Shorts legs and asthma always drove me toward endurance.  I played midfielder or sweeper in soccer, maintaining a constant pace back and forth rather than bursting like a striker.  Though new bouts of training in the last few years have drastically helped my asthma, to the point that it’s rarely an issue, the sudden stop and go of hard intervals still can cause my lungs to cease.  The same is true for biking.  I love spin classes but I never start without resting my inhaler in the handlebars.

Tonight was a descending workout, one that should theoretically start at the peak and work its way down.  1200m, 1000m, 800m, 600m, 400m, all at a 5:45 mile pace.  Even though it may not be as good for me, I always do track workouts on the treadmill.  The speed is honest, the distance is honest.  Knowing that too much treadmill work likely hurt my marathon time last year, I’m maintaining a solid awareness of my time on the machine, and making sure to do more tempo runs outside.  A new jacket and tights that Santa brought me will help reinforce my nerves on cold mornings, I’m sure.

This week is going to be an interesting one for training as it is one of the busiest weeks for the restaurant all year.  We will do two brunches and three dinner service over the weekend, which we lead into with New Year’s Eve, an event that means getting to work an hour early and leaving two hours later.  Finding the time and energy to train may be a bit of a struggle, but it will also feel like more of an accomplishment when I feel myself slowing down at the end of a run.

Unrelated note: notes about food have mostly disappeared from this blog.  Hopefully, I’ll do some more cooking and be able to change that in the near future.

Enough with the mushy, gushy stuff though…onto the running!  I had to take Saturday off because I effectively drove from home to work, but that left me with a full tank of gas for Sunday morning.  I took on 12.6 miles at a 7:40 and felt pretty great.  It was cool and misty, which is my favorite running weather; you never get hot and you never get thirsty.  My knees were a bit sore because of the moisture in the air but that was relatively insignificant.  The run seemed to kick start my metabolism and my brain, which was awesome.  More than that, the streets were quiet on account of the holiday, and I cruised through sidewalks without having to avoid anyone or anything.  My only note is that I am noticing how threadbare my shoes are becoming, and it’s probably time to bite the bullet and get some new shoes. Maybe tomorrow I’ll sneak out to Lexington to the Greater Boston Running Compnay and pick up some new kicks.  I’ve also been eyeing a new Garmin watch for training.  I can definitely get one on Ebay, or just use Nike+, but I’m a sucker for shiny new toys.

More importantly, today I’m upping (ahem, starting) my fundraising efforts with a simple mailer to put in all of the mail boxes of my apartment building.  After that, I plan to talk to several old friend from my home town and to start putting up fliers in coffee shops in the area.  I know that it’s a complete long shot but I figure it can’t hurt to post up anywhere possible.  After that, I’ll talk to some local running shops and see if they have any idea.  I swear, I am not going to be a deadbeat fundraiser!!!

That’s all for now…move to come soon!!

The first group run was a huge success in many ways, and it was definitely worth dragging myself out of my bed at 7:00 AM.  The shop was easy to find given that there were 30 Yahoos standing outside of it in various shades and hues of neon.  Even though these bright colors are supposed to make it easier for vehicular operators to see us at night and in the morning, I’m quite convinced that it’s really a collective belief that we work hard enough to wear some ridiculous clothing.  At the very least, that’s part of the reason that I also showed up wearing a highlighter yellow jacket.

After a few formalities and announcements, during which I realized how painfully behind I am in fundraising, the group set out along the Lexington bike trail for a 10 mile spin.  Feeling zealous, I hopped into the lead pack that was led by Tyler, a DMFC vet of four years who has an amazing ability for conversation running a 7:20 mile.  I wasn’t dying, but I certainly kept my mouth shut for most of the way.  Eventually, the pack dwindled to five of us and we plodded along the backs of developments and houses through the leafless trees.  Thanks to the Garmins in the group, we had constant pace and mileage updates throughout the run.  Following Jack’s advice, we attempted to negative split on the way home.  The group held strong and dropped to around 7 minute miles up to a mile to go.  At that point, Tyler kicked into a different gear and I held onto his heels.  We went 6:20 for the last mile.

After the run, I took a few minutes to get my stride examined to help me pick out some new shoes in the next few weeks.  I am happy to report that I’m getting a better understanding of my footing and had a good conversation rather than just sitting and nodding my head.  I ducked out before buying anything but next long run (and next 20% discount!) I’ll be back to do some damage.

Over the weekend, I decided that save for the group runs, I’m going to do my own training schedule based on what I did for Boston last time.  The first time through, I ran the distances but had no concept of pacing.  Speed workouts were fast, long runs were slow, and pace workouts somewhere between.  Thanks to some math, I updated the program with splits for all of the workouts, which I’m hoping to keep with the help of at treadmill and a GPS (Santa?  Are you listening?)

Today was 4x800m with 2 minutes rest.  I ran them at 10.4 mph (2:52 per 800m) and finished the workout easy breezy.  Tomorrow will be a paced 7 miler.  I still have no watch but between a stop watch and Nike+ I’m sure that I’ll figure something out.

Also checked out the Nike store today.  They have some SICK new shoes that I have no business buying or wearing.  It is my firm belief that you must earn the right to wear ridiculous things, and I need to be sub three if I show up to the line wearing neon green kicks with a royal blue swoosh.  Then again, if I break three, I’m absolutely making my own NikeIDs that are blue and hot pink…something to look forward to…

Today was a light 30 minute bike and a stretch.  I’ll roll out my legs and maybe do a set of core later on.  I want to get back onto Ab Ripper X.  I will rue this decision for two weeks, and then be so glad that I went for it.  Nothing like a little vanity to throw an extra log on the fire.

Cross Training, Stationary Bike, 30 minutes.  Legs didn’t feel strong but certainly not broken down.  6-8 miles tomorrow, bike Friday, first group run Saturday morning!  May capitalize on the team discount for some new shoes.  I think I’m going for some Nike Frees.  I don’t know why I feel so compelled by the recent retreat to “barefoot” running, but I’m kind of hooked.  Two pairs to rotate and I’ll be good to go through February.  If I’m lucky, I’ll find some shoes that match my jacket!  http://s.onlineshoes.com/images/br002/199987_366_45.jpg

First workout was on a treadmill.  I would be worried about falling into the training trap I did last time but I’m already getting more acclimated with the colder weather.  When I need to stay indoors, I have the option, but it will not be common.

12/14/09:
4.7 miles, indoors, 30 minutes.  Rushing from work to get to a movie got my adrenaline pumping and kept me speeding through.  I used the speed interval feature to add in the 100 meter bursts.

12/15/09:

5.25 miles, outdoors, 44 degrees, clear skies.  Easy run on the Central/Inman Square loop…added a tough of distance by heading through the edge of campus rather than up Prospect.  Pace was roughly 7 minutes per mile…I ran without a watch.  I want to look into getting an armband for an ipod/iphone so I can stop looking up the distances after the fact.  Not to mention, the measurement will be more consistent than my haphazard clicking.  Hoping to try and do Yoga at Baptiste tomorrow with Shanna.  It may not have the cardio but a full body stretch and strength routine may be just what the doctor ordered for a day off.

Though this strategy is likely ass backwards, I decided to use my marathon taper techniques and modify them slightly for a 5k.  Lots of sleep two nights before, lots of water the night before.  Cereal and fruit for breakfast, no food and water one hour before the event.  Quick five minutes warm up 15 minutes before the gun.  The end.  I did a few treadmill runs and speedwork outside over the last few weeks but frankly,  I didn’t train for this race.  I was anxious to see how everything would go.

When the announcer called all five and six-minute milers up to the starting line, I sheepishly huddled into the crowd.  The Craigie team wished me good luck and I went to see what the other runners were like.  Roughly 50 people decided to approach the line as 5 and 6 minute milers.  Mostly men, some with full outfits and gear, others with old, well-loved shorts and shoes.  The remaining 950 runners slowly filled in behind us.  We all took the Athlete’s creed and the gun was fired.

In my standard racing approach, I was slow off the line.  I don’t know if it’s because I hate sprinting, or that I love passing people–maybe it’s both.  I felt a surge of people head past me with long strides and high chests and as I started my shuffle.  My quick warmup took the jitters out of my legs and helped me to get into a good rhythm nice and quickly.  At the one mile mark, I found myself in a divide between a lead pack of 25 and following pack of 50 or so; I ran it in 6:15.  Not as quick as I might have wanted, but it felt amazing.  For the next 1.5 miles, people slowly dropped from the lead pack and I made it my mission to catch anyone that fell off the pace.  One by one, I slowly picked off the people and tried to reel in that original back.  Coming back up Comm. Ave to the common, I passed the solo runner and set my eyes on a group of three about 30 second back from the lead.  I shortened their lead but they hit their sprint stride before I could catch them and were gone.

I crossed the line in 19:25, which is a new PR.  Oddly, though, I wasn’t necessarily excited about the time; I was excited about the race.  It was well-paced, smartly run.  Yes, only a 5k, but I finally felt like doing athletics for the last 20 years actually had some payoff.  I now have five months to apply those lessons to 26.2 miles.  Here I come.

Todays run:

6.2 miles ~ 50 minutes (no watch)
Weather: Getting golder…33 degrees and windy.
Mood: Distracted, thoughtful.  Long week at work and three more days before a day off.
Clothing: Boston Marathon top, t-shirt, spyder top.  Nike shorts, pegasus shoes.

I’m hoping that Santa will fill my stocking with lots of running goodies.  Not only will it satisfy my obsession with running gear, but it will be nice to be a bit warmer on these runs!!

Last night, I got home at 3 AM to an envelope with my official marathon entry.  A friendly reminder that I put forth the effort to get myself into the race that thousands try and enter was a good feeling, a metaphorical pat on the back.  It was even more exciting to see that if my training goes well, I might make the official entry time of 3:10:00, which would make me so proud.

Then, this morning, I hopped on the treadmill for a timed 10k.  I set the pace for 6:27/mile just to see what would happen.  Despite a few small cramps and shortness of breath, I cruised to the 6.2 mark in 39:56, going sub 40 for the first time ever.  It was a time standard I always tried to break during my training two years ago but never quite got there.  To go from running my track sprints at around 9.0 mph to running a 10k at 9.3 mph (apologies for the dorky number use) makes me feel euphoric.  I have five long months of training ahead of me, but the body and mind to make it worth something amazing.

Here’s to the long nights, small paychecks, and post college adjusting.  I’m going to run through it all.

Then I woke up an hour late.  Oops.

I crawled out of bed at 10 AM.  The first item on my agenda was a long run, but that required some time to wake up.  I spent an hour on the couch happily munching on bread from the restaurant with butter and jam.  I watched TV, I stared at the Boston skyline.

At 10:45 I laced up my shoes and hit the ground running.  It was easily one of the most beautiful days I have seen in Cambridge.  65 degrees, sunny, slightly breezy.  The day had a clean feeling that was indescribable.  I quickly darted through the square and down by the river for a run up to North Beacon Street.  The path cuts away from the road and turns into a mile of forest romp…the closest thing to trail running in Cambridge.  The leaves were falling every where (as where deadly acorns).  Single scullers plodded down the Charles, people were walking their dogs; the day was quintessentially New England almost to a point of fault.

I barreled down Brighton Avenue and Commonwealth past Fenway and BU.  The college kids were all in shorts and flip-flops, excitedly gabbing between classes about the great weather.  Onward to Mass Ave and the South End.  Glancing into the window fronts of Toro and Meyers and Chang as I cruised by.  Down to Harbor Point, past Drink and Sportello, and finally cutting back through my private park on the otherside of the waterway from the Garden.  The second half of this run was quite similar to my last long run…I just love.

I cruised past the museum of science, up Cambridge Street to Prospect, back to Mass Ave and all the way home.  Exhausted, dehydrated, and spent, I bought 64 ounces of Gatorade and a bottle of chocolate milk before settling into the jacuzzi.  The breeze kept my upper body cool as a I stretched out my distressed feet and knees.  After some indulgent recovery and a shower, it was 2:30.  Running store and Urban Outfitters were just knocked off the list.

I hopped in my car and headed down to the Farmer’s Market…something that usually make me feel jealous of the West Coast markets from last summer.  However, for whatever reason (probably the delirium induced by my run), the market seemed full of everything I wanted.  I bought locally grown and smoked bacon, fresh parsley, scallions, and brussels sprouts on the stalk.  There was taza chocolate, which i love, and an array of apple that would give the California peach farms a run for their money.  I walked away happily munching on a honey crisp apple before heading to do markets to get the rest of the ingredients I planned to use for dinner.

I got back at 4 PM.  Good bye e-mail time. Using the Momofuku cookbook, which I am dorkily obsessed with, as well as some other sources of inspiration, I came up with the follow menu.

Shrimp and Grits with beer gravy
Brussels Sprouts with Fish Sauce Vinaigrette
Cranberry Shortcakes with Fresh Whipped Cream

I did what prep work was to be done in advance: made the vinaigrette, chopped the sweat for the gravy, made and formed the dough for the shortcakes.  At 4:45, I took to cleaning the apartment.  The barthroom was scrubbed, the carpet vacuumed, my closet tamed and reorganized.  At 5:45, I was ready to start cooking in the airs of a clean apartment.

At around 6PM, half way through my shrimp peeling process, the girls arrived.  Amanda, Eleanor, Hupp, and Medha close behind.  They all settled around the TV with chips and salsa while I started the final push toward the end of the meal.  Brought the stock to a simmer, whisked the grips, dropped the sweat, made a rough, added the beer, made gravy, thickened the grits with cream and butter, pulled the brussels sprouts for the over and had it all ready to go at the same time, easily one of the best feelings ever.  Regretably, I completely forgot about the scallions and parsley, but everyone had seconds, so the opportunity was not entirely lost.

Each bowl was filled with a creamy dollop of grits and healthy serving of the gravy poached shrimp.  The dish was unctious and even tiny bits filled the mouth with flavor.  The brussels sprouts were sweet and savory; fish sauce makes for CRAZY umami.  Everyone contentedly munched and sipped on beer as we caught up.  It was fun to hear them talk about all of the stresses of senior year, which I remember all to well, and can now think about with a totally different perspective.  I spared them my “sagely” wisdom and instead just enjoyed listening.

For dessert, I pulled the pastries from the refridgerator and popped them in the oven.  In the meantime, I whisked up a home made cranberry relish with orange zest, sugar, and walnuts.  To finish, a bit of heavy cream, sugar, and vanilla in the food processor for the finishing touches.  The cakes (though slightly burned on top because of my impatient decision to finsih them with the broiler) were fluffy, buttery, and salty in the most wonderfully contrasting way.  The cream was fluffy and melted right into the deep red relish.  Dessert was undeniably the quietest part of the meal.

After clean up, I hopped in my car one more time and met up with a good friend from school just to catch up.  I hadn’t seen her in a while and it was wonderful to take a moment and just sit.

I arrived home at 12:45, an hour and a half after I had planned to be in bed.  I accomplished nothing, relatively speaking, and my schedule created the day before was laughably absent.  Perhaps that is why Monday was simply a beautiful day.

Regardless, I got myself out of bed early this morning so that I could take a bit of time to do some writing.  Something about my last run was really helpful, though I can’t quite put my finger on why, yet.

I woke up knowing that I was going on a longer run.  I hadn’t decided the distance but it was my one day where I was free to recover after the run.  I sat on the couch with a normal breakfast, a bowl of cereal and an apple, watching TV.  Having gotten home late the night before from the restaurant, and not having dinner, left me with an emptier stomach than usual; the cereal wasn’t going to cut it.  I stalked around the kitchen for a bit for something else.  I’m sad to say that for some reason, half of a pecan pie that I had been nibbling on throughout the week stared at me from the counter and seemed like a delicious dessert to my breakfast.  Not wanting to dirty a plate, I simple grabbed a fork and took the half a pie back to the couch.  Though I’m sure you can predict what’s going to happen, I’ll walk through the steps if only to shame myself into seeing that eating this way is not a good idea.

I cut off a small sliver, what I would call a half slice, and ate small bites as a gazed into the TV screen.  I definitely felt more full at the end, and contentedly sat with the pie in my lap.  Then I had another bite, just one.  Suddently, the symmetry of the pie was all off, and that wouldn’t do…better finish that slice.  Uh oh, there’s an edge of crust that’s running amok on the top of the foil pie plate…::chomp::  Oops, too much, symmetry destroyed.  One more piece.  Wait, there’s only one more piece?  It’ll get lonely.  Pies are lonely creatures by definition, he should be with his family.  15 minutes later, there was no more pie.

Fortunately, this made my decision to go for an extra long run that much easier.  With half a pie’s worth of butter and calories in my stomach, I figured I could run as far as I wanted to.  The awesome thing was, I was right.

I mapped the course on google earth.  I planned to do am ambling tour of Allston, Brookline, Boston, and Cambridge to make sure that there was some good diversity of scenery.  It was a warm day, so I didn’t need layers.  I figured that 15 miles was short enough that I didn’t need fuel or water, especially given my magical breakfast.  I gave my stomach an extra half an hour to deal with the mess I just put in it.  I laced up my shoes, put on my bright green watch, and hit the road.

The first few steps, as always, were a bit stiff.  However, only a mile in, I hit a stride and took off.  I felt like I was floating along the sidewalks, pushing the pavement away behind me.  I made it to Allston in no time and spent the first part of the run just watching the leaves fall off the trees.  I cruised into Boston, past Fenway, and down Massachusetts Avenue into the South End.  I checked my watch, 50 minutes in and I felt like I hadn’t broken a sweat.  I headed past Mike’s City Diner, Toro, and Myers and Chang before making a turn toward the Boston Harbor.  I ran by the water, eventually weaving through a parking lot for the Boston Herald and making it to A Street in Fort Point.  I made a special note to run by Sportello and Drink to watch the lunch time crowd.  I’ve never been there but I still really want to go…maybe the next time I have a day off

I cruised around Congress Street to see the enourmous Celtics banner hanging by the Garden.  I wove my way through what I call the secret park, a small playground space accessible only by off-ramp from 93-North or my weaving dock ramps coming from the Boston side.  I hopped through the playground, across 93, and onto the bridge that takes me to the Museum of Science.  I checked my watch…1:42.  Only last week I had run 13 miles in 1:42, and I was definitely less than 2 miles from home.  The run felt so easy, I figured I was just pacing it well.  I was wrong…I was flying.

I sped down Cambridge Street, banged a left at Prospect, and a right on Mass Ave for the final leg.  For the first time, I felt slight exhaustion in my legs as a raced toward the gate of my apartment building to see what my time would be.  1:52:17.  After stretching, slugging some water, and taking a show.  I got back to the computer to figure out all of the “stats.”  I mapped the run and discovered that I was averaging 7:30 miles, 30 seconds per mile faster than my marathon pace from two years ago.  I was giddy…probably because there was residual sugar from the pie in my system but also because my big fear in starting this training process is that it would fall short of my last.  I wasn’t working 80 hours a week last time, I wasn’t working out of a gym with less equipment than a Mariott hotel gym.  Forgot that, I’m going big this time around.  5 months out and I’m ahead of my last training cycle.  Let’s see what happens.

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.