Chefs Cooking for Hope (and for us!)

Last night was Chefs Cooking for Hope, one of the big fundraising events for the Friends of Dana-Farber. I'd wanted to check this out for a while, especially after last year, when co-worker Robbin, who does PR for the event, had rounded up some goodies for me while I was out sick.

I still have fond memories of last year's maple bacon cotton candy from Harvest:



But that was last year. This year, I wanted to see for myself.

Chefs Cooking for Hope brings together area restaurants and caterers, who dish out small-plate samples to a crowd paying $100 a ticket.

And while that might seem pricey, look at it this way: You're in a room with some of the best chefs in town. And they have food. And they ain't going nowhere.

And no one can stop you having seconds. Or thirds.

So here's what we found:

Oysters in a spicy beet mignonette from Rialto:



Seared tuna with wasabi from The Cottage:



Sweet, lightly marinated roasted red peppers from Strega:



Amazing grilled octopus from Bistro du Midi (and a reminder to vote for chef Robert Sisca in Food and Wine's Best New Chef poll)



Just-right beef tartare from Gaslight:



Light and airy rabbit liver pâté with port gelée and picked carrots from Sel de la Terre:



Eye-rollingly good veal terrine with violet mustard from Beacon Hill Bistro:



Wild mushroom ravioli with oxtail ragout from Miel:



And the dish that seemed to be the hit of the night: braised brisket in a dumpling, in a light dashi broth, with soy pearls, from Baker's Best Catering. You ate it like an oyster: juice, then meat. It was stunning.



Between bites, we stopped by the table for Citizen Pub, who was handing out samples of a lovely rye peach punch.



We liked the Citizen people, not only because cocktail, but also because one of the staff recognized me from a visit ... four months ago.

"Yes," he said, "you came in on a Tuesday. You asked for a sour drink. I persuaded you to have a second one."

Well, that does sound like the kind of thing I would do ...

By this point in the evening, we were pretty much full. Yes, we were eating small amounts, but if you're counting, that's nine small amounts.

Wait, make it ten: I almost forgot about the sweet plantain — halfway between tostón and maduro — topped with apples and eggplant, from (I think) Zephyr on the Charles. It was a crazy combination, but it worked really well.



So yeah, not much room left for dessert. Okay, maybe just a little suspiro Limeño from Taranta. Super-sweet dulce de leche with a meringue topping.



And we'll just look at the cupcakes



and the cupcakes



and the cupcakes.



These last are bacon (the maple kind, yah?) from bakery Glutenus Minimus.

Finally, we picked up a plate of goodies from the Cambridge School of Culinary Arts and rolled out.



Tonight, I think we'll be having a nice plate of steamed vegetables.

Thanksgiving at Rialto (again)

Last year we had Thanksgiving at Rialto and it was fabulous: a cozy corner table, flawless service, excellent food.

So this year we decided to go back.

Okay, let's get the bad stuff out of the way first.

I know I should be thankful that there are enough financially sound people to fill a restaurant at Thanksgiving. And I know this is a time to get together with family.

But still, there we were, sharing space with a party of three, yelling at each other despite sitting next to each other; and a party of nine (four of whom were bouncingly under 6 years old). Yay.

(If you've been following for a while, you know I have issues with people who don't use their indoor voice in a restaurant.)

Similarly, I know I should understand when the lunch rush means things get a little backed up. But still, somehow we were overlooked, and our server didn't notice we had no first course until everyone else was finishing their second. Our second course arrived before the first; our third arrived before the second.

But enough complaints, on to the good stuff!

First course: a rich, creamy roast-chestnut soup with a garnish of diced pear, parmesan and celery.

Next, I had tiny taleggio and fig tarts, cheese and fruit and pastry dancing together perfectly.



The Boy went with bite-sized pumpkin and sage ravioli, served with scallops:



And then instead of going for the turkey dinner, he had duck two ways on a bed of lentils (that sounds a bit rude, doesn't it? Tasted rather juicy, too ).



I stuck to tradition.



The meat was tender and moist; the mashed potatoes were creamy velvet; the stuffing was a thick slice of bread pudding.

Best, though, were green beans finished with shallots, and a light, citrusy cranberry chutney.



And then dessert, which came with the unexpected accompaniment of comped Moscato D'Asti. We assumed that was to make up for the upside-down service (though it was never explained).

My dessert was a lovely apple and quince tart, with generous chunks of fruit, topped with maple-cinnamon ice cream.



The Boy was the clear dessert winner, though; his honey-ricotta cheesecake was a light, fluffy, gently perfumed cloud.



So while Thanksgiving at Rialto was a slight disappointment this year (mostly because we were rather unrealistically expecting a re-run of last year), it was still a fantastic meal.

Still, we've decided that we'll spend next Turkey Day at home. That way, we also get leftovers.

Thanksgiving at Rialto

I know you're all wondering about our Thanksgiving lunch at Rialto. Arentcha? Sure y'are!

We decided to go at real proper lunchtime, largely because if we waited until, say, three or four, we'd already have demolished a box of crackers and an entire wedge of Stilton with dates and oranges, and then we wouldn't be hungry.

As it turned out, that was the right time to turn up: there were only a handful of occupied tables and we were shown to a lovely window spot in a secluded corner.



(One of the nicest things about Rialto's recent redesign is that the room is sectioned off with linen drapes, creating smaller, more intimate seating areas. Sure, you can still hear the obnoxious diners at the next table, but at least you don't have to look at them.)

Rialto's Thanksgiving menu was a three-course prix-fixe.



Even though there weren't that many choices, we still had a tough time deciding.



Actually, there were four courses: everyone got the roasted pumpkin soup, a creamy, velvety little serving with pumpkin seeds, a dollop of ginger cream and a fried sage leaf.



For the first course, I chose the salad with poached pear. The greens came tucked inside what was essentially a taco shell made entirely out of parmesan cheese. (Process that for a moment.) The pear was allegedly poached in red wine, but there was something else (Amaretto, perhaps?) that gave it a sweet, almondy note.



And then, the star of the show: the turkey dinner.



The mouthful of crisp skin and the scattered pecans were a tasty and unexpected bonus.



Note the diced morsels to the left of the sprouts in the next photo. Notice how the sprouts do glisten so? Bacon, my friends. Bacon.



With the turkey, I had a German Spätburgunder; it's unusual to find German reds, and this was lighter than its French Pinot Noir cousins and a good match for the meal. This shows the color pretty well:



And then dessert: a pumpkin custard topped with chocolate and cream, each flavor carrying hints of fall spice and blending together in a happy harmony.





And finally, a nice cup of mint tea in a teapot that looked like the kind of teapot that would appear in a 1950s sci-fi movie about drinking tea in the year 2000.



So that was all very — wait, what's that you say? What did The Boy eat?

Well, let's ask him, shall we?



(And yes, they played salsa all afternoon, which I loved, especially hearing Celia Cruz and a Beny Moré cover, but which The Boy compared to how I would feel if they played incessant Beatles while we ate. I saw his point.)

The service is always graceful at Rialto, and was especially so that day. Perhaps it was because the atmosphere felt like more of a celebration, or perhaps the staff was thankful that people were still willing to eat out, even in the middle of an economic apocalypse.

Either way, a number of lovely people stopped by our table to chat, including Rialto's chef and owner Jody Adams.

Darn. I should have asked her the secret of the poached pears.

Thanksgiving? Way ahead of ya

After weighing the relative success of last year's Thanksgiving at Sandrine's, we decided once again to go out for Turkey Day instead of cooking at home.

It's not that we don't love to cook, you understand; it's just that the prospect of spending all morning in front of the stove and all afternoon in front of the sink (because I don't trust the dishwasher) takes the edge off having a random relaxing Thursday off work, gravy or no gravy.

So we're giving thanks at Rialto in Harvard Square, which promises roasted pumpkin soup with ginger cream; red wine risotto with figs and almond pesto; and of course a full-on plate of bird and carrots and sprouts and stuffing.

The one downside to this otherwise brilliant plan is that we get no leftovers. In previous years, we've stretched the T-Day meal to last a week, between hashes and pasta dishes and soups, finding increasingly creative ways to use up mashed sweet potatoes and garlic green beans and picadillo stuffing.

But the meal we missed most last year, almost to the point of mourning, was the next-day sandwich: turkey, cheese and Julia Child's cranberry chutney stuffed into a ciabatta roll and warmed in the oven. A beautiful thing.

So this weekend we decided to have a scaled-down Thanksgiving a little early. I knocked together the chutney in about an hour, we picked up a free-range chicken and some veggies, and The Boy found a nice Bordeaux. Result:





The green pesto-esque thing in the foreground above is garlic ground up with fresh rosemary, oregano and sage, blended with butter and massaged under the skin of the chicken. Was it good? What do you think?

Best of all: we got to have the next-day sandwich for supper the same day. And there was enough chicken left for lunch sandwiches for half the week and some fabulous enchiladas, for which The Boy made fresh tomatillo sauce.

Hey, there's no rule that says you can only celebrate Thanksgiving once a year.

Just (remembering) dessert

I was going to write about Rialto, wasn't I? Oh, but that was three whole weeks ago, and my tastebud memory has faded.

Mostly.

Neither of us can quite remember how I started, though I think some tender prosciutto was involved (The Boy had a grilled squid salad with fresh mint, which blended nicely). I do recall that the pork two ways included a chunk of Kurobuta pork shoulder that can only be described as pig confit. I know The Boy had a whole grilled sea bass with mussels and lemon that (if memory serves) was delicate, if a little unadventurous in execution.

But I do remember, very clearly indeed, the lemon panna cotta.



Bright and zesty, creamy but not too rich--a good clean flavor. Finished with a layer of Limoncello and diced fresh watermelon, and served with tiny buttery cookies.

Selective memory isn't such a bad thing.