Creature Comforts in Boston, Massachusetts
Who knew that the month of November would prove so achingly beautiful to Boston, Massachusetts? The fall colors were supposed to elude Mauricio and I but global warming had extended October's palette into the week of Thanksgiving. Upon his first time in my base city, he opted for us to stay at the Park Plaza and I said nothing to discourage him. The neighborhood surrounding us was placid and squeaky clean. In fact our afternoon walks convinced us that we could dine off these Back Bay streets and trust in the power of civic government. Tis true that Boston is quiet, classy and pristine with a pace that is sleepy and a confidence that is earned.
Boston is superior in at least one area of dining; good Indian food. There is a dish I discovered years ago at Jamaica Plain's Bukhara Restaurant which hugs the corner of Thomas and Burroughts Streets. The dish of the devas is called Malai Kofta and it doesn't seem to exist in San Francisco. Malai Kofta, also known as veggie balls, is this creamy, nutty curry creation served over basmati rice and perfect for rolling into little naan sandwiches. It comes from the Mughlai region of India and it's likely that I struck out in non-Mughlai SF Indian restaurants. Mauricio, who usually runs to the hills at the slightest mention of dosa, says he'll gladly return to Bukhara (a mere 3,000 miles) for his next Indian meal. It turns atheists into believers.
We also visited the crown jewels of Jamaica Pond, the Boston Public Library and Harvard Yard. At the library, M felt like he was transported in time when we spied Bates Hall, the great reading room with the curved ceiling and the green lamps. It was a scene straight out of Harry Potter. People studying in Bates Hall were as well-behaved as folks on the Number One bus; there's a quiet medicine in Boston that is so woven in with the social contract.
Messy, filthy, wild, wonderful San Francisco, on the other hand, has a breath like a typhoon and a pulse lifted from the works of Dante. She's got some of the dirtiest corners next to some of the most delicious restaurants. And on those dirty corners I've stepped over panhandlers to taste food that ends up being "So Good!". But in each city I feel so grateful for my original tribe and my new circles; to the folks I've always known and the ones I haven't met.
Boston is superior in at least one area of dining; good Indian food. There is a dish I discovered years ago at Jamaica Plain's Bukhara Restaurant which hugs the corner of Thomas and Burroughts Streets. The dish of the devas is called Malai Kofta and it doesn't seem to exist in San Francisco. Malai Kofta, also known as veggie balls, is this creamy, nutty curry creation served over basmati rice and perfect for rolling into little naan sandwiches. It comes from the Mughlai region of India and it's likely that I struck out in non-Mughlai SF Indian restaurants. Mauricio, who usually runs to the hills at the slightest mention of dosa, says he'll gladly return to Bukhara (a mere 3,000 miles) for his next Indian meal. It turns atheists into believers.
We also visited the crown jewels of Jamaica Pond, the Boston Public Library and Harvard Yard. At the library, M felt like he was transported in time when we spied Bates Hall, the great reading room with the curved ceiling and the green lamps. It was a scene straight out of Harry Potter. People studying in Bates Hall were as well-behaved as folks on the Number One bus; there's a quiet medicine in Boston that is so woven in with the social contract.
Messy, filthy, wild, wonderful San Francisco, on the other hand, has a breath like a typhoon and a pulse lifted from the works of Dante. She's got some of the dirtiest corners next to some of the most delicious restaurants. And on those dirty corners I've stepped over panhandlers to taste food that ends up being "So Good!". But in each city I feel so grateful for my original tribe and my new circles; to the folks I've always known and the ones I haven't met.
Tommy, it was so great to see you here last month. Good to meet Mauricio, too, a real sweetheart. I love reading your blog even if I don't leave comments as often as a blogger might like. Still, I had to leave a few words about people being "as well behaved as folks on the Number One bus." You must mean a Number One bus in San Francisco, right? Because the folks on the Number One bus in Boston are the most dysfunctional, medicated, out-of-it bunch in the whole city. Though I do love how the whole demomgraphic of the bus changes every few blocks. Harvard Square to Central Square--change--Central Square to MIT--change--MIT to South End--change...and so on. You understand. And as for eating off the sidewalks, um...stick to the Malai Kofta, a favorite of mine, too.
ReplyDeleteHaha, Sandy. I actually did mean the Number One in Boston. We were on it, albeit for six blocks, but nobody made a peep. And as you know the cleanliness of Boston's streets are quite relative but I still like to think Boston is up there with Zurich while San Francisco is in league with Calcutta. Yet the interesting thing is why am I more comfortable in filth? Haha.
ReplyDeleteAnd it was great seeing you. Mauricio thought you were friendly. I'll be keeping track of your travels. Please crosspost on Facebook lest I forget. xo, tommy