I first checked out the new St. Botolph’s on January 6, fresh upon reports that the Good Life–Centro team had decided to revive it as a “neighborhood restaurant” rather than spend over a million dollars on a new fine-dining concept. I liked that idea, and I liked what I ate, but was prevailed upon to hold my review for an in-house chef. (Chef Brian Hill started in late January.)
And in fact, quite a lot changed: Good Life–style fried calamari and duck fingers, gonzo; Centro-style big-flavored bistro entrées, front and center. Miles Davis, out; Ella Fitzgerald, in. Abstract oil paintings, down; old Italian posters, up. Blond giant farm table, stained dark. Enough candles for an exorcism, reduced; live plants, increased. (This is not just random retro; the original 1970s St. Botolph’s was Boston’s first bare-brick fern bar.)
My guess about what happened is that the success of Centro suggested a path with some of the creativity and flair of top-ticket dining in a less designed, lower-staffed kind of room. I’ve always argued for more emphasis on flavor, less on décor. So I can’t complain. But I can point out that without the traditional signifiers of the fine dining room, restaurants like the new St. Botolph’s need a lot of focus on each plate. I liked some dishes a lot, but overall the new St. Botolph’s has less personality than the early Centro.
Two of the wilder appetizers, salads of warm Treviso radicchio ($7.50) and Maine crab ($10.50), didn’t quite work. The Treviso is a striking bright-red endive, and makes a lovely plate with some of the regular white spears, but the chef used what tasted like antique dressing based on a meat reduction — and this beefy salad dressing was too shocking for the beginning of a meal. The Maine crab salad used crab meat marinated out of its own flavor, and erected on a base of thin-cut, rose-tinged white-beet slices and something crunchier, likely jicama. Here the parts were pleasing, but the whole had no wholeness.
I was happier with a more familiar salad of mixed greens ($6.50), where the only surprise was an intense lemon dressing. And happiest with a simple bowl of mussels ($8.50) — fine meaty mussels at last — in a broth stew with tomatoes and garlic sausage.
Entrées were generally more successful — perhaps another touch of retro, reminding us of the more centralized dining pleasures back before grazing. Certainly the “Roman steak” ($25) was big meat from the ’50s, at least if you knew enough to order rib steak or Delmonico steak or entrecôte in those days. The only Roman thing about it was some mixed olives on top, but the enormous bone-in steak was excellent beef, served with a sub-pot of buttery potato lumps. Caramelized sea scallops ($20) were served on three pairs of skewers, leaning up around a heap of scallop-shaped potatoes and onions with some caramelized edges as well. And a little spinach. Serve half the portion with a sauce, double the price, and you’re in any top-price Boston dining room, eating not better but less.
Grilled garlicky lamb ($20) is not very garlicky, served rare and sliced so as not to be very muttony. That said, it was an entirely satisfying platter with spätzle-like noodles and a heap of perfect baby artichokes. But my favorite entrée was grilled eggplant parmesan ($14). The key to this familiar dish was reconceiving it with lots of onions, lots of ricotta, croutons, and roasted walnuts for a bit of crunch. Running it under the broiler added a little flavor of the fire, but mostly melted everything into an ugly, delicious mess. Here’s a visual failure no celebrity chef would tolerate; it’s also the cheap, vegetarian entrée on the menu, and the most delicious food on the table.
The new wine list at St. Botolph’s is Californian, Italian, and a little French (whose isn’t these days?), priced from $22 to $79, and perhaps better on the reds than the whites. A glass of Kenwood “old vines” zinfandel ($7.50; $28 per bottle) had the classic berry-spice nose of California zinfandel before they tried to make this peasant grape into a kind of claret. A half bottle of Nozzole Chianti Classico ($21) was listed as the ’97. Our bottle was from the 1995 vintage, and correspondingly lighter but smoother with a fully developed vinous nose. Coffee ($1.50) was very good, decaf ($1.50) somewhat burnt.
Desserts followed the pattern of the main dishes: the good, the bad (over-experimental), and the ugly (and best-tasting). I say order ugly, and get the semifreddo brûlée ($7), which is conceptually like the eggplant — excellent hazelnut taste, run under the broiler to ruin the appearance and add some flavor (but not the burned-sugar top of a true crème brûlée). You’re safe and happy with the red pear croustade ($7), a square of excellent puff pastry with slices of poached pear and a caramel sauce. You’re at the cutting edge with a lemon tart ($7) reduced to two large triangles of cookie topped with very sour lemon curd and garnished with raspberry sauce and whipped cream with shredded fresh mint. And you’re somewhere in between with a glorified espresso brownie ($7) accompanied by pistachio ice cream.
Service is a strong point at St. Botolph’s, more pleasant than I recall at Centro. St. Botolph’s also aces Centro in being its own restaurant, and thus its own refuge from the surrounding area. (St. Botolph Street, even two blocks from Symphony Hall, is a quieter area than Central Square.) And the Sunday brunch is quite popular. Now about those candles: this restaurant is dark, and candles can be nice, but this many (even with some reductions from January) actually seems to, you know, suck all the air out of the room. Buy some electric lights. The original restaurant conversion included large windows, and there’s no reason for a cave-like atmosphere. And it will kill the plants, just wait and see.
Robert Nadeau can be reached at RobtNadeau@aol.com.
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