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Just in time for winter, a guide to the richest, heaviest dishes in Boston, Portland, and Providence
BY RUTH TOBIAS
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Where to find them
BOSTON • Beacon Hill Bistro, Beacon Hill Hotel, 25 Charles Street, Boston, (617) 723-1133. • Bob the Chef’s, 604 Columbus Avenue, Boston, (617) 536-6204. • Matt Murphy’s Pub, 14 Harvard Street, Brookline (617) 232-0188. • Pigalle, 75 S. Charles Street, Boston, (617) 423-4944. • Pizzeria Regina, 11 1/2 Thatcher Street, Boston, (617) 227-0765. • Restaurante Cesaria, 266 Bowdoin Street, Dorchester, (617) 282-1998. • Sandrine’s, 8 Holyoke Street, Cambridge, (617) 497-5300. • S&S Restaurant, 1334 Cambridge Street, Cambridge, (617) 354-0777. PORTLAND • Bintliff’s American Café, 98 Portland Street, Portland, (207) 774-0005. • Bogusha’s Polish Restaurant, 825 Stevens Avenue, Portland, (207) 878-9618. • Gilbert’s Chowder House, 92 Commercial Street, Portland, (207) 871-5636. • Hugo’s, 88 Middle Street, Portland, (207) 774-8538. • Old Munich Restaurant, Café & Biergarten, 6 First Street, Topsham, (207) 729-1688. • Restaurant Bandol, 90 Exchange Street, Portland, (207) 347-7155. PROVIDENCE • Bolivian Restaurant, 1040 Chalkstone Avenue, Providence, (401) 521-0000. • Camille’s, 71 Bradford Street, Providence, (401) 751-4812. • Downcity Diner, 132 Weybosset, Providence, (401) 331-9217. • Mexico Restaurant, 948 Atwells Avenue, Providence, (401) 331-4985. • Parkside Rotisserie, 76 S. Main Street, Providence, (401) 331-0003. • Providence Prime, 279 Atwells Avenue, Providence, (401) 454-8881. — Ruth Tobias
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Slogging through snowdrifts, whipped by wind and clenched against the cold, we weather-beaten souls require — indeed, deserve — extra sustenance to withstand the New England winter. For all its chill-chasing, rib-sticking, habit-forming goodness, we call the robust fare we crave during Yuletide "comfort food." And the more familiar we become with cuisines from around the world, the more we find that fits the bill. No wonder, then, "earth" and "heart" are anagrams: the best such dishes truly come straight from both, and are hearty and earthy in every way. But where to find these dishes, the hardiest of the hearty? We’ve pinpointed the following food shelters from the storm: behold the key to our map. BOSTON Cassoulet at Beacon Hill Bistro and Pigalle ($21/$24). Hailing from Languedoc, the mess o’ pottage that is cassoulet typically takes days to make; you can’t just pop one in the microwave when the mood strikes. You can, however, pop on over to Beacon Hill Bistro or Pigalle, where Benjamin Knack and Marc Orfaly, respectively, have already fixed your fix. Both chefs’ versions brim with the essentials — white beans, pork loin, pork sausage, bacon, and duck confit, prepared separately and simmered together — but subtle recipe differences make for deeply distinctive results. Knack goes duck-wild, first cooking his beans in roast-duck stock with aromatics — namely onion, garlic, and carrot (which he ultimately discards) — and then incorporating duck sausage and seared duck breast. The whole is topped with brioche crumbs, and the effect is one of richness, pure and simple. Orfaly takes a more variegated tack, relying on chicken stock for the beans as well as on duck fat and bacon drippings, then adding chunks of lamb, tomatoes, and white wine to the mix for a more complexly rich outcome (he also retains the aromatics, in this case onion, garlic, and celery). You can’t go wrong with either interpretation — unless by "wrong" you mean five pounds heavier than you were before you ordered it. Choucroute at Sandrine’s ($26). Same idea, different province. Choucroute, Alsace’s culinary claim to fame, is also a slow-cooked, meat-laden affair whose key ingredients — charcuterie and sauerkraut — reflect the borderland region’s French-German heritage. At native Alsatian Raymond Ost’s bistro in Harvard Square, the cabbage that lends the dish its name obtains maximum flavor from braising in duck fat with riesling and juniper berries. Boiled new potatoes and no fewer than six varieties of meat do the rest — namely grilled smoked pork chops, ham hocks, wieners, weisswurst, and the coarser, spicier baurenwurst and bratwurst. The combined flavor is at once smoky and strangely delicate, mild and soothing, though the Dijon mustard that traditionally accompanies the dish delivers a final kick. Of course, it’s nothing compared to the wallop packed by the sheer calories. The Giambotta at Pizzeria Regina ($16.99). It’s the legendary septuagenarian pizza joint’s most celebrated pie, named for the sort of everything-but-the-kitchen-sink concoctions the owner’s mama liked to serve. Mounded atop a base of red sauce and mozzarella are enough mushrooms, peppers, onions, pepperoni, sausage, salami, and Pecorino to weigh in at a full three pounds — and that’s without the optional anchovies. According to general manager Dominic Strazzullo, you should order your Giambotta well-done, "because all the toppings come out really nice," the meats well-browned and a touch crispy. And, he adds, don’t bother reheating the inevitable leftovers: "It’s good eating when it’s cold, because everything coagulates and gets all glumpy, and the flavors just get better when they’re mixed up" in true Giambotta fashion. Triple-decker corned-beef sandwiches at S&S Restaurant ($7.95–$8.95). Speaking of legends, S&S has enjoyed similar longevity (it’s been open since 1919), thanks in part to its towering deli sandwiches. It’s not just that the slices of (in this case) corned beef are piled high; it’s also that they’re not alone in the pile. In one variation, schmeers of chopped liver act like cement in the wall of brisket; in another, layers of tongue and Swiss are the building blocks, Russian dressing their mortar. (Of course, we’re speaking metaphorically as far as heavy construction materials go — though after a few bites hit your gut, you may begin to wonder.) Meanwhile, the choice of bread is technically yours, but anything other than rye is more of a mistake than a choice. As for sides, all sandwiches come with potato chips, pickles, and homemade coleslaw. Room for dessert? These triple-deckers don’t even leave room to think about it. Katchupada at Restaurante Cesaria ($7.50). Cape Verdean cuisine may sound exotic, but the Portuguese–West African hybrid is actually nothing if not homey. Chock-a-block stews are its mainstay; katchupa (or catchupa), for one, qualifies as the national dish. Since its contents can vary considerably according to availability, katchupa is hard to define except by its versatility. However, two ingredients generally prevail: hominy, or dried, cracked corn, and beans, often lima, stone, and/or kidney. Such is the case at Cesaria, Dorchester’s quasi-upscale, quietly funky Cape Verdean establishment, where the signature katchupada (meaning "katchupa feast") abounds as well with pork and kale. The resulting flavor is at once lively and deep — and it runs all the deeper through the twice-cooked version, katchupa refugada ($7.50), which, like refried beans or Tuscan ribollita, gains in intensity and crispiness what it loses in soupiness. Sides of fried egg and sausage put this dish of leftovers on a new level of comfort. Irish breakfast at Matt Murphy’s ($8.95). Of course, upping the contentment point is what fried eggs and sausage do best, especially at breakfast. And that goes double for breakfast in a pub like the real-deal Matt Murphy’s, where the pair keeps cheery company with beans baked on the premises, black and white puddings fresh from the Smokehouse in Roxbury, bacon, and grilled tomatoes. (Note to pudding newbies: just think of it as sausage, with a little oatmeal thrown in for kicks.) As for matters of size, well, concern about portion control is simply incompatible with commitment to an Irish breakfast: if you’re going for a joy ride in a red Ferrari, your first thought probably isn’t buckling up. Which is just as well, since, as proprietor Siobhan Carew explains, "this is a family-owned pub — things aren’t really standardized. If a big guy orders the dish, I might throw a few extra strips on. It comes out how it comes out." That said, count on roughly two of everything (except the beans) — and count on it coming out great. Smothered pork-chop sandwich at Bob the Chef’s ($7.95). Granted, from chitterlings to chicken and waffles, everything on the menu at this Southern-barbecue joint qualifies as hearty — make that heart-stopping. But it’s the fried and smothered items that yield the highest digestive-insult-to-injury ratios. Take the pork-chop sandwich. To batter-fry a full chop and douse it with meat gravy is one thing; to serve it up on white bread, and then throw a sweet, crumbly corn muffin into the bargain, is another. And to offer you a choice of sides in addition to all that is still another — especially when the choices include hefty portions of macaroni and cheese, rice and beans, and candied yams. Add up those things, and what do you get? More calories than you’ll need for a whole week — and one heck of a fine time taking them in. PORTLAND Cervelles de veau/pot-au-feu at Bandol (prix fixe). One of a number of area restaurants to forgo à la carte service, Bandol specializes in three-to-five-course custom feasts (prices range from about $40 to $60 per person). No matter what you order, then, satiety’s a likelihood, but these two ultra-rich French dishes make it a guarantee. Traditionally prepared calves’ brains are sliced, flour-coated, pan-fried with capers, and served with savoy cabbage sautéed in a brown-butter vinaigrette that enhances the buttery quality of the meat. A classic pot-au-feu, meanwhile, features short ribs that are marinated in red wine, then braised with cipollini onions in a veal stock that forms the basis for the intensely meaty finished sauce; celeriac, red-bliss potatoes, and sweet potatoes round out the entrée. And to think that these dishes are accompanied by at least a soup or salad, if not also an amuse-bouche and cheese platter! It’s enough to fry your own brain. Foie gras brûlé/pork trio at Hugo’s (prix fixe). Like Bandol, the much-esteemed Hugo’s has jumped on the prix fixe bandwagon with a $44 three-course menu that includes this appetizer and entrée, the ultimate in unctuousness. In the former, a signature for chef Rob Evans, the ever-golden goose liver takes a bath in Sauternes, wraps up in cheesecloth and rolls around in sea salt, and finally gets sliced, sprinkled with turbinado sugar, and briefly torched until a crust forms. Served with a sherry sabayon and pecan-raisin toasts, it’s at once pungent and creamy-sweet. The pork trio is likewise wonderfully complex in both flavor and texture. Tenderloin that has been cooked in a vacuum-sealed bag remains juicy and moist when served over heirloom-corn grits mixed with wheat berries, themselves saltily tinged with truffle butter. Cracklings, or homemade pork rinds, are simply strips of skin that have been dried and deep-fried so that, according to Evans, they are indeed "crackling when they arrive at the table." And what the menu lists as "fried pig head" is, in Evans’s words, "a little fried hockey puck" made of tongue, ear, and cheek scraps that have been braised in lardo, rolled up like pancetta, hung overnight, and cut into "disks of face meat, which is gamy" enough to stand up to a side of house-pickled cabbage. Whether you’ll be game enough to stand up to a meal like this is another question. Seafood Chili at Gilbert’s Chowder House ($7/$8.25 in bread bowl). A long-time dockside fave, Gilbert’s provides a classic lunch-counter backdrop for its all-American soups and stews, including this tangy, good-for-what-ails-ya-and-even-what-doesn’t mélange. The chili part is simple — kidney beans, onions, peppers, tomatoes; the twist derives from the shrimp, clams, and chunks of scallop and haddock that turn a cowboy staple into a coastal surprise (one that isn’t, after all, so very far removed from the tomato-based fish stews of the Mediterranean). Topped with cheddar, served in a bread bowl produced by a local bakery, and accompanied by tortilla chips, it’s got plenty to satisfy both the health nut and the junk-food junkie in you. Baked Reuben at Bintliff’s American Café ($8). Roger Bintliff describes his spin on the famed Reuben sandwich as "a classic New American dish. It takes things from everywhere — Germany, Switzerland, Greece, California." If he forgets to mention that the historical origins of the definitive ingredient — corned beef — remain in dispute, it’s only because the present-day product originates, quite indisputably, right under his nose; nearly a ton of Black Angus brisket is prepared in-house every month. Bintliff’s concoction also boasts Swiss cheese (namely mellow Emmenthal, blended with sharper Norwegian Jarlsberg for an extra boost), sauerkraut, and homemade Russian dressing. It diverges from the standard Reuben, then, not in its contents, but in the container itself, as the former are wrapped in phyllo dough and the whole parcel is first pan-seared in roasted garlic oil, then baked, and finally served with a side salad with yet more homemade dressing. What more could you ask for? Actually, a knife and fork — this ain’t the Earl of Sandwich’s neatly packaged convenience food. This is a gratifying mess. Polish platter at Bogusha’s Polish Restaurant ($7.95). The folks at Bogusha’s will, paradoxically enough, tell you with pride of their culinary humility — a heritage that emphasizes the homey over the haute, substance over style. More important, however, they can show you. This four-part sampler includes golabki, or cabbage stuffed with beef and rice; two piroghi (one containing more beef and more cabbage, the other potato and farmer’s cheese); garlic kielbasa; and sauerkraut. A tad salty, a tad tart, but mostly mild and soft, these specialties smack of alimentary atavism; we glean from them old-country tastes, in every sense of the term, that we rarely have the patience to cultivate these days. Here’s our chance. Koenig Ludwig Teller at Old Munich Restaurant ($18.95). Actually, we’ve got a second chance over in Topsham, where this Bavarian biergarten’s somewhat corny atmosphere doesn’t negate the seriousness of the food. Charcuterie is priority number one, as the sausage sampler named for old Mad King Ludwig attests. No fewer than four are offered up for you to try. Usually, they include Nürnberger rostbratwurst, a finger-length pork-belly sausage flavored with marjoram; nutmeg-tinged Münchner schweinswurst; thick, mild veal weisswurst; and garlicky knockwurst. (Occasionally, any of eight other varieties may pinch-hit.) With these come four sides, also homemade: velvety spätzle and potato salad offset the more piquant sauerkraut and red cabbage. And if, by some freak occurrence, you’ve still got room for dessert, a slice of the prinzregententorte ($4.25) — a chocolate-frosted eight-layer sponge cake — should more than fill the gap. PROVIDENCE Pork chop and applesauce at Downcity Diner ($16). If the dish’s moniker doesn’t promptly elicit the words "ain’t that swell," your pop-culture frame of reference is either too dated or too recent. But anyone (with the possible exception of, oh, vegetarians) can appreciate the dish itself. Just a big grilled chop paired with a goodly dollop each of mashed potatoes and freshly prepared applesauce, it’s as simple as can be. Even simpler, in fact, since its size renders it a no-brainer for leftovers as well; according to bartender Alfonso Rivera, who orders it before nearly every shift, "you can take it home and reheat it and it tastes just as good." Or perhaps, to paraphrase Peter Brady imitating Bogey, just as swell. Roast prime rib of beef at Providence Prime ($35). A guide such as this just wouldn’t be complete without the inclusion of at least one good old beefsteak. But why this one? Well, for starters, it’s a full 28 ounces of well-marbled, ultra-tender prime. Offered only on Friday and Saturday nights, it’s served up with your choice of sauce — and not a wholesome one among them, either, from béarnaise and Burgundy demi-glace to herb butter and Stilton to horseradish cream and whiskey cream au poivre. Moreover, it’s emphatically not served with anything else; baked potatoes, chophouse salads, and the like come separately so as not to detract from the wonder that is nearly two pounds of the butcher’s most extravagant cut of meat. Pan-fried veal rib chop at Camille’s ($38). Of course, veal chops are no slouches in the meat department either. At Camille’s — for all its renovations, still the oldest of old-school red-sauce joints — the uncommon cut inspires a button-popping variation on the Roman classic saltimbocca (of which a straightforward version is also available). Breaded and pan-fried, the chop is topped with slices of prosciutto and buffalo mozzarella, ladled over with tomato-basil sauce, and served atop your choice of pasta, from farfalle to linguine. Subtle it isn’t; savory, multi-textured, and robust it certainly is. Admits bartender Guillermo Gonzales, "I haven’t seen anyone finish it yet." Consider yourself challenged. Parrillada at Bolivian Restaurant ($16.99). For the past few years, barbecue-savvy Americans on this side of the equator have been eagerly testing the waters — or rather the fires — on the other side. First it was Argentinean asado and Brazilian churrasco; now the grilling traditions of Bolivia have gone on display. Simplicity and generosity distinguish the parrillada, or mixed grill — not least at the Bolivian, where a selection of four meats easily serves two. Featuring done-to-a-turn rib-eye steak, short ribs, chicken breast, and house-made chorizo criollo (a pork-and-beef sausage), the parrillada comes with sides that are themselves rather meaty. Arroz con queso blends the region’s representative fresh white cheese with mozzarella to give white rice zing; ensalada rusa is a creamy salad of potatoes, beets, peas, and carrots; boiled yucca completes the starch fest. Meanwhile, for budding connoisseurs, the deluxe mixed grill, or parrillada boliviana ($16.99), ups the adventure ante by substituting the beef and chicken with blood sausage and sautéed tripe; pork chops are included as well. Long Island duck at Parkside Rotisserie ($21.95). If the word "succulent" applies to anything, it applies to spit-roasted duck, with its golden, crackling skin and faintly musky flesh. The Parkside’s version pays simultaneous homage to classic duck preparations from two different culinary traditions: first, it boasts an orange-espresso glaze hearkening back to the glory days of French nouvelle’s canard à l’orange; second, it comes with a crêpe that, stuffed with julienne stir-fried vegetables, evokes the trappings of Peking duck. (Asian flavors also inhere in the five-spice powder that spikes a crowning dollop of macaroni.) The dish as a whole then manages to strike a balance between sweetness and umami (the mysterious "fifth taste" possibly associated with the presence of glutamate), delicacy and body. Make that the dish as a half; after all, it’s half a bird you’ll be getting. Assuming, that is, you’re not chicken. Goat at Mexico Restaurant ($9). As it’s prepared at this popular joint, shredded barbecued goat is like pulled pork, but with a dark side — both richer and gamier. A platter of the stuff comes with rice, pinto beans (the soupy kind, not the refits), and addictive homemade corn tortillas. But it also serves as a filling in any number of specialties, including tacos, tostadas, and burritos, complete with all the usual fixings, from lettuce, tomato, and onion to cheddar and sour cream. You might say it’s the alimentary antidote to a bad day: get your goat before someone else does. Ruth Tobias can be reached at ruthtobias@earthlink.net .
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