary building (Niemitz most recently did Clio). He obviously had Napa Valley in mind in this sweeping transformation - high ceilings, dramatic lighting, and a long, open kitchen. Simone is the Pavarotti in this Italian production, moving meals out of there - sometimes 400 in an evening.
Before Simone, people went to Tosca when they didn't feel like driving into Boston. Now, cars are going in the other direction.
Some dishes, like a bourrida of seafood in tomato essence (a version of a dish he read about in a Ligurian cookbook), are very sophisticated. He manages to give it a long-simmered taste, though the seafood is freshly sauteed. He cooks a little stew of onions, tomatoes, fish stock, and wine for a long time to achieve that intense, sweet-tomato taste. And then monkfish and shrimp are sauteed, mussels and clams steamed open, and the lot combined. ``The Ligurian housewife would start cooking it in the morning,'' says Simone. ``Americans want fish cooked at the last minute.''
Simone thinks about these things. He grew up in Barrington, R.I., and studied applied mathematics and economics at Brown University. He stopped off to help a friend in a restaurant en route to a job juggling numbers and never returned to mathematics. He stayed in the kitchen, but he hasn't forgotten how to crunch. On a typical Saturday night, he tells me, it takes 17 minutes from the time the server rings in the entree to the time it hits the table. So, there are always a couple of chickens grilling, waiting to be ordered. ``I stay a chicken or two ahead,'' he says.
That means that the partially boned chicken arrives perfectly roasted, long enough off the grill to let the juices settle, which they do - onto luscious scallion mashed potatoes and slender beans. Thick, pink, beautifully tender slices of brine-cured pork sit on warm applesauce, the meat just mildly smoky and salty. Simone knows how to use the wood grill to his advantage, without producing a tableful of same-tasting food.
Fried calamari is totally captivating in a little wooden fruit container with a lemony, garlic mayonnaise. Plump oysters are roasted in their shells with meaty little blankets of pancetta.
Only two dishes aren't up to Simone. One begins all right: a plateful of homemade pasta with a light shaving of Italian truffle, butter, cream, and a dot of truffle oil. It is intensely aromatic, not that rich, but within 10 minutes of arriving at the table, it solidifies. The risotto with Duxbury mussels and preserved lemons (long cultural reach here from Cape Cod to North Africa) isn't terribly creamy, as it should be.
The ``hysterical'' ice cream sandwich with crisp gingerbread is, as expected, hard to eat. Although too clovey for some, it's a mess of fun. Simone uses Westport Rivers' verjus, an ancient bitter grape juice just becoming popular, and turns it into a granita, flavored with bay leaves. Beside it sits an orange granita flavored with fresh rosemary. These chunky ices, with sugared clementines and candied peel as garnish, turn out to be worth the drive.
