Maybe I’m snob. Maybe I’ll never be able to overcome my ties to New York City, where I now technically call my home. Maybe I don’t understand Boston.
Whatever the reason, I find that it is often the exception rather than the rule that I find restaurants in Boston really cool, cutting edge, or truly differentiated from their peers. This is not to say that there aren’t exceptions, or that some of these other places aren’t great restaurants. No. 9 Park could easily stand up to some of the best service in New York, Toro does Tapas with more flair than any new place in town, and Locke-Ober is as much an institution as any New York eatery. Regardless, Boston has a lot to live up to in comparison to some other food cities, and it doesn’t always stack up.
As discouraging as this could be, it does offer the silver lining that any place in Boston that DOES come across as unique and interesting stands out like an albino in Cancun. Just the other week, I had the fortune of walking into the Butcher Shop for the first time, and I was blown away.
The space of the butcher shop is a bar meets lunch counter meets actual butcher shop that combines for a dark, cozy atmosphere. At 9PM on a Wednesday, the place was packed as people patiently stood with glasses of wine and boards of charcuterie. The back of the restaurant is home to a large, square butcher table separated by glass partitions hearkening to the purposes of keeping blood from different cuts of meat from mingling; it does a pretty fantastic job of doing the same with neighboring conversations. Around the perimeter of the restaurant is a bar with minimal adornment. Groups of two and three huddled around plates to share, often opting to simply grab the food off the plates with hands rather than worry about the formalities of a fork. The back wall is home to what I would call a staple in just about any deli in Boston or New York City: A standing, sliding glass refridgerator display. It’s not chrome. It’s not powered by magic. It’s an ordinary, average display refridgerator. What it makes it special, as I’m sure Barbara Lynch wanted, is inside. Rather than carrying stale Chicken Caesar Salad wraps and bottles of coke, the cooler is home to freshly made lamb ragu, house-made pork rillettes, and cuts of dry-aged steak that have been allowed to age so long that the outside “crust” is nearly black.
My party had the fortune of waiting in the back of the space, which afforded us a view of the entire space; we were able to see how the different aspects of the restaurant. The bar lining the windows allows for people to ignore the space behind them and enjoy the people watching on Tremont Street, one of the busier streets in Boston. The bar is home to two bartenders, spending more time talking shop about wine and meat rather than mixing rosemary and basil infused distillates with sassafrass syrup.*
After about 15 minutes we were moved to our table, a hightop. One of our party was quite familiar with the wine list, and quickly took charge of ordering a bottle of white, a Chenin Blanc from the Loire Valley, and a Spanish red recommended by the manager. The manager, ever alert and present, offered to get the red open and decanting while we drank the white so that we may allow the red to breathe. Sadly, I doubt that I was able to notice the difference, but any step of service that contributes to a high expectation should never be overlooked. The manager was thinking about our entire experience rather than what he could do in that single moment. That, to me, is the hallmark of great service.
The menu was composed of a single page, appetizers, entrees, and desserts. The table was also given a page of specials, which included a few extra apps, entrees, and sides. We ordered in communal style. Local mozzarella with what I would call a muffaletta salad, olives, peppers, onions and plenty of good olive oil. We also got the steak tartare and the antipasti. The antipasti was a collection of several delicious hams, marinated and pickled vegetables, and house-made hummus. The mozarella, coming from Fiore di Nonno in Somerville, was fresh and juicy, and the rich olive oil clung to the soft pillows dotted with peppers. The tartate was lightly dressed and incredibly fresh. The steak had the wonderful minerality of raw steak cut with sharp acid and buttery brioche toast.
As a midcourse, we got the house-made terrines and the antipasti plate, which were served on one board.. After spending a 30 seconds or so rearranging the table, the waiter brought over a hulking board that was covered from end to end with the antipasti plate and the charcuterie plate. We joked with the waiter that they must have chopped down a tree to get a board so large. He waiter laughed and replied that, actually, it resulted from a cook dropping a large chopping block. The resulting halves were sanded down and voila, charcuterie board. Artuflly mounded piles of ham and thick, fat slices of rillettes and pates extended all the way down the plate along with small tufts of picked, shallots, grain mustard, and medeira jelly. The rillettes were unctuous, rich, and fatty in the best way possible. Smeared on bread with some grain mustard offered a beautiful textural contrast and crazy flavor. We snacked contentedly and drank through the chenin blanc. The marinated vegetables were crispy with a beautiful acid that cut well with some of the ham and cheese. The hummus was garlicky and smooth, and actually went beautifully with the brioche toast points that came with the steak tartare. In the meantime, both server and busser calmly glided past our table, only interrupting to fill water glasses or inquire how everything was.
The plates cleared, and the decanter came over to the table. The red with was full-bodied, plush, and phenomenally delicious. It has some characterisitcs of a French burgundy, a bit of barnyard on the nose and an incredibly smooth finish. What made this wine slightly different was the fruit-forward characteristic sometimes lost in French Burgundy. There were hints of red and purple fruits, and a slight sweetness to the wine. Had I the liver of a god, I would have had a bottle to myself.
Minutes after the appetizers cleared, given that we spent so much time with them, our entrees streamed to the table. Hangar steak, roasted chicken, and pork. Also, generously, the restaurant provided us with a few sides: roasted butter beans, pureed winter squash, and ratatouille. Hands down, the steak was the highlight of the meal. The meat was rich and slathered lavishly in a puddle of its own jus. The beef was tender, a touch gamy, minerally, and undeniably beefy. A small dollop of winter squash in the same mouthful was sheet bliss; it was roasted with I-actually-don’t-want-to-know-how-much butter and plenty of fresh rosemary. The chicken, though not as good as the steak, was very well prepared. The meat was tender, the skin crispy and full of flavor. The chicken also had a good depth of flavor, likely in part to brining pre-cooking that allows the meat to get salt evenly throughout the entire animal rather than only on the surface. The pork, unfortunately, was a bit of a clunker. The meat was slightly over done and the accompanying accouterments were equally flat. The ratatouille, prepared in a style similar to that of the Disney movie ratatouille, offered lucious slices of fresh, local zucchini and eggplant covered in olives and olive oil. It was hearty and fulfilling despite being 100% vegetarian friendly, and wonderful rounding point to the meal.
Two bottes of wine, three appetizers, three entrees and three sides left us all more than content when the dessert menus were dropped. We elected to take the dietarily wise choice of skipping and moving toward the check. If anything, this should only be a sign that the Butcher Shop’s food is delicious; we ate so much of it we couldn’t possibly squeeze in another bite.
On our way out, we were thanked profusely by the manager for coming in, and he sent us off onto Tremont before turning around the touching other tables as he worked his way down the room. I left with a glow, some of which was undoubtedly from the wine, of an experience that is hard to come by. Delicious, local, house-made food in a unique setting in the heart of the city. Frankly, I couldn’t ask for more.
*This is not a knock to craft cocktails. Rather, a commentary on the fact that it is nice to see that the Butcher Shop does not feel compelled to add a more serious bar program where it doesn’t need one.
