Great food, such as this plate of paper-thin finocchiona and chunks of pecorino tartufo with some pickled veggies at Cinqocento.
Great art, such as Replicant Hybrid by Julia Csekö, on view at Laconia Gallery.
Great public trasnit amenities, such as this self-serve heated bus stop shelter on the Silver line.
Something in the air,
it’s not just pollen that chokes:
Red Sox opener.
You know I like a good sandwich and a good story. I was at Cafe Rustico in the Bullfinch Triangle pondering the menu and I noticed that all the sandwiches were pretty much named for their contents – pollo, rucola, meatball – but one was named for a fictional gangster, the Luca Brazi [sic]. I asked, why is this sandwich so named? The reply came that the owner thought that the seasonings in the sandwich embodied the character from the Godfather. What’s in the Luca Brasi? (Rustico spells it with a z but the novel has it with an s)
So does the grilled chicken represent the loyal soldier and the roasted pepper the murderous thug? Matching food to literary or cinematic themes is dicey business, just ask my book club. Luca Brasi utters one of the most memorable lines in the Godfather film and is the subject of another, so there is some material to work with that would probably we widely understood even by folks not obsessively versed in Godfather lore. Don’t get me wrong, Rustico’s sandwich is tasty and well-prepared, I just think we can design a more Luca Brasi-esque sandwich. Let’s start at the start of the film:
Luca Brasi: “Don Corleone, I am honored and grateful that you have invited me to your home on the wedding day of your daughter. And may their first child be a masculine child.”
In which Luca feels a fish out of water, uncomfortable in his tuxedo at the swanky Corleone wedding, he nervously repeats to himself what he intends to say to Don Corleone. Here Brasi is comic relief, it’s early in the film and we don’t know much about him yet. This sandwich would be light-hearted, ham-fisted, and somehow wedding-themed.
Luca’s Wedding Sandwich: Two small kaiser rolls, each with thick cut rare roast beef overflowing, with endive, capers and olive tapenade.
If that’s too silly, let’s go for the better-known Luca Brasi reference:
[Tessio brings in Luca Brasi's bulletproof vest, delivered with a fish inside]
Sonny: What the hell is this?
Clemenza: It’s a Sicilian message. It means Luca Brasi sleeps with the fishes.
[SPOILER ALERT] Brasi has been killed by Sollozzo and his men; they send the message back to the Corleone family. Plenty of material here depending on your tolerance for an assasination-themed sandwich.
The Sicilian Message: Grilled sardines on ciabatta with guanciale (apologies to Lenny Montana, that’s bacon made from pig jowls) roasted red peppers, red onions and field greens; cut in half with piano wire or stabbed through the middle with a knife and wrapped in brown paper.
If those seem a little too much trouble, I understand. In Hoboken, there’s a whole deli named for Luca Brasi and their namesake sandwich is simply Italian tuna with fresh mozzarella, can’t really argue with that. Just don’t put your hand on the bar when you order it.
So Thursday was Pi Day. You know, because 3/14 looks like π which is 3.14 and more. We’ve been over much of this before. But this Pi Day I decided that I should visit Boston’s Pi Alley at 1:59pm because that would be 3/14 1:59. Yeah, slow news day, I know.
Yes, Euclid, there is a Pi Alley in Boston. I know it’s true because it’s a Foursquare location. It runs from Washington Street through to Court Square and is the location of several businesses and the Pi Alley Garage. At left, a photo by Nicholas Nixon taken from Pi Alley, from the Photographic Resource Center’s auction a few years ago.
But what wag called it π alley? That’s less clear. Even if it was initially a mistake, the signage inside makes it clear that they mean the mathematical constant not some other pi. There are two main schools of thought, but in my view, neither one makes a lot of sense.
1. Pie. Some say that in the 19th century, lots of meat pies were sold in this place. OK, I can believe that, but what caused the final “e” to fall off? A bubble in sign pricing? Syphilis?
2. Type. Others say that the alley was adjacent to lots of printing businesses – so far so good – and frustrated typesetters would throw their pied type out the window into the alley. Huh? OK, “pied” type is a thing, it’s when you’ve managed to mix up little bits of type from different faces (like the execrable ransom note fonts) and have the unenviable task of sorting it out. Even in a busy printing office, I can’t see the stuff being thrown out a window when it could be sorted by some low-level employee or perhaps more likely, just melted down and recycled. Even if you grant all that, it’s an odd move from “pied” (as in piebald, meaning multicolored or mottled) to “pi”
The sign at the Washington street entrance posits both theories. I moved deeper into the alley and had a slice of pizza (pie) at Viga mid-alley. The Court square end of the alley looks like it hasn’t changed since the 70s. And I imagine the mystery of Pi Alley will continue at least another 40 years. Maybe I’ll see you there approximately on July 22.
Boston is a a city that lives in its past and gives directions with landmarks that used to be. So with as little irony as possible, I ventured out for lunch with gourmand B to a shop trading on the name of an 18th Century English noble, newly installed in a former public restroom on the Boston Common. What would Paul Revere think?
Yes, it’s called Earl of Sandwich. In fact, it’s a chain with presence in seven US states plus UK and France (at Paris Disneyland, a place some have compared to a public restroom) and a couple of airports to boot. The organization’s management includes the actual current Earl of Sandwich, #11 if you’re counting. It was #4 who is credited with putting meat betwixt bread for the first time, creating what I’m sure he thought was the greatest thing since sliced bread.
And what of this most recent take on the family meal? B had the “Original 1762″ (roast beef, cheddar and horseradish sauce) and I had something with chicken, avocado, cheddar and bacon. For some reason there was no BLT on the menu, and I didn’t think it was a good idea to order off the menu at a newly-opened chain eatery.
Service was super friendly but the sandwiches were merely adequate. The bread, baked on site, was soft and not too flavorful, but at least it was hot and slightly toasted. I would have gone in for more toasting. The innards were inoffensive, not overstuffed and not stingy, but also not very distinctive in any particular way. It was reminiscent of a slightly upscaled Subway or a downmarket Au Bon Pain or Panera. A shop professing to be English with a branch in New England should really look into sourcing some cheddar cheese that’s not orange and tastes like cheddar cheese.
After a $6.50 sandwich each, we were still hungry, so we split a tuna melt. It was slightly better than either of the first course sandwiches, with hot and salty being the primary notes of interest. Then B helped an Estonian woman take her first photo with her new iPhone and we headed back to the office pausing to giggle at the “General Hooker Entrance” of the state house.
I’ll give the Earl this, it’s the best sandwich shop that used to be a bathroom that I’ve ever visited. It’s also got location going for it, I can see them cleaning up in more temperate seasons with all the outdoor seating (but none indoors where people used to sit quite a lot…) Which leads me to wonder, does the sandwich shop have a public restroom?