Sportello, Boston

An Evening at a Fine Dining Cafeteria

So I came back to Chef Barbara Lynch's @Sportello, after all these years. I had last been here when I was workign for Reading Is Fundamental and I was in town for an IRA convention event at the Children's Museum that is practically next door. I'm remembering having a cocktail hour with Peter Reynolds. He and his twin brother had been the M.C. for the annual RIF gala, and I was in Boston reveling in the afterglow at his spectacular offices. 

High-end Cafeteria Luxury

At any rate, I recall coming back the next evening when my hotel concierge suggested a dinner spot called Sportello. This suggestion turned out to be a terrific idea. While Boston prices do make you wonder if D.C. is a cheap city to live in!

When it comes to ordering, I always try to get something I wouldn't either be able to make at home or be willing to make. Looking at the short menu, I'm thinking the braised rabbit with Picholine olives and rosemary and ricotta-stuffed melanzane looks like something I'd never make but would kill to eat. Getting through a menu full of excellent options is easy when these choices are included. There is nearly nothing on this menu I wouldn't love to eat.

@SportelloBoston , part 1: An "Open Table" at the Bar, Really? 

1960s cocktailer at the ersatz wine bar 

OK, so I had set up a reservation on Open Table, but the second the guy sees that I'm a table for one, he scowls and gives the two-top to a couple and tells me I can sit at the bar. Urgh. I'm all, "For chrissakes, I've got a reservation for an OPEN TABLE, not a seat at a bar..." But turns out this bar is a little bit different. They sat me at the "wine bar"...seriously, this is the most down market wine bar ever. And that's intentional. Your rear pays extra for the incredibly uncomfortable 1960's Mrs. Robinson's lanai cocktail stools, think "The Graduate." 

"Oh Benjamin...stop complaining..."

No seriously, these cocktail stools are a mesh specifically designed to turn your seat into a flesh waffle. I have friends who would kill to be sitting here—Scott, I'm looking at you! But me? I was just sitting there ready to kill...

Thankfully my server came along and walked me through a terrific wine by the glass list. Now, say what you will about wines by the glass (and many have: namely, they're a terrible waste of money, you should just get the bottle), I do not relish sitting with an entire bottle of wine as a single diner and (a) looking as if I have a problem, and (b) seeing most of it go to waste because I'm in town working.

This wine list was exciting because they found "affordable" ($9-$15/glass) fine wines that they could serve by the glass. more on that in a moment

@SportelloBoston, part 2: Fava Beans and a Lovely Chianti?

Fava bean "hummus" and a delightful fenneled bread
for the sybarite in all of us.

As I cast my eyes down the menu, I came upon a fava bean puree. This is something that back in my vegan days, specifically when I was a student in Bristol, England, I would consume every Sunday night with a coterie of likeminded souls escaping Thatcher's England for something a little more delicious, We gorged on it.

Short but Special Menu
Just try finding something you won't eat here. Dare ya.

But at Sportello, there is no gorging. Portions are for adults, not college students, and this particular treat would be meaningless without an order of the smartly portioned house-made bread (required, but most certainly not complimentary here). The u-shaped fennel bread provides a truly amazing opportunity; it's just a thing of beauty. The round walnut bite has a non-yeasty mouth feel, so it's peculiar but also was servicable even if it clearly did not go with the starter I'd ordered. However, the spiadinni is just a crisp of sorts, so it's a little odd as well, but at least worked with the silky fava bean glory that coats the mouth. 

Hannibal Lecter was right about the fava beans, but wrong about the Chianti (see link above for explanation of that quote), however. My server steered me to the blended white from Mt. Etna. High-altitude whites from Sicily? Who knew? Strange and special. The time I took with the waiter was well worth it; he guided me with little effort to this terrific white and sturdy red also from Italy.

A Seat Looking Out Onto Boston

But no sooner had I looked up while I waited for my breads to join my fava bean puree, then the braised rabbit came out. It was waaaay tooo soon. 

From my FB page, where I was live-posting my dinner:

"I'm now sitting in front of a starter and an entree. Very annoying. The tastes all work together terrifically well. Great servers, too. But ultimately, they clearly cannot control the kitchen. Bostonians eat early I'm guessing. It's only 8:34 p.m. What gives? So, I've sent back the rabbit. Oh god...what will happen? Chefs hate that sort of thing. Stay tuned to find out. I'm as unsure as you, i assure you."

My Seat at the "Wine Bar"

@SportelloBoston , part 3: the Returned Entree.

Ultimately, my server assured me there'd be no problem holding my entree. Frankly, I'm paying a small fortune for the entree, so "holding" it didn't sound like anything I relished doing. However, hold it they did.

By the time I'd slowly poured through the white and my starter, the rabbit resurfaced. The melty shaved ricotta salata or parm or whatever it is is a sign that they do have heat lamps even in high-end restaurants; they're somewhere around here. It's a caf, after all, right?!

And still, even after the 20 minute wait to return the entree to my place setting, the slightly salty, braised rabbit proved a strong entree.

But wait, in the tradition of Frank O'Hara, a digression, I went to my Bethesda, Md., butcher the other day and asked him to de-bone a rabbit for me. 

• But no. 
• No phone call back. 
• Silence. 
• No rabbit. 

Even my butcher abandons me in times of culinary need. And people, this is Bethesda, for chrissssakes. And so ordering rabbit when out for dinner is almost a must for me. Grateful I was. 

Braised rabbit in Strozzapreti, the Priest Strangler

The rabbit was in a salty stew of gentle, not overpowering rosemary and olivey goodness. The final (de-boned) result was then folded into spaetzle-like pasta, apparently called "Strozzapreti." This particular hand-made pasta—also something I won't make at home—is just incredibly satisfying. The Picholine olives and rosemary lend the dish a joyful sweetness, combined with an herbaceous quality, and again that saltiness you begin to crave mid-way through.

But it's that al dente, spaetzle-like pasta thing that I keep coming back to....what is it? It's almost German. Is this a pasta from where? Trieste? Pasta from northern eastern Italy? At any rate, like I say, apparently it's called "Strozzapreti." It's apparently Umbrian, but I swear to god they're making it in a spaetzle-style, rather than traditional pasta methods. 

Sold!

Tonight's dinner out: a success. And a lesson is learned: Make friends early with your server. If you need to return food, it comes back without the spit and anger! And the wine by the glass? Unique, impressive, affordable. Final bill, not so much. But at least with the guidance from my server, I wasn't raked over the financial coals!

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