The Mexican Teardrop

A few weeks ago, two of my sisters came up for a weekend Beantown visit.  Friday night saw dim sum at Myers & Chang, Saturday dawned with the trade of a BC football game for a lazy Cambridge afternoon, a pit stop at the Garment District for post-Halloween KISS costume accoutrements (we’re weird but we’re not that weird. It was for a charity fundraising event), and then meticulously crafted drinks at…Drink.

There’s something about the atmosphere of this place, with its cool subterranean concrete, raw bulb light fixtures, exposed brick, entomologist’s collections of pinned bugs under glass, bearded and flanneled patrons all in a row, that sort of makes me want to rise to a new level of badass-ness, so my only course of action was to order a scotch. Everyone else went off menu, naming their preferred alcohol and flavor profile for the evening to the contemplative server, who then delivered perfectly mixed drinks in perfectly mixed antique glasses that also accompanied a bowl of praline cashews with bacon and soft pretzels with mustard. The favorite boozy beverage by far was a tequila concoction, made with a magical spice mixture (though not cardamom. They’ve got just about everything except cardamom).  Dubbed the “Mexican Teardrop,” it was delicious, and everyone around us was totally jealous.

The Mexican Teardrop. So Delicious It Glows.

At this point it was still early evening, so we headed back to the apartment for a feta-honey appetizer (next post!) and a frittata.  Fueled by this and a few beers, the evening quickly accelerated into the age-old “let’s see what weird songs come up in iTunes shuffle” which then led to “remember the music video to that song?” which then led to the disjointed mess you see below and a dance party at The Good Life.


In my world, nothing good happens after 2 a.m., which is the uncharacteristically (because some of us are 28 going on 107) late hour we left the bar.  But my sisters were in town, so I made an exception.  Also, when the DJ is spinning Bone Thugs, Ginuwine and Boyz II Men, it’s just hard to tear yourself away.  So the walk home meant that we traversed the nightlife territory on Tremont Street just when the bars and clubs were spewing out girls in teeny skirts and teetering heels (or the opposite, no shoes at all!) and the shellacked and cologne-soused boys who were gunning for and hollering after them.  It was rowdy and animalistic and awesome.  Wish I took pictures.

Thanks, sisters (and Jesse!), for an awesome weekend. Come back and visit soon!

“Crossing That Dirty Water” Saturdays

With all the food and coffee gems in the South End, we rarely make the trip across the Charles to Cambridge, Somerville, Watertown, etc.  There just usually isn’t a contest between walking 5 minutes to Toro or Myers & Chang, or stoking the embers a slow, simmering rage sitting on Mass Ave at red light after red light in the car or bus. But as of late, we’ve been forcing ourselves to explore the environs across the river because when you think about it, three miles isn’t a far distance to travel to reach an area jam-packed with amazing destinations. Thus began the advent of “Crossing That Dirty Water” Saturdays.  Last Saturday saw visits to:

  • HiRise: Probably new to no one in Boston but if you just moved here, please boost it to the top of your list. The prices are high but reflect the quality of the sandwiches, coffees, baked goods, and jams. If you’re put off by straight-to-dour-faced staff, this probably isn’t the place for you, but I don’t mind if my coffee and sandwich aren’t served with a smile when they are this good.
  • Fresh Pond loop:  Took a walk but soon found the 8-foot tall chain link fence that blocked the spectacular view extremely depressing.  The golf course may require a second visit though – $23 for 9 holes on a short, walking course.
  • Porter Square shops:  Ever wonder where you get industrial-sized squirt bottles, deep-fryer baskets, 173 gallon stock pots, teeny tart and madeleine pans? China Fair.  They’ve also got lots of random kitchen tools and pieces, china (that’s a given), party wares, and a basement section full of 1980s era leftovers (i.e. a teeny, flimsy warmer with a small plastic bin for heating up frozen foods, like boxes of peas and corn). This place is appealing to anyone with an inclination for cooking, but go with a friend so you have someone to yell across the store to come look at this!

Today we made it to HiRise again and dodged big, fat raindrops to visit Christina’s Spice & Specialty Foods and Ice Cream place next door. It was verging on the impossible, but we managed to walk out with only a handful of things: Ceylon cinnamon sticks, Goldrush Old fashioned San Francisco Style Sourdough Style (has anyone tried this? I’ve always wanted to get some starter from a handkerchiefed friend with a 50-year old mother batch, but alas, no such friends have come forth), whole green cardamom pods, concentrated pomegranate juice, and beluga lentils.

At the ice cream shop, the Mr. opted for black raspberry with a topping of chocolate chunks and walnuts which he promptly inhaled. I got a scoop of butter almond (awesome) and a scoop of fresh mint (minty as promised but with a, dare I say, underlying flavor almost reminiscent of another fragrant green plant some people might be familiar with). The trip back to the South End was full of hydroplaning adventures, but we made it intact with a bunch of perishable dairy goods from the grocery store which are just the thing to buy in the wake of a hurricane that may kill the power.  If that’s the case, please come over and join our milk, eggs, and cheese party.