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Connecting the Dot
An ethnic, eclectic dining scene brings Dorchester together
BY RUTH TOBIAS

Where to find them:

• Blarney Stone, 1509 Dorchester Avenue, (617) 436-8223.

• Caribbean Kitchen, 624 Blue Hill Avenue, (617) 288-9179.

• Caribe Restaurant, 14 Hancock Street, (617) 287-8628.

• Casa Real Tacos, 860 Dorchester Avenue, (617) 282-3135.

• C.F. Donovan’s, 112 Savin Hill Avenue, (617) 436-6690.

• Chef Lee’s Famous Soul Food, 1160 Blue Hill Avenue, (617) 436-6634.

• Chef Lee’s Famous Soul Food II, 554 Columbia Road, (617) 282-2243.

• Dennis G. Barbadian Restaurant, 521 Washington Street, (617) 474-2900.

• El Panal, 148 Bowdoin Street, (617) 825-9902.

• Friquitin, 559 Washington Street, (617) 265-0107.

• Gerard’s Restaurant, 772 Adams Street, (617) 282-6370.

• Greenhill’s Irish Bakery, 780 Adams Street, (617) 825-8187.

• Happy Supermarket, 868 Blue Hill Avenue, (617) 265-9359.

• The Harp and Bard, 1099 Dorchester Avenue, (617) 265-2893.

• Irie Four Seasons Ice Cream Shop, 5 Bowdoin Street, (617) 929-0212.

• Nanina’s, 1578 Dorchester Avenue, (617) 288-2494.

• Nice ’N’ Nuff, 770 Blue Hill Avenue, (617) 288-9771.

• Pho 2000, 198 Adams Street, (617) 436-1908.

• Pho Hòa, 1356 Dorchester Avenue, (617) 287-9746.

• Pho So 1, 223 Adams Street, (617) 474-1999.

• Restaurante Cesaria, 266 Bowdoin Street, (617) 282-1998.

• Tân Phát Bakery and Café, 1456 Dorchester Avenue, (617) 288-8809.

• Taste of Eden, 38 Norfolk Street, (617) 282-0077.

— RT

Where is Anytown, USA? That depends on your definition of the USA. Generally, we apply the term to sleepy, homogenous burgs in the heartland where the men still part their hair to one side and the ladies run errands in polka-dot headscarves and Keds. Consciously or no, we apply it in ways that seem to uphold the conservative notion that the essence of America is to be found in its white, Protestant, middle-class communities, where the status quo is not only preserved but personified.

But give us a moment of reflection, and we’re likely to recall — oh yeah! — that America was built to oppose the status quo, built by and emphatically for immigrants, outcasts, and seekers, whether for asylum, destiny, or gold (putting natives aside, of course — literally). Our nation’s very foundation is, paradoxically, change; we thrive, for better or worse, on growth and movement, on demographic and paradigmatic shifts. In that light, Anytown, USA, looks a lot like Dorchester, Massachusetts.

Laugh all you want, but the facts bear me out: Dorchester was settled by colonists nearly 400 years ago, and it has been accommodating newcomers ever since. Now, in a postcolonial age, it is a model of municipal multiculturalism. Waves of Irish, Jewish, and other European refugees have come and gone and come again; émigrés from Vietnam and the West Indies make a strong showing today; tomorrow’s arrivals are anybody’s guess. In that sense, Dorchester is a dynamic microcosm of our mercurial nation.

Meanwhile, as these immigrants have come a long way often just to be able to put food on their tables, Americans have come a long way toward developing appreciation for the new foods thus put. Places like Dorchester, then, are the crossroads at which they meet, and from which they — that is, we — will set out to define American cuisine in the 21st century.

Of the foodways making inroads into Dorchester, those originating in the Caribbean are probably the least familiar to the average American — or at least that’s what the average American thinks. In actuality, West Indian food will seem deliciously unintimidating to anyone with a modicum of knowledge of Hispanic, especially South American, cookery, or even, to some extent, of soul food; the similarities of these cuisines have everything to do with the African slaves in the kitchens of this, that, and the next imperial power throughout the New World.

For the game but novice explorer, an excellent point of departure would be Dennis G. Barbadian Restaurant, on Washington Street. If it comes as a shock that Barbados even has a cuisine (or an adjective, for that matter), rest assured that Barbadian cuisine itself is the stuff of soothing hominess. For one thing, Dennis G.’s looks for all the world like your typical roadside diner, with vinyl booths, bottles of ketchup on each table, and country music on the stereo. The only clues to the contrary are the tablecloths — Barbadian flags — and the pictures of straw huts and palm trees dotting the walls. And then there’s the menu, as meat-oriented as that of any Midwestern roadhouse — though with a much greater emphasis on fish, often fried or in cakes. The fried kingfish, for instance, is heavy but utterly succulent; like the other entrŽes, it comes with more sides than one knows what to do with, expertly prepared: nicely spiced black-eyed peas and rice, melt-in-your-mouth macaroni pie, mashed yuca (a potato-like tuber), stewed veggies, and a lush chunk of fried banana. All for $6.50. But if that somehow isn’t enough, a lead pipe may be just the thing. The aptly named breadstick (which comes four for $1.50) has enough heft to anchor a ship, but, luckily, in texture and flavor it more closely resembles a cinnamon-apple doughnut, and a well-made one at that.

Barbados isn’t the only Caribbean island to offer a taste of its cuisine to Dorchester. Numerous take-out places boast specialties hailing from all corners of the West Indies. At the sunny, no-frills Caribbean Kitchen, for one, curries wrapped in roti ($4.50–$6.50) are the way to go, just as they are on those islands, such as Trinidad, where indentured Indians mingled with the locals despite the oppressive British rule. Upon entering, you’ll find the owners hard at work, grinding corn by the spoonful and rolling out the roti dough; the eventual fruits of their labor are enormous, disk-shaped pockets of wonderfully chewy flatbread filled with bone-in chunks of robust curried chicken, set off by chickpeas and potatoes. You can also opt for curried vegetables, beef, or goat, the latter being a Jamaican staple.

Indeed, Òcurry goat,Ó as Jamaicans call it, is to be found at any number of Dorchester’s holes-in-the-wall, including Taste of Eden on Norfolk Street, where for all of $4 you can have it piled high on coco bread — its marshmallow softness, lightly brushed by sweetness, has an ameliorating influence on the racy meat stew. If you have reservations about goat — which strikes me as merely a slightly gamier and more unctuous version of lamb — you can stick with chicken, not only curried but stewed, fried, and, of course, jerked, in the famed Jamaican manner. Adventurers, however, might try any of the dishes containing tripe or feet, or the one culinary historian Jessica B. Harris calls Jamaica’s Ònational breakfast dish,Ó salt cod and akee — a fruit that is actually poisonous until it’s ripe. Ginger beer will provide a further swift kick to the system. The soft and mellow side dishes, on the other hand, are for everyone: yams, dumplings, fried green or sweet plantains (known in Spanish as tostones and maduros, respectively).

And the list goes on. In Dorchester, you could, if so inspired, do a whole tropical hole-in-the-wall crawl — going, say, from the Caribe Restaurant at Upham’s Corner for chicharr—n de pollo and orejas (fried chicken skin and fried pork ears) to the neon-green-walled Nice ’N’ Nuff for escovitch (the Jamaican version of escabeche, or piquant fried fish in vinegar sauce). Then you’d have to stop at Irie Four Seasons Ice Cream Shop, which actually imports its ice cream from Jamaica in order to offer such rousing flavors as soursop (a fruit that smacks of apricot), Irish moss (a type of seaweed, believe it or not, yielding a product that suggests both cinnamon and Bailey’s Irish cream), and the creamy, fruity, yeasty Caribbean stout. And you could do all that within a few hours.

Of course, as long we’re in the area — Dorchester, that is, physically speaking, and the Caribbean, culinarily speaking — we may as well keep going, namely east toward Africa and south toward Latin America. Choosing the latter will lead you toward places like Friquitin, which advertises simply ÒHispanic foodÓ and indeed covers the gamut, from humble sides like fried cassava (another word for the aforementioned yuca) and mofongo (mashed plantains) to more festive fare, like the saucy, Spanish-leaning shrimp in garlic sauce or the rich, Brazilian-influenced fried red snapper with coconut sauce. Or perhaps you’ll end up at some nondescript little lunch counter like El Panal on Bowdoin Street, where a measly $5 will get you a full load of fish stew — salty, tangy, and intriguing, with green olives as well as tomatoes, peppers, and onions — atop a savory, surprisingly meaty heap of plantains cooked whole with onions. (Deep-fried spareribs, meanwhile, are a job for super-eaters.)

Choosing the former, conversely, means heading further down Bowdoin to Restaurante Cesaria, which celebrates the cuisine of Cape Verde (again, who knew?). Any whirlwind tour of Dorchester’s equatorial eateries would best end here, as this relatively upscale spot is one in which you’ll want to linger — over the menu, over the food (not that you have much choice, given the service), and in your mind as you plan your next visit. Cesaria is a pleasant urban cafŽ, with brick and ochre walls, black exposed-pipe ceiling, and lots of open space; but its repertoire reaches far beyond pleasant to fascinating and deeply satisfying. The most obvious culinary influence upon Cape Verde, though it lies just off the coast of Senegal, is that of Portugal, but it seems to me that the Cape Verdean versions of Portuguese specialties benefit from a lightness of touch all their own. Not to be missed are the deep-fried quail in sherry sauce ($4.50/appetizer, $9.50/entrŽe), which yield a surprising depth of flavor given their size, at once salty, lemony, winy, and earthy. Another hit is the salada de bacalhau ($10.95): somehow, the mixture of chunked salt cod with chickpeas, eggs, and potatoes, drizzled with olive oil and flanked by a green salad, isn’t mushy, and the flavor of each ingredient, whether mellow or robust, shines through. (It’s accompanied by a perfect, aromatic bowl of rice.) Other bold, winning combinations include katchupada — a dense stew containing hominy, pork, beans, and kale ($7.50) — and cabritada ($8.50), or stewed goat daringly paired with not one, not two, but three different starches (potatoes, rice, and mandioca, yet another word for yuca). A final burst of charm is provided by Cesaria’s selection of juices, which includes goiaba (guava), maracuja (passion fruit), and caju (of all things, cashew fruit; $2.25 each).

Speaking of liquid refreshment, many Latin American nations are havens for milkshakes or batidas, and Dorchester follows suit. At Casa Real Tacos, you can sit and sip the rare uncloying banana shake ($1.75) while admiring the Guatemalan tchotchkes on the walls and appreciating the fact that each table in the joint is stocked with its own roll of paper towels — a good sign for defiant burrito eaters. The lunch counter at Happy Supermarket, meanwhile, offers an array of unusual batida flavors, such as mamey (which is a golden, apricot-like fruit) and ciruela (meaning plum).

While West Indian and Latin American eateries are widely scattered throughout Dorchester, their Vietnamese counterparts tend to congregate in and around Field’s Corner, particularly in the form of noodle shops and bakeries. Indeed, within the space of a few blocks, Pho 2000, Pho H˜a, and Pho So 1 all jockey for position; as it happens, each has a little something to offer. At Pho 2000, that something is Bo Bay Mon, or Beef Seven Ways ($29), a multi-course, interactive, group-effort extravaganza that continues to generate buzz among Boston’s culinary cognoscenti. Think rice-paper wrappers and hot pots; hot broth, hot butter, and myriad dipping sauces; and, of course, beef, beef, and more beef. Meanwhile, not to be outdone, Pho H˜a bases 20 out of 23 different kinds of noodle soup (ranging in price from $3 to $6) on beef, contriving every conceivable combination of brisket, eye round, flank, tripe, tendon, and meatballs. A number of striking libations are also available — if you’re ready for flavors like salty lemon, salty plum, or the litchi-like longan. Actually, the Vietnamese tend to share with many Latinos the taste for tropical juices, sodas, and shakes (in some of the same flavors, even). Pho So 1 makes smoothies with some of the quirkier fruits, like soursop, jackfruit, and above all durian, with its inimitable musty-custard overtones ($2.50 each) — this in keeping with some of PS1’s quirkier menu items, like fried-bamboo-shoot-and-duck-leg vermicelli, or shell-on grilled shrimp. Finally, T‰n Ph‡t Bakery and CafŽ sells a canned fermented rice drink ($1), full of not only grains but raisins and jujubes, that goes down in a fruity, chewy jumble; it makes a refreshing complement to snacks like the b‰te s™ ($1 each), a small but rich disk of golden-brown puff pastry filled with a spiced-pork mixture that stimulates your sweet and salty taste buds simultaneously.

These days, amid all these ethnic eateries that once seemed so alien, it’s the Irish pubs that have begun to look exotic — except, that is, for the ones that no longer look like Irish pubs at all. Sure, all along Dorchester Avenue (affectionately known as Dot Ave), dozens of dark, windowless, old-school pubs still stand; however, the new-school Irish hangouts stand out in contrast. Take Gerard’s Restaurant (which doesn’t even sound particularly Irish): from its trim, cheery dŽcor to its menu of stir-fries, pastas, salads, and the like, it’s really an American bistro that has given the nod to Ireland by employing Irish-born waitresses complete with brogues, providing bangers and mash ($6.95), and concocting, in a moment of either utter genius or dark despair, the Irish Wonder pizza ($7.95), topped with — get this — bangers, Irish bacon, and black-and-white pudding. The same can be said (except for that part about the pizza) of C.F. Donovan’s — and keep in mind, what’s being said is not necessarily a criticism, but more an observation of changing times. Serving an array of munchies like jalape–o poppers, coconut shrimp, and bruschetta, as well as entrŽes from turkey with stuffing to ziti, cute and cozy Donovan’s offers little besides fish and chips that says ÒIrish pub.Ó Rather, it says, simply, ÒAmerican bar-and-grill.Ó

By comparison, the Blarney Stone and the Harp and Bard at least have pubby names. However, the former, in shades of forest, black, and plum, obeys a minimalist aesthetic that borders on the hip, and offers mod comfort food to match, such as a honey-mustard-fried-chicken sandwich with sweet-potato fries ($7.50). The latter, on the other hand, remains endearingly un-hip, with homey red-and-green carpeting and little plaid curtains dividing the bar from the dining room. Again, there’s a menu to match, with such oldies-but-goodies as French onion soup, grilled steak tips, and a Swiss-mushroom burger that, juicy and huge, proves rather effective in melting cares away ($6.99). Here, too, the waitresses roll their R’s; but the brogues blossom nowhere so much as at Greenhill’s Irish Bakery, on Adams Street. Finally, we find the authenticity we’ve been seeking, not only in the voices of both employees and customers, but in the products that appear both on the grocery shelves — bramble jelly, marrowfat peas, black treacle — and behind the counter: baskets full of scones, sherry trifles, and loaves of classic, rich Irish soda bread, tasting subtly of butter and buttermilk punctuated by raisins ($3.50).

Of course, authenticity is a vexed notion in culinary history. What cuisine isn’t permeated by other cuisines? What cuisine is totally free of outside influences? (Okay, Japanese and Thai come close, but that’s beside the point.) In that sense, American cuisine — or rather, hyphenated-American cuisine — may be one of the most honest, as it shrugs and says, authenticity is what you make it. And while I wouldn’t want to overstate the case for the likes of the countless plasticine pizzerias and ÒChineseÓ take-out places that crowd the streets of Dorchester and every other town in the nation, I do think that Americans have managed as often as not to create a heritage out of hybridity itself. Take Nanina’s, an Italian-American restaurant a few blocks from Field’s Corner that’s so ordinary it’s almost magical. You enter the dining room conscious of the fact that your eyes need a moment to adjust — the light is that dim. The color scheme, too, is dark, all wine-reds and green-blacks: the effect is either very cozy or very claustrophobic, depending on your level of paranoia. Once your eyes adjust, the first thing you see is the portrait of a Betty Crocker look-alike who is, presumably, beloved matriarch Nanina. The second is the pattern on the tablecloths: red-and-white checked. So far, so Gotti. And then there’s the menu: in addition to listing all the usual pasta suspects (ravioli, manicotti, lasagna, shells), it proffers no less than four kinds of parmigiana — chicken, sausage, veal, and eggplant. Wine at Nanina’s means Chianti or (no joke) Riunite; house dressing means creamy Italian. And yet the whole dining experience is somehow no less genuine for being stereotypical: the buxom hostess’s kindness is real, the dressing’s creaminess is real, the breaded melanzane are as crispy yet melting as they should be. Sure, the same experience in Florence would leave you mad as hell; but in Dorchester, such loyal romanticization of Italian-American life is rather touching.

The second, and ultimate, example of the authenticity of Dorchester’s at once multiethnic and all-American cuisine has got to be the food of Chef Lee, as in Chef Lee’s Famous Soul Food and Chef Lee’s Famous Soul Food II. The places themselves celebrate both sides of the African-American compound. In the case of the latter, lemon-yellow walls and periwinkle-blue furnishings form the sprightly backdrop for all sorts of memorabilia, from signed photos of various Celtics and Patriots to family portraits and posters of important figures in black history. It’s a decorative testament to Chef Lee’s culinary philosophy, ÒOur Food Is Personal.Ó The personal, after all, is political, and just as the pictures on the wall link private lives with public personalities, the food on the menu links the deprivations of slavery (e.g., making do with scraps such as pigs’ feet) with the integrity of the unbroken human spirit (e.g., having the wherewithal to create an American original such as jambalaya). Beyond all its symbolism, though, the food remains quite simply outstanding. All the entrŽes here, from smothered pork chops to oxtails, come with bread and two sides ($7.50–$10.95). And all of it turns out just so: the tenderness of a barbecued chicken breast and the tanginess of its sauce; the crumb of the cornbread and the gentle kick of spiced candied yams; the eggy, creamy fluffiness of baked macaroni. To top it off, of course, there’s always peach cobbler and the long-enduring sweet-potato pie.

And to think it all can be found within the tight squeeze of Dorchester. Now that’s my kind of Anytown.

Ruth Tobias can be reached at ruthiet@bu.edu

Issue Date: February 6 - 13, 2003
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