…but thanks for asking. Aint nothing in Dallas I need to see.
"Fuck that. We came in so far under budget that I told the studio we were going out every night for the next two weeks. We’re eating at every great restaurant in this town and they’re covering the tab."
— The coolest boss in the world
The end always comes too quickly. There is some leisure in the prep period, but you are still finding your way in a new city and have as many misses as hits when you choose your meals. By the time you start principal photography you have a good idea of where you should be eating but not enough time to get there. Most great meals are prepared by you at home during this period. So your wrap weeks are critical. It’s where the sum of all your knowledge is focused on finding the great meals, putting a proper punctuation mark on your run in that city. It’s where you reward those who helped you make the movie and enjoy the company of the new friends you made along the way.
So one attempts to find the best 8-9 meals in town. This time it’s Boston. Here’s what I have so far:
10 Tables http://www.tentables.net
Craigie on Main http://www.craigieonmain.com
O ya http://www.oyarestaurantboston.com
Open to suggestions. Where do I NEED to eat before I leave this place?
Last night my pals and I decided to grab a steak on the spur of the moment. We arrived wearing shorts so even though they were just beginning the dinner seating they buried us upstairs, out of sight. Fair enough, we were underdressed. As we left after a very nice meal we passed the only other table seated upstairs, an African-American family. Looking around as we descended the stairs, I saw a dining room two-thirds empty. The tables that were seated were all white.
My mind is preoccupied with many other things lately so it took a while to register, but the more I think about it the angrier I get.
I sometimes forget that. Earlier tonight I ate a 100 day aged prime ribeye steak, housemade tater tots with truffle oil, creamed spinach and a baby lettuce with aged blue cheese and slab bacon salad. Washed it down with a couple icy expertly prepared dry Belvedere martinis. The thing is, I took that meal for granted and I really shouldn’t have. My Lord, life can be good.
Was lucky enough to share my birthday dinner with one of my closest friends. We ate at Oishii, which I would characterize as a very good restaurant that flirts with greatness if one orders properly. We had:
Toro Tartare, with diluted miso sauce and Ossetra Caviar
Cherrywood smoked King Salmon
Berkshire Black Pork and scallion fried dumplings
Marinated Wagyu Beef seared on a hot rock at the table
Brocolini, Shrimp, and Scallop Tempuras
Wild Ming Salmon Sushi
Arctic Char Sushi
Kohada Mackerel Sushi
It was pretty damned great. The fact that I’m even monday morning quarterbacking a couple of our choices tells you how spoiled I’m becoming.
I was dog tired today, having shot driving stunts all night then heading into the office for a frantic afternoon. Exhausted damn near to the point of delirium, all I wanted to do was crash. When I received an invite to Fenway I had no interest in going, and first declined. But upon reflection I changed my mind. My philosophy has always been to take life and bite it in the ass, so why change now? I won’t be in Boston forever, and had been meaning to get to another game before leaving town. So I met my benefactor on Landsdowne Street and was surprised to be escorted up to a luxury suite, the one next to the Owners Box actually.
Walked in the door and ran into an old friend I hadn’t seen in years. Seeing him there was so wildly out of context that I didn’t even recognize him at first. M. is a Secret Service agent stationed in New Orleans, which is where we know each other from. We had cut a swath of destruction through that town more than once, and there he was in a box in Fenway. Turns out he has business in town, what with one of the candidates being a local. Two old friends randomly meeting at a game in a strange city. We had a lovely evening enjoying a game with luxurious food, drink and service. I just don’t even know what to say. This is a fine life indeed.
Earlier tonight we were doing some driving stunts. I rode shotgun in the lead vehicle. The driver was a Detective Sergeant who practiced playing “Hava Nagila” on the pipes while putting the car through precision maneuvers. He’s playing his first Jewish wedding this weekend.