Blue Ribbon Barbecue, Arlington, MA

Blue Ribbon Barbecue
908 Massachusetts Avenue
Arlington, Massachusetts
(781) 648-7427

I’ve generally been unenthused by Fourth-of-July festivities or culinary fare. The advent of the day often depresses me because it’s the day I realize one-third of the summer is already gone, in many cases wasted away with missed opportunities to soak in sun or enjoy the longer days. And fireworks — a series of short-lived, superficial bursts of color—just aren’t intriguing enough for me to endure crazed, screaming, or drunken crowds. Aimee Mann touched on similar sentiments in her song “4th of July”:

Today’s the fourth of July
another June has gone by
And when they light up our town I just think
what a waste of gunpowder and sky

—from “Whatever,” 1993, The Imago Recording Company

Food-wise, for much of my teenage and young-adult life Independence Day meant a paternally imposed and catered under-the-back-porch cookout. The event was attended by my sister Bea and me and sometimes the family cat, with my mom “joining” us from the family room, just beyond the backdoor screen. Also present were the ol’ gnarly picnic table — which took up half the makeshift patio under the porch, the underside of which was laced with spider webs and other nests of nature (the locale was dark, dusty, and grimy, but definitely shady!) — charcoal-grilled hot dogs and burgers, buns, rolls, cole slaw and potato salad from DeMoulas/Market Basket, assorted beverages, and the ubiquitous squeeze bottle of Plochman’s yellow mustard. To thwart insectile attempts to join the feast, exposed food received additional shade in the form of a screen-food-dome-thingy most likely purchased from a Walter Drake or Lillian Vernon catalog. There was usually a fly swatter close by.

After I moved out of my parent’s abode, I was an independent Independence-Day reveler and diner, making a point of avoiding all July-Fourth-themed fetes and fare, until I met my then husband-to-be, who had his own Fourth-of-July ritual: lounging in a comfy beach chair on his North Cambridge seventh-floor Boston-facing balcony, peering at distant Esplanade and other local fireworks, and sucking on Redbones “Barbecue Belt” Ribs. And now our Independence Days revolve around this tradition, though with the balcony and fireworks now out of the equation for over three years (he often calls me “the girl who took his balcony away” after we started shacking up together in a new apartment), the focus is decidedly on the barbecued food. In early June we start counting down the weeks, then the days, then the hours, to this drippy, sticky, smoky, celebratory treat, replete with pulled pork, ribs, baked beans, collard greens, cornbread (the fake sweet and cakey kind), black-eyed corn, and whatever traditional or unexpected side the local BBQ joint offers.

That local joint is now Blue Ribbon Barbecue, just thirty minutes round-trip on foot. (The ritual of walking for your BBQ is akin to singing for your supper; we feel more like we’ve earned our Southern-influenced chow after strolling softly towards it.) I was first introduced to Blue Ribbon by a good friend who was wowed by the chow at the Ribbon’s Newton location and suggested we do Blue Ribbon takeout when she visited Arlington one day. Gary was familiar with the goods from patronizing their kiosk in the River-Street Cambridge Whole Foods.

Rarely are we disappointed by Blue Ribbon offerings; we often get Blue Ribbon takeout when we want to celebrate something, be it a birthday, a job offer, or the long-overdue market listing of an old condo. Below we comment on this year’s Great Independence Day Pig Out. Actually, if we insist on takeout from Blue Ribbon, it’s the Day-Before-Independence-Day Pig Out since they’re closed every year on July Fourth. (If they saw the crowd Redbones pulled in each Fourth of July, maybe they’d reconsider.)

Inside the Blue Ribbon

You can order many of Blue Ribbon’s barbecued meats as platters, though most are available in bulk and a few can be made into sandwiches. We usually order platters, which come with cornbread and a choice of two sides. Just this year I noticed the menu listed a Big Green Salad (just like on Seinfeld!), maybe I’ll consider this healthier alternative next time.

I alternate between the Barbecued Half Chicken Platter and the Pulled Chicken. This year, the Pulled Chicken. Though the chicken was dry and hard to swallow in spots, these tough spots were clearly the white-meat pieces; darker-meat pieces were melt-in-your-mouth tender. With a condiment-container-full of their sweet barbecue sauce mixed into half the heap, it’s quite the satisfying half-heap. The coleslaw was clean-tasting with a hint of celery seed (real or imagined), and wasn’t dripping with mayo because I transferred the slaw to a plate with a fork. As nice as the coleslaw tasted, I found it much more exciting when I combined each forkful with a bit of the saucy chicken. The baked beans were smooth with a nice molasses finish — a novelty to me since I’m used to my baked beans in a spicy or tomato-based sauce. The cornbread was dry but sweet, a great barbecue-sauce sopper-upper.

Gary got the Trio Platter, for which he chose North Carolina Pulled Pork, Kansas City Burnt Ends, and Memphis Ribs. The pulled pork had a nice smoky flavor and was not too tough. The ends were very moist, though the flavor from the sauce came through before the flavor of the meat. He liked that the ribs were not too saucy, had nice smoke rings, and their meat fell off the bone easily, but at least one of them was fattier than he would have liked. The greens had a “definite collard greeniness,” though he “didn’t get a whole lot of flavor” from the dirty rice. His take on the cornbread was the opposite of mine: “moist but not very tasty.” Go figure.

The platters from Blue Ribbon are so generous that both of us could eat just a little more than half and still have complete meals leftover (see the plated half-platters, below). These half-platters can be filling or downright gut-busting, but remain our Independence Day fare of choice.

Blue Ribbon BBQ platters and plated half-platters: Top Left: Trio Combo (with North Carolina Pulled Pork, Kansas City Burnt Ends, and Memphis Ribs), with sides of Collard Greens and Dirty Rice. Top Right: Pulled Chicken with sides of Baked Beans and Cole Slaw

For this post I’m writing from memory as old as a week or older; please forgive the lack of sensory detail as I write about our fine and not-so-fine dining experiences in Portland, Maine.

West End Deli

The West End Deli, 133 Spring Street, Portland, Maine

West End Deli, Spring Street, Portland. This photo is from Google maps; when we visited the deli, there were tables and chairs, not benches, on the sidewalk.

On Memorial Day we arrived at the Portland train station on the Amtrak Downeaster at about 2:35 and were quite ready for a long-awaited lunch. On the cab ride to the hotel, we kept our eyes pealed for potential luncheon sources. Just seconds from the hotel, we both espied a small storefront with tables, chairs, and a few patrons munching away. As we approached on foot, the sidewalk chalkboard sign boasted what would prove to be a most delightful lunch choice—the special of the day, the Roslin. This sandwich wrap contained, if I remember correctly, turkey, avocado, black beans, and apple salsa. I usually eschew the wrap part of wraps, opting instead for the “in-a-bowl” versions. But today, I wanted, and ordered, a wrap. I’m on vacation, dammit! A spinach wrap to be precise. It was the spunky tartness of the green-apple salsa that made this wrap memorable in a very good way. Gary ordered a quesadilla wrap and liked it.  We ate at the outdoor tables, as the seating inside was cramped. West End is a deli-grocery store; we walked to the back to the deli to order our sandwiches and whatnot, took the slips of paper that detailed our orders, grabbed our bottled drinks from the refrigerated foods section, and paid the kind lady at the front register.

Enzo Pizzeria

Enzo Pizzeria, 576A Congress Street, Portland, Maine, with pizza from Otto Pizza, 576 Congress Street, Portland, Maine

Pizza wasn’t our first choice for dinner — or our second — or third — but all those choices were closed today — not because it was Memorial Day, but simply because it was Monday — the day most of Portland is apparently fasting or dining in. We finally peeked into a tiny but trendy-looking restaurant/bar serving pizza from it’s next door neighbor. They were clearing off one of the few tables (for us, I had hoped), so we wandered on in.

Trying to be prudent on our first night away (and having had a relatively late lunch), we decided to split a small Sweet Italian Sausage & Vidalia Onion pizza — with added mushrooms, and have small side garden salads. The pizza was good. The salad was okay — I found it hard to get past the fake-looking wood bowls the salad was served in. They reminded me of the salad bowls from my first visit to Hilltop Steakhouse back in the 80s. Nothing about these bowls says “garden fresh.” A superficial judgment, yes, but as Ellie Krieger and others keep reminding us, “we eat with our eyes.”

Mornings In Paris

Mornings In Paris, 13 Exchange Street, Portland, Maine

A good breakfast joint is hard to find almost anywhere I go. When traveling with other people, for me such a place would have something for everyone — omelets, sausages, and other savories; sweet things such as pancakes and pastries; and kinder, gentler fare such as fruit and cereal. If you’re lucky, you’ll stumble upon a place serving good eats from at least two of these categories. Fresh fruit offerings seem to be a rarity. This was the reality we faced as we wandered Arts District and Old Port street, with tummies rumbling and rain threatening. Our initial destination was O’Naturals, which, according to the 2009-2010 Portland travel guide, served breakfast — and, we had hoped, a fresh, healthy one at that (we were familiar with their luncheon fare). We finally figured out that O’Naturals changed their name and packed up and left for Falmouth, so we decided, defeated, to venture into what temptingly looked like a French patisserie.

Mornings In Paris, Exchange Street, Portland, Maine

Sidewalk leading to Mornings In Paris, Exchange Street, Portland, Maine

Alas, trying not to start eating badly so early in the trip, I scanned the pastry case of croissants, sweet rolls, biscuits, and scones. “Toasted blueberry bagel with cream cheese,” I blurted out, seemingly against my own will. Alas, the bagel itself was fine, except for the garlic taste it obviously absorbed from its former neighbor in the case. And the cream cheese was actually “cream cheese spread” in one of those little sealed plastic containers that imply “eat me now or eat me a year from now, it doesn’t matter.” Oh, goody. I had the flavored coffee (Coffee by Design’s Hazelnut, I think), which I thought was horrid, but Gary thought his coffee was good. And though the music in the place was unbelievably loud — I mean rock-concert loud — fortunately the counter gal was able (and willing) to turn it down for me straight away. Overall, the atmosphere was much better than the food.

Standard Bakery

The Standard Bakery Company, 75 Commercial Street, Portland, Maine

I’d been dreaming about The Standard Bakery Company since I first skimmed the rave reviews on TripAdvisor. After our “french” pastries, we strolled towards the bakery, “just to see where it is,” of course, since we just had breakfast. If only they had tables to sit down and eat that, we would have gone straight there for breakfast (lack of healthy offerings notwithstanding). Once we found the bakery, I coyly asked Gary, So, shall we take a peek inside? But how can you go walk in, look at the luscious-looking wares, and not order anything? So I got an apricot galette; Gary, an asiago-semolina ladder-shaped pastry. He thought his pastry was okay. I thought the galette too rich and buttery in texture but not taste – more a bland puck of tart crust with too little apricot filling to cut through the crusty monotony. So, even a week later now, I wish I’d chosen something else, like a morning bun or brioche, or had visited again later in the week (just to peek inside, of course).

Public Market House

Pie in the Sky Pizza and Kamasouptra at the Public Market House, 28 Monument Square, Portland, Maine

After escaping a rainy morning by meandering around the Portland Museum of Art, we were seeking something close by and light because it was still rainy and we had a very nice dinner at Five fifty-five to look forward to. We had different ideas on what we wanted for lunch, so we headed to the Public Market House, which had several food purveyors on two floors, with a general seating area on the second floor. Gary liked the veggie chili he got from Kamasouptra; I wanted something that at least remotely resembled fresh vegetables, so I ordered a large farmers market salad from a pizza vendor, of all places. In the salad was cauliflower, broccoli, mushrooms and greens. All was fresh and good for the most part, except that the only salad dressings available were non-light offerings in foil packets. It came with a breadstick made from the pizza dough, which was good but even when dipped in honey-mustard dressing.

Five fifty-five

Five fifty-five, 555 Congress Street, Portland, Maine

This was our big splurge for the week. We’d already visited Fore Street a few years ago, so we decided to try another one of Portland’s finest. Five fifty-five had a cool vibe: funky sophistication without pretentiousness. I loved how they integrated popular office supplies into their overall look. You had me at gilded binder clips . . .

Me: I started with a sidecar cocktail variation, which was intriguing but I cannot comment more because I know little about cocktails. I had the warm goat cheese salad (with arugula!) or simple farmer salad. I honestly can’t remember which salad I ordered, but it was probably the goat cheese salad, since I adore arugula and I already had a “farmer’s” salad for lunch. Either way, it was a flavorful and fresh salad and I gobbled up every last leaf.  The Three Little Pigs entrée featured pork done three ways: chop, crackling, and somehow influencing the flavor of a side of baked beans. The chop had nice texture, but was almost flavorless–like weak, oversalted ham. But the “would you like s’more” dessert was exquisite: the chocolate panna cotta was richly chocolate without being too sweet; it had a wonderful consistency, creamy but resilient. It was paired with a heavenly toasted handmade marshmallow and a so-so handmade graham cracker, which I didn’t like for the same reason I didn’t like the apricot galette from this morning–more butter and flour than flavor.

Gary: Pinot Gris to drink. The Bang’s Island mussels were fabulous — abundant and in a creamy wine sauce. The dish could have used another slab of the grilled bread, though, since there was so much fine sauce to sop up. (A fun spectacle and an example of the attentive, friendly service: the server would watch and wait until the first shell bowl was filled with empty shells, then would hurry over to the table to replace it with a clean bowl). Gary could not sense any truffle in the truffled lobster “mac ‘n cheese,” and though the lobster chunks in the dish were large, there were only two of them, so the entire dish was not infused with the taste of lobster either. The cheese sauce left him flat — not a smooth finish, not creamy enough. His confection plate dessert (warm chocolate chip cookies, salted caramels, and hand-rolled truffles) was fine. The salted caramels were nice, but they had to be scraped by fork or by front teeth off the waxed paper wrapper. The cookies were warm and full of chocolate chips, but did not have the impact of a good home-baked cookie. In retrospect, Gary suspects the truffles might have been from Dean’s Sweets (see below).

Bintliff’s American Café

Bintliff’s American Café, 98 Portland Street, Portland, Maine

Bintliff’s was another place I wanted to visit, based on a number of positive reviews. After reading the menu posted on their Web site, it was a no-brainer — Gary was impressed by their myriad benedict options; my eyes had gone straight to “banana-pecan pancakes.” I couldn’t wait. When we got there, we were greeted immediately by a friendly, outgoing young man who took us straight upstairs to a nice, quiet booth. We placed our orders and I sat in eager anticipation of my banana pancakes. Minutes later, the server came up to us, grabbed an adjacent chair, spun it around, sat down, looked me straight in the eye and said, “I hate to have to tell you this, but we don’t have any bananas today.” I gasped. “They just didn’t arrive in the order. We get bananas every morning, except today for some reason. I am so sorry. Can I get you something else instead?”  Grrrrr. Forgetting that I had also eyed the gingerbread pancakes with interest just minutes earlier, I blurted out “blueberry would be fine instead. Thanks.”  Ah, well. The blueberry pancakes were very good, except for the fact that they were not banana.

Gary had ended up ordering the homemade corned-beef hash with three-potato home fries. The hash, Gary said, “must have had an entire cow’s worth of corned beef in it. I have never seen such a large meat-to-potato ratio in a corned-beef hash.” To clarify: this was a good thing. One criticism: he prefers his hash a little more crispy.

The Farmers Table

The Farmers Table, 205 Commercial Street, Portland, Maine

The Farmer's Table, Commercial Street, Portland, Maine

We stopped at The Farmers Table for something light and simple and to cool our heels after walking around Old Port all morning. Me: salad with chicken and avocado, and iced tea; I liked both very much. Gary: veggie burger and fries and a pickle. He thought the burger tasted like turkey stuffing, rather sage-y — not bad in and of itself, but definitely a distraction.

Dean’s Sweets

Dean’s Sweets, 82 Middle Street, Portland, Maine

After a satisfying visit to the fabulous food-oriented Rabelais bookstore, I couldn’t help noticing the sweets shop next door. Shall we take a peek inside? It’s a small place with one gal manning it, so I felt obliged, of course, to sample some of the truffle bits on the counter, since our arrival caused her to drop what she was doing in the back to come out to greet us. I’m not a huge fan of dark chocolate, which was what most of these were, inside and out, but after sampling all these truffle bits I felt like I should at least buy one or two truffles for the road.

After learning that all the truffle varieties except two or three had dark chocolate outsides AND insides, I chose the only two with white-chocolate-base centers—champagne and maple—plus “hot” coffee (apparently, with a kick of spice), and orange. The champagne filling tasted like regular dark chocolate filling. The orange filling was good, nothing special. The “hot coffee” filling had no spice or kick to it at all. The maple truffle, however, was delicious, but it could have been creamier (it was one of the samples, so I made sure I got one to go!). Gary’s main issue with the truffles is that they really lacked that melt-in-your mouth quality. And they were also rather brittle, so as you bit into them, you generally got half the shell and all the solid interior in one mouthful, and were left holding half a chocolate shell. I’m no truffle connoisseur — preferring the less traditional kind with creamy, often non-chocolate flavorful fillings — but Dean’s truffles reminded me of Russell Stover fare. I take that back — Russell Stover’s chocolates have creamier fillings.

Starbucks

Starbucks Coffee (links to big photo), Hay Building, 594 Congress Street, Portland, Maine

I thought this Starbucks was SOO luxurious in that there are so many EMPTY tables and chairs to sit at, if you can find one not directly in the path of loudspeaker or air-vent output (I swear all Starbucks managers are trained to “keep customers refrigerated after opening”). One good spot, clear of loud music and cold bursts of air was unfortunately right on top of the frappuccino machine, but there were a few other choice spots as well. We came just to sit and read or surf the Web for a bit. By this time today (late afternoon), I had a migraine, so, compelled by throbbing pain and self-pity, I ordered a slice of raspberry swirl pound cake to go with my coffee. I’d been eyeing this cake since Starbucks stared offering it weeks or months ago. Today was the day. The cake was lovely.

Portland Pies

Portland Pie Company, 51 York Street, Portland, Maine

My migraine ruled the dinner choices for the evening — easy and salty were key (for some reason I crave salty food when I have a migraine). We ordered in from Portland Pie Company in part because we knew they were close by, and in other part because they had a complete online menu and delivered two-liter diet Pepsi as well (our floor’s vending machine had run out of diet Pepsi and bottled water, but you don’t learn this until you put your money in, and after learning they are out, you learn that the coin return doesn’t work). ANYWAY, I ordered the Old Orchard (“red sauce, green peppers, fire roasted red peppers, mushrooms, artichoke hearts and fresh garlic woven in our melted 3 cheese blend with a hint of crushed red pepper”), Gary made his own pizza. Both pizzas were good, and we liked that we could choose a whole-wheat crust (or, I shall cynically note, a crust with just enough whole-wheat flour to make it a wholesome-looking light brown). My pizza was mighty tasty straight from the restaurant, but not great as cold pizza the next day (there was a fridge in our hotel room).

Coffee By Design

Coffee By Design, 260 Congress Street, Portland, Maine

Again, easy and nearby was key. And since both of us were up for more sitting and reading (favorite leisure activities of ours no matter where we’re vacationing), a coffee shop would be an ideal spot. So, off to Coffee By Design, knowing full well we’d find nothing healthy to eat there. For me, that meant a cranberry scone–yummy, but I’d rather have had a real breakfast. In that vein, got an Odwalla Banana Strawberry smoothie, just to give myself the impression I was having something fruity and fresh for breakfast. I love these kinds of smoothies in a glass filled with ice. And their “streusel cake” coffee was very good, and comforting in a cinnamon-y kind of way. Gary got a sticky bun and helped me drink my smoothie.

Artemesia Cafe

Artemesia Cafe, 61 Pleasant Street, Portland, Maine

In short: Adorable and funky and we loved it. I had turkey and avocado and hummus and lettuce and tomato on a squishy but thickly sliced pumpernickel or dark rye (I think the menu promised a whole-grain bread, though.). Gary got turkey, green apple, cheddar, and honey mustard on a wheat bread, he thinks. Overall he liked it, the turkey was nice and smoky, but the honey mustard and the sweetness of the apples were at war with each other.

Mesa Verde

Mesa Verde, 618 Congress Street, Portland, Maine (no Web site that I could find)

Mesa Verde seemed more bar than restaurant, so there were people constantly milling about and pausing right by our table, which was unnerving. And, what, no free chips and salsa??? Anyway, I got fajitas. They tasted OK; what was weird was that they served me two large flour tortillas instead of 3-4 smaller tortillas, which I thought was the universal way to serve fajitas in tex-mex restaurants. And the fixings came with only about a tablespoon of salsa; I had to ask for more. The guacamole was good; guacamole is very important! Gary got a chicken chimichanga. “Competent” was all he could say.

Becky’s Diner

Becky’s Diner, 390 Commercial Street, Portland, Maine

Becky's Diner, Commercial Street, Portland, Maine

This was a repeat visit to Becky’s for us, so a relatively safe bet for a non-pastry breakfast. I ordered a large fruit bowl with yogurt and granola. It was indeed large; easily three cups of fruit was in that bowl. Fruit was fresh, mostly grapes, though, with watermelon, honeydew, banana, and strawberries. The granola wasn’t full of chunks and clusters, so it lacked texture. Gary got breakfast sausage, eggs, and toast. “Competent diner food,” said he, “sausages looked like they were from an Egyptian mummy exhibit — all gnarly and withered.” Fine overall, and a fun place to visit.

Port of Call

Port of Call, at Holiday Inn By the Bay, 88 Spring Street, Portland, Maine

We had already decided what to order when our server announced that the soup of the day was sausage-kale. Suddenly both of us were ordering soup and half-sandwich combos. Me, turkey on wheat; he, chicken salad on wheat. The combos came with potato chips (soggy potato chips if the server spills soup onto your plate, as he did with mine. But no hard feelings). We were both surprised the soup was palatable– we both finished our bowls. Sandwiches were forgettable, but that was fine because all we wanted was a light, forgettable lunch anyway.

Port of Call restaurant, at Holiday Inn By the Bay, Portland, Maine

A year or two ago my friend Kate presented me a shoe-box-sized plastic container of rugelach. She said it was so easy to make; she found the recipe in a magazine — no-fuss rugelach via refrigerated pie crust dough!

In a word: EVIL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  I thought her rugelach was rich, flaky, and fruity — it took much effort to NOT devour the entire containerful in one day. Gary agreed it was mighty tasty.

So, onto my roll-up-only menu it went. I found what I believed to be the right recipe on realsimple.com. Now you read that recipe and tell me what to do with the walnuts and raisins, because the recipe certainly doesn’t. Interestingly, the same recipe at realsimple television does say what to do with the nuts and raisins, but for some reason says the yield is 12 rugelach, though the original recipe says 22. Does anybody proofread or test these recipes?

This is Real Simple's photo; my pastries went straight to the trash bin. . .

Anyway . . . the sprinkling, unfolding, rolling, spreading, sprinkling, rolling, and slicing steps went well. Except that for one log I forgot to add “half” each the walnuts and raisins, and, oh yes, I had also decided that one-sixth of a cup of jam did not cover a the dough very well AT ALL, so I put on about twice as much each time. What harm could that do?

After the rugelach baked for barely five minutes, the jam oozed out of the swirls, congregated on the cookie sheet, and bubbled into a dark, gooey glue. I had to wait for the rugelach to cool before attempting to scrape/cut/trim the black, crispy lacquer from each piece while maintaining its structural integrity. It didn’t go well.

Well, I thought, at least there would be YUM. But actually there was no YUM. Not YUCK, just YAWN. This rugelach tasted sorta like jam baked in refrigerated pie dough. I’d have to ask Kate for the recipe she used. In the meantime, time was scarce, so we headed to Whole Foods to seek sweet rolled-up anythings, preferably freshly baked. Failing that, it would be off to the convenience mart for HoHos.

At Whole Foods, in the spirit of stubborn menu stick-to we passed over a couple of nice-looking jelly or swiss rolls in favor of prepackaged rugelach. Though this rugelach tasted better than the trash-bin inhabitants–we could detect some butter and cream cheese in these somewhere–they were still disappointing. Not the WOW we were looking for.

Turns out, the recipe I had tried WAS the recipe Kate swore by. She’d made it so many times, in fact, to so many rave reviews she had at the ready her list of preparation tips:

1. Line the cookie sheet with aluminum foil.
2. Spray the foil with a nonstick cooking spray (Pam)
3. Sprinkle the cinn/sugar mix all over the foil
4. Use Pillsbury pie rounds.
5. Use a thin layer of jam/preserves
6. Use a lot of raisins/walnuts
7. Cut the log at a slight angle

This should help. There is always a lot of goop that comes out. It’s so yummy though. Good luck!

I’ll be taking votes: Should I try the Real Simple recipe again, or next time attempt a full-scale decadent cream-cheese laden version?

Za
Fresh and creative pizzas and salads
138 Massachusetts Avenue, Arlington, Mass.
www.zarestaurant.com

Za's specialty pizzas feature unexpected topping combos

My husband and I were eagerly anticipating a Valentine’s Day dinner of gourmet pizza. We’d kept our occasional pizza yearnings at bay for many months, but we had planned a February splurge, V-day being the perfect excuse (hey, pizza’s red, right?). We were saddened to hear one of our fave pizza parlors, DiMio’s of Cambridge, had closed. Hopefully, we thought, Za might be able to lessen the loss.

We had called ahead for a spot on their waiting list but got there early anyway, and so we sat on a side bench while we waited for our seats. I felt bad for the dining couple we were practically sitting on top of while we waited: breathing room was minimal in this corner of the restaurant. After waiting only 10 minutes or so, we were seated.

The Za waitstaff was helpful and friendly, despite the full house and tight quarters.

Although several of Za’s pizza concoctions were intriguing, with themes such as mac ‘n cheese, ham sandwich (with dill pickle slices!), and salmon fillet with fontina and capers, we veered toward the conservative: he with mozzarella and tomato with additional toppings of sausage, caramelized onion and portabella mushrooms, me with the specialty pizza of portabella mushrooms, roasted red peppers, caramelized onions, roasted garlic, and goat cheese ($10.50, if I remember correctly). Had we discussed or choices before ordering, I’m sure we’d have adjusted our overlapping selections.

The salad menu also lured us in with claims of farm-fresh vegetables, though our waiter did point out that in the dead of winter, the salad offerings are not as varied as they are in the spring and summer months. Again, I was interested in several of the salads, but went for the conservative iceberg lettuce, grated carrot, and blue cheese. Gary went for the slightly more seasonal greens, dried cranberries, and walnut mix. We both loved the mixtures and the freshness of our salads. I was distracted, though, by the description of a roasted sweet potato salad I noticed on their specials blackboard after I had already ordered. I wish I’d seen it earlier; I would have ordered it! The guy who seated us said the blue “specials” menus he handed us had the same specials that were listed on the chalkboard. He was wrong!

So, the salads were a success, and the iced tea — earl gray — was pleasantly fragrant, not too harsh. I enjoyed it without sweetener. Very refreshing.

The pizzas, however, were disappointing. Gary found little to sing about with his pizza, rating it merely “not bad.” I, too, had hoped for a little more zing from my ‘Za , but even the several dozen cloves of roasted garlic could not wake up this bland pizza. I did like that they were very generous with the portabella mushrooms–nice big chunks, not just slices–but was saddened that the roasted red peppers I was so looking forward to were barely noticeable. It was almost an afterthought: “Hey, where’s are my peppers? Oh, are those ten little pimentos my peppers?”

In a nutshell: Salads great, pizza just okay. But we will make a trip back later this year to sample their spring or summer menu. I swear I’ll order more adventurously next time, or at least make sure there’s one topping on my pizza I’ve never had on pizza before. But it probably won’t be a dill pickle.