By devhahn, on June 27th, 2010%
If you’re lucky enough to be biking past the Charles Hotel in Harvard Square at 1:30 in the morning, you might begin to hear a dull roar. It’s summer, and the patio at Noir is a dense, throbbing mass of loosened ties and fallen-strap dresses. From one until two in the morning, Noir is your last chance for a last call in Cambridge.
If you show up during daylight hours, it’s a different story. I locked my bike by the Legal Sea Foods, walked through the hotel lobby and past the beaded curtain into Noir. It was happy . . . → Read More: Periodista Tales: Noir—A Mystery in Print
By devhahn, on June 20th, 2010%
The Red Sox were at home. Kenmore Square was a river of red caps and jerseys flowing toward Fenway. Inside the Hotel Commonwealth, the bar at Eastern Standard was packed. B-school types wrinkled their noses at dirty martinis while cocktail nerds ducked Sox fans who were in for a quick one en route to the game.
I sipped my Periodista.
Eastern Standard makes them differently than Chez Henri. The character is softer, drier. But all the right flavors are there and the tart slap on the tongue is unmistakably Periodista. The . . . → Read More: Periodista Tales: Green Street—The Steward
By devhahn, on June 13th, 2010%
Five minutes on Brookline Street got me from the BU Bridge into Central Square. I pulled my bike up in front of the bright yellow awning that crowns the entrance to Rendezvous. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows I could see Scott Holliday slicing limes behind the bar. Of the three names Paul O’Connell had given me, Scott was the only one who had still been at Chez Henri during my time in Boston.
I took a seat at the bar and the hostess put a stack of menus in front of me. The eight-drink cocktail menu has turned over . . . → Read More: Periodista Tales: Rendezvous—When Jung Met Freud
By devhahn, on June 7th, 2010%
“Chef Paul takes over the bar tonight at Chez Henri!” Twitter told me first, Facebook close behind. Gmail shot me the inbox wink a few seconds later, that same message on the subject line.
Chez Henri was where it had all started for me—the first Periodista I ever tasted—so five minutes to six found me standing in a light rain holding my bike helmet and waiting for them to unlock the door.
Chez Henri sits about fifty feet from Massachusetts Avenue on Shepherd Street, a mostly residential block that shoots off Mass Ave at the . . . → Read More: Periodista Tales: Chez Henri—Point of Origin?
By devhahn, on June 7th, 2010%
I was walking up Mass Ave on a hot September night in 2007. It was raining bullets. We don’t get that combination in California—rain’s cold in San Francisco, heat’s dry in Los Angeles. I was raised in one and educated in the other. I was new to Cambridge and adjustment was coming slower than a download on dial-up.
I ducked into a bar to get out of the stew. A place called Chez Henri. The room was cool and the bartender smiled and I was sold. I put back two glasses of water and looked at the menu. . . . → Read More: Tales of the Periodista
