I’m not saying there’s nothing to eat in Boston. There’s plenty. Got a hankering for burgers, pizza, wings, fried food that’s bastardized from an array of Asian cuisines? You are all set. Eager for pig’s ears, fried rabbit, tails, squid, and the cheapest fish this side of tilapia? Pull up a chair. Celebrating? Why, dinner for two at mislabeled “French,” “Italian,” or “Japanese” joints can run you easily and routinely no less than $300 per couple.
Whew. Glad I got that off my chest.
Seriously. Ask around in the hospitality industry both in the city and elsewhere and they’ll tell you the same thing.
Take last night. Please.
It’s 7 P.M. I’m hungry. Long day dodging piles of snow and plows. Looks like there’s nothing in the house to eat. I check out delivery sites on the web. The best bets are Soul Fire (Allston) and Felipe’s (Harvard Square). Both are actually terrific restaurants. But, gee, I don’t know, do you feel like having pork ribs, delicious though they are, or tacos, flavorful as can be?
So then we do we go out? Night Market is wonderful. And so is Giulia. But that wonderful on a night when the temp is under 20F?
The spa diet is on hand: I find two waygu-style burgers in the freezer I’d ordered in December from DeBragga. There is a bag of baby Yukon’s in the fridge. A sliver of Emmental. And miracle of miracles! The last two sesame seed buns from Martin’s!
Now that’s something to eat.