PASSIONATE RATIONS

It had been years since I’d visited Cambridge.

I’m not sure why I stayed away so long from a place with so many great eateries, entertainment options, and history.  So, I chose Cambridge as one of the destination points in my month-long birthday celebration.

My husband did some research and found a perennial “Best of Boston” winner.   Two good friends were willing to go along for the ride, and so we made our way to a mid-February dinner at Chez Henri, an eatery owned by Chef Paul O’Connell.  It’s tucked onto a corner just off of Massachusetts Avenue between Harvard and Porter Squares (One Shepard Street).  When I called earlier in the afternoon I was pleased to learn they expected only “casual” attire (as opposed to the more formal attire required at Oleana, the other choice we had been contemplating).

Walking in, the coziness and laid-back ambience of Chez Henri was instantly apparent, though it was also elegant in its presentation.  Blacks and reds predominated; the lighting was appropriately dim.   The walls were lined with colorful artwork, reminiscent of Matisse (could that be Henri Matisse?  Well, maybe in reference, but it turns out that the owner’s wife, Lisa–a fine artist–is responsible for it).

Since the friends accompanying us were the same friends with whom we’d traveled to France in 2006, the choice seemed like a good one, since Chez Henri food is billed as French-Cuban fusion.  And when Cassoulet turned up on the specials menu (a savory meat and bean dish native to the south of France, which we had on more than one occasion while in France), we knew the night was off to a good start.

Before we get to the food, I should note that Chez Henri has an interesting and impressive array of spirits and wines.  The restaurant is known for its mojito (the national drink of Cuba), but I’ll have to try that upon my return.  Instead, the two girls started off with what, for us, is a somewhat standard starter:   very dirty martinis with Grey Goose vodka (this is the only way I like my olives).  My husband had a drink called a Shiver (campari, grapefruit, and eau de vie of Douglas Fir–just makes you shiver doesn’t it?) and hers had a pastis apéritif.  The drinks were ample, well balanced, and…very important…aesthetically pleasing.  These would not be the last drinks of the evening. Hearkening again to our French travel, a bottle of Château Simard Saint-Emilion 1995 was ordered to accompany dinner. I was stunned by the way its aroma immediately returned me to summertime in Bordeaux.  This was a truly excellent bottle of wine (and one for which I deeply thank my friends for recommending and sharing with us).

Yes, I did invoke my travel exception to the vegetarian rule in a big way when ordering the food.

For starters we ordered the Peruvian Ceviche Mixta (with mango lime mojo, sugarcane, and chayote–a type of edible plant of the gourd family used in Latin cuisine).  It was a delightfully fresh and light dish chock full of enough seafood to share among four.  We were particularly enamored of the tiny octopi, which added their particular texture and color to the dish.

Keeping to the seafaring theme, we also ordered eastern-seaboard oysters on the half shell, which were also light and delicious.   (Anything that involves horseradish usually has my vote, but I’d still order oysters without it).

Don’t tell Bambi, but for my entree I ordered the venison special.  The others ordered, variously:  cassoulet, duck, and sole.  The entrees continued the display of excellence of all that had come before, as my tastes of each confirmed.  Each dish was flavorful and rich, the flavors melding together in harmony.

My venison arrived delicately sliced, the deep inner red contrasting with the sear-darkened outside of each slice.   Venison is often thought to be gamey and tough, but this was neither.  It was tender and moist, with a deep smoky flavor.  It was surrounded by a sauce of reddish hue, making the plate a beautiful work of art.

We finished the meal with dessert, beginning for me with a glass of Trimbach Framboise Grand Reserve Grappa.   I haven’t had much Grappa since I used to hang out with one Florentine Italian and her wine-importer lover on the beaches of southern California, and I’ve missed it.   This one was ripe with raspberries and went down smoothly and easily (perhaps a bit too).  I vaguely remember the coffee that went with it.  This was the point that I surrendered my keys for the evening.

Ah, but the evening had barely begun….   So, stay tuned…