Rewind six weeks:
LK: HOLY CRAP GUYS LOOK AT THIS MENU I JUST FOUND OUTSIDE THEY DELIVER EVERYTHING! CHINESE! MEXICAN! ITALIAN! AMERICAN! MAILORDER BRIDES!
Laura J/ Erin K: WHA HAPPEN?!?!
LK: Yeah. I would NEVER. It doesn't even have a name -- just a phone number -- to nowhere.
Flash Forward to tonight:
LK's inner monologue: I would very much like to eat some buffalo chicken wings while I watch the end of the Pat's game, but I'm at work 'til 9PM - let's see who will deliver.
StubHub Query results: One restaurant matches your criteria. #1 Chinese, Roxbury.
LK's inner monologue: Hmmmm. Let's check you out, #1 Chinese. Oh, you do have Buffalo Wings... and tacos? And burritos, BBQ wings, hotdogs, burgers and garlic bre... OH MY GOD... IT'S YOU.
Dilemma/ Life Crisis: I can't order from you, but I can't order without you.
On the phone, 14 Painful Minutes Later:
LK to EK: Hi, if I order buffalo chicken wings will you and LJ eat some?
EK to LK: Where from?
LK to EK: Don' worry 'bout it.
EK to LK: Sure
LK's Inner monologue: OK, so buffalo wings are $7.75. $10 minimum for delivery... so... I'll just add this small order of Crab Rangoon... and this garlic mozzarella bread... and this large order of Loss of Dignity. Mmmmhmmm, I think that'll be all.
Thirty minutes later food shows up almost hot and surprisingly better than just edible with the following sides:
Sweet and Sour (Crab Rangoon, OK, cool)
Bleu Cheese (For the wings, about 2oz. Way to be stingy)
A complementary order of white rice (Wha?)
Soy Sauce (OK, for the rice?)
Several packets of Ketchup (WHA?!?)
This is not an excellent takeout establishment, as I decided early on when I found their menu adhered to my North End sidewalk with the aromatic glue of Trash Day. The garlic mozzarella bread had a weirdly spicy kick to it, the Crab Rangoon was about standard for mediocre takeout in Boston and the wings were Chinese-style wings doused in Buffalo sauce - all of which served its purpose by filling my belly.
Buffalo beggars can't be choosy, right?
Nebber say "nebber."
Available on StubHub! $10 minimum. No Delivery Fee!
The times I spent at, nay, with (tinyurl.com/24j3cq9) Cafeteria in Manhattan were legendary. I dined with loved ones and strangers, celebrated life events of many people I knew -- and a few people I didn't -- and always enjoyed delicious food and excellent service. Life was good and we were happy.
With these fond memories in mind, I have twice attempted to recreate this love affair in Boston and twice this plan has failed me miserably. Now it's time to have an awkward conversation.
Let me start by taking responsibility for my inadequacies:
1. I have a salt intolerance.
2. I tend to seek food when I am hungry.
3. After 45 minutes of waiting, I don't enjoy just-warm food.
I understand that going out to dinner with a salt intolerance is like showing up for a blind date with your parasitic twin - things rarely end well. However, the sodium level of the food Cafeteria Boston is serving up didn't just make me feel bad about myself later - it made it difficult to choke down. Na(2+)Thx.
Come to think of it, my meatloaf may have been marinated in the Dead Sea. The restaurant was completely empty on both occasions, leading to immediate seating and visions of menu-to-mastication in 15 minutes flat. Dream on. Forty-five minutes later the food arrives lukewarm -- and salty. Did I mention that? I can only assume it was imported from Jordan on demand. Maybe I'm being unfair??
This place is the Chris Brown to my Rihanna. Despite the abuse, I still want to give Cafeteria Boston another shot.
Every once in a while, someone convinces me to hit up Building 149 for lunch. Usually, by the time I'm agreeing to this, enough time has elapsed that I've forgotten how miserable my last meal here was.
I guess it's my own fault. I should just stick to the bland pre-made sandwiches I know and love from the Eat Street on MGH's main campus. However, the cafeteria workers at 149 are always suckering me into "trying something new." Unfortunately, "trying something new" often leads to intestinal upset or sodium-induced edema in my lower extremities (see: Corned Beef Pizza Incident, Ch. 37 of my autobiography.)
The selection here is terrible and -- despite the dismal state of the place -- the line is always long. While I don't usually have an issue waiting in long lines, in this particular instance, we have to take into account the 20x24ft space that they have crammed a cafeteria into. Agoraphobics 'R Us.
At least for the next couple months.
I can see why this place is not considered the "better cafeteria" on campus. Hospital cafeterias are supposed to be AMAZING to make you forget about your dying aunt or the impending continuation of your 72-hour shift from hell.
Where are the options? I found myself feeling like I was just in the entryway or expressline to what must be the "real" cafeteria. Nope. That was it.
My breakfast sandwich was lukewarm and rubbery; but, a thorough dousing in ketchup rendered it almost edible. Additionally, as I was choking it down, I noticed that the dining area is lined with vending machines full of frozen dinners for people working the night shift. You're telling me I have to work from 11p to 7a and the only food option you have for me is a lean cuisine?!?! Oh, no.
This place is definitely off my list of potential employers and next time I come here for an appointment, I will be bringing my own food.
Growing up in Yarmouth, I was never enticed to enter this breakfast restaurant/ lounge complete with fluorescent beer signs adorning the front windows. However, the curse of the out-of-town guest befell me and I was forced to have my worst fears realized via disappointing breakfast. My sunnyside eggs were greasy and overdone around the edges, which doubles as an adequate description for how I feel about this place overall. Dirty untensils, slow service and exorbitant prices for what it is. Rt. 28 in Yarmouth is a breakfast Mecca. Skip the Pancake Man.
DISCLAIMER: This review is for Tuesday nights only. All other nights, this place is a onepointfive-star, absolute-worst, faneuil hallesqe dive. Also, the food is edible at best. I'd rather go to the Green Dragon. See: tinyurl.com/2cgmypt
I want a bar with a bell in hand
I want a bar with an easy touch
I want a place I can spend some time
Not come and go in a heated rush
I want a bar that will understand
When it comes to love, I want a slow hand... with a bell in it.
Tuesday night karaoke: worst; best; all of it; rolled into one within-stumbling-distance-from-home shitshow of a night. I never meet hilarious, fun or interesting people here - though that's not really critical because I usually plan to meet at least 10 of my friends who fit this criteria/ these criterion and fill my quota for the evening/ night/ wee hours of the AM when I'm uncharacteristically shouting expletives at the McDonald's walk-up window employees down the street. Yelpers, coworkers, college friends, high school friends - no one can deny the beauty of what this bar is holding. There's no doubt in my mind, this bell is tolling for me.
As a resident of the North End with a BSC@DTX membership and a penchant for shortcuts down cobbled alleys, The Green Dragon muscles its way into my daily life by way of the wooden soldier statue out front and the incessant need of every touristy man, woman and child passing by to be illustriously photographed with him.
PSA: Do your 'bows fly low? Do they catch me on the go? Do you blindly stagger to and fro' -- as you photograph your beau? Yes, you. I dislike you GREATLY.
Anywho, upon occasion, I have subjected myself to this historic hellhole of a dive bar out of convenience and lack of desire to walk very far or wait very long for a table (read: extreme laziness). According to the menus, this place was established in 1654 and it doesn't look a day over 356 years old - or a day under for that matter.
I suppose if you were up for a mediocre lunch with the spirit of John Hancock or in the spirit of Paul Revere (1 if it's canned, 2 if it's salty) - this might not be such a terrible place to dine. However, if you're local and seeking to avoid a shoddy meal at a wobbly table, go elsewhere.
Freedoms I would have liked to enjoy @ TGD: A Freedom Trail Landmark:
1. The right to a glass of water
2. The right to warm food
3. The right to less batter and more fish
4. The right to not-so-soggy fries
5. The right to feel like my table was stable
I'll go with 3 stars since it's probable that I'm missing out on the requisite TT nostalgic swell of emotion; or possibly that's the feeling I'm mistaking as nausea?
Upon hearing "your destination is on the left" and swiveling to find a strip mall, I was skeptical. After entering the restaurant and seeing it had been decorated some time in the early 80s with hand-drawn cartoon posters, stained hotel-motel-holiday-inn curtains and busted sconces, I was worried about my gastrointestinal welfare. However, a hungry Laura always trumps a healthy Laura so hereeeeee weeeeeeee goooooooo!
Despite the heavy local flavor represented by our fellow diners - we walked in and sat down next to a LOUD conversation between co-workers about the pros/cons of vasectomy weighed against "baggin' it." -- I started feeling a lot more comfortable when the waitress asked me if I would like my homefries "spicy." Wha?? YES.
The spicy homefries were the most exciting part of the meal. The food was decent, but not the best I've had this week. The coffee was a little harsh, but the service was friendly and dilligent. Still cash only after all these years. If I find myself hungry and in the middle of nowhere again, I'll be sure to stop in.
Momma K taught me early that if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all; so I will refrain.
However, in passing -- on my way to class yesterday -- I noted a sign proclaiming 25% off your meal if you are holding same-day Bruins tickets.
So, if you:
1. Have Bruins tickets
2. Like Max and Dylan's
You're in luck!
Unfortunately, we can't be friends.
[Oops, sorry mom.]
I don't really watch a lot of TV (because I have no time, not because I'm too good to veg out and watch Law & Order reruns for 27hrs straight); but, when I do find time to watch, I like to salivate while watching Paula Deen and her Food Network companions cook meals that I can only imagine taste as good as they look.
Apparently, my imagination - as a result of its EXTREME excellence -- has failed me once again. Paula Deen, you are a cruel woman. You tricked me with your molasses-toned voice and your endless supply of comfort food recipes.
Lady and Sons is NOT comforting. This place is loud, crowded and all-in-all unsettling. Ribcage-to-table dining where the food is literally thrown at you and, if it's not hoovered in 8min flat, prepare to get the hairy eyeball from your starving college-student server.
Oh, and the food is gross. So there's that.
I stand corrected. McDonald's fully divested their interest in Chipotle in 2006. Thanks, Johhny!First off, I know this place is owned by McDonald's; so, yes, I subsequently know that reviewing… En savoir plus