Red Clay

An upscale family-friendly restaurant, kneaded into shape

by Robert Nadeau

DINING OUT

Red Clay (617) 965-7000 300 Boylston Street (Atrium Mall), Chestnut Hill Open for lunch daily, 11:30 a.m.-3 p.m.; for dinner Mon-Sat, 5-10 p.m., and Sun, 5-9 p.m. AE, DC, MC, Visa Full bar Street-level access via elevator from free parking garage No smoking

When Red Clay opened last May, it had wonderful intentions. The team behind Rialto, we learned, had decided to do a restaurant suitable for working parents and their children. They definitely did not want to do a junior Rialto. But as all parents must discover, intentions do not always match up with reality. In my view, the original menu was not entirely suitable for anyone, and the present Red Clay -- after some changes in the kitchen and some simplification of concepts -- is a very enjoyable Mediterranean restaurant. Yes, a junior Rialto, but one in which children seem comfortable.

The room is arranged around a wood-fired oven, and the menu features breads, pizzas, baked and roasted entrées, and desserts, with many of the dishes served in red-glazed clay pots. Red clay also makes an appearance in bowls set before the children of Play-Doh-like clay, light and flexible, in magenta (close enough to red), white, and yellow.

Food starts with a homey mini-loaf of peasant bread and a red clay saucer of high-quality extra-virgin olive oil. (Oh Lord, if I ever have to be a poor peasant, at least let me be a poor peasant in Tuscany!) The pizza, to judge from the most familiar-looking one -- tomato, basil, ricotta, mozzarella, and parmesan ($8.50) -- is made in the wood oven and is all the better for it. Ours had a very thin crust, slightly charred in spots, not all that crispy, but well flavored under familiar toppings. The danger with gourmet pizza is that kids won't eat it -- the improved ingredients have too much taste. And at some ages, the mere idea that pizza is made up of discrete ingredients is a problem. The only risk here is the obvious tomatoes, very sweet and delicious. Jazzy shreds of fresh basil easily could be swept aside if need be -- onto my plate, please. The cheeses are above average, but not dangerously so. Parents and most children can share this pizza with pleasure.

Also from the wood-fired oven, the roast cod ($16) has the pure, concentrated flavors that made Tuscan food popular in this country, with some bread crumbs to remind us of scrod, and the standard broiled tomatoes. The fresh codfish is superb, done just enough and not a bit more. Underneath are slices of fried potato, grilled zucchini, artichoke heart, and onion, all splendid with just a little oil.

Apple and cranberry pie ($7) is also baked in the hot oven, and it has that slight asymmetry that tells you it is homemade. The crust is very, very flaky and delicious, despite some whole-wheat flour, or perhaps because of it. Instead of vanilla, the ice cream is cinnamon, which is what they eat apple pie with in Wisconsin, and rightly so. (The Yankee habit of cheddar cheese with apple pie has not overtaken me, despite having lived in New England all my life.) The apples inside are well chosen and not cooked to mush. Maple crème brûlée ($6.50) is child-proof and very well made here, with a thin, hard crust of caramel and rich creamy stuff underneath subtly flavored with maple.

Red Clay works a difficult underground location by setting post-Tuscan beams and stucco around very real structural ironwork, and by spacing the tables well. Added café tables "outdoors" in the central atrium contribute effectively to the illusion. The colors are pine, cherrywood, ochre, and a lot of olive -- take the color scheme of Tuscany one step further, and you'd have the earth tones of the 1950s. The room is still too loud, with flagstones (you could fall and break your head), glass fronts, and such, but some of the clanky action that once took place in the open-kitchen area has been moved, and that helps. I saw a number of families with children, and the children were happy enough playing with the red clay and eating in what is now unambiguously a grown-up restaurant.

It was not so back in May. At that point, the room was clearly overstimulating for babies and small children, not Chuck E. Cheese enough for slightly older children, and hilariously inapt for my 13- and 14-year-old guests. Our hosts had obviously forgotten about the age when foods can't look like ingredients and nothing can touch anything else. My guests pored over the menu at length before finally selecting the few dishes they might possibly be able to eat. But the caesar salad ($6.50) was one of those postmodern jobs with two big, soggy toasts instead of croutons, and the anchovies were laid out for easy removal and commentary. The romaine lettuce was in whole leaves, which of course looked too much like lettuce. A grilled chicken-breast sandwich ($7.50) was wildly overcomplicated: bread with nuts (my guests did not eat nuts), mayonnaise with scallions, roast onion, a slice of tomato, big slices of chicken, coleslaw with horseradish in it. I also thought turkey potpie ($14) would be safe, but this one had "CHEF" written all over it. Not only did it smell like parsnips and celery, it contained them -- along with herbs, bacon, peas, carrots, and dumplings, all over-flavored and likely cooked separately. This was comfort food made by someone who was very uncomfortable with the idea of comfort food, and so it had to say, "I am a chef, not a home cook," very, very loudly. The girls survived on lasagna (since dropped from the menu) and the apple pie.

As they ignored their food and gossiped about friends, I realized that I had a problem. I clearly needed to taste the red clay in order to properly write this review, but my daughter would be mortified if she realized what I was doing. I eventually got in a surreptitious morsel. The clay is neutral in flavor, much better than commercial Play-Doh, which, as I remember, tastes like soap.

Robert Nadeau can be reached at robtnadeau@aol.com.

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