Terramia was actually recommended to my mother and me before we ever hit the streets of Boston’s North end, stomachs audibly rumbling. But we didn’t need this recommendation to tell us that, standing on Salem Street, perusing the menu, we were hovering in the doorway of someplace magical.
Though I imagine it’s difficult to find an Italian dinner that is truly disagreeable in the North End, this meal was extraordinary. I suppose I should say first that this restaurant might not be for everyone. If you have stomped the pavement all the way to the North end looking for a beautiful evening out, be sure to stop by. If your plan for that delightful evening includes eggplant or chicken parmesan, or anything resembling a meatball, keep strolling. I say this because the menu is a bit different -- no classic red sauces and meats smothered with mozzarella to be found. What you will find throughout the menu selections are expertly paired and prepared vegetable stuffed pastas, aromatic seafood, seasonal proteins, and a taste so fresh it’ll wow you into silence (except for all the yummy noises you will absolutely be making while you dreamily enjoy your meal). The menu is not massive, but well balanced, and each dish, whether you order a primi (pasta) or a secondi (meat) is a fresh, classically Italian, indulgent, and well rounded meal; the pasta dishes arrive with a healthy assortment of vegetables or tease of protein, and the proteins are served with a complimentary amount of vegetables and carbs too. And the antipasti all look too good to pass up.
We began our meal with the Quaglia alla griglia, “quail, grilled to perfection, fennel, orange & argula mista, jalapeño vinaigrette,” and it was not only delicious, but a skillfully prepared combination of textures and tastes; the deep and earthy gaminess of the quail deftly tempered with the sweeter fruit and pepper dressing. This was my first time eating quail and I was struck by the saltiness of the meat (that and the tiny bird that was sitting in front of me, looking a bit comical, but delicious nonetheless) but the sweet tang of the salad lulled the bird into the perfect umami bite. For the main course, my mother and I both ordered pasta dishes. We tried the Bombolotti Amatriciana, which were rectangular, “pillow shaped” pasta stuffed with spinach and feta and tossed with a fresh tomato and basil sauce, pancetta that melted on the tongue, and parmesan and large curls of pecorino that played the perfect harmony to the acid of the tomatoes. We also ordered the Agnolotti de Melanzane al Pesto, which was an eggplant and ricotta stuffed ravioli tossed with a brilliantly green and stunningly fresh mint and basil pesto, crisp string beans, and hand-cut and baked potato chips. Yes, potato chips. While both entrées were scrumptious, this dish deserves particular attention because its unique tastes and preparation were the mark of a truly talented chef. The potato chips, first of all, seemed silly. And then the mint and basil pesto, alone, was actually quite bitter, tasting almost reminiscent of sautéed broccoli rob. The sauce was intriguing, but not instantly craveable. However, when eaten as one cohesive bite -- pasta, sauce, crunchy beans and a chip --, the entrée demonstrated that it wasn’t food, it was culinary genius. What once seemed bitter revealed its subtle intricacies when calmed by the rich ricotta of the ravioli, and the cheese, threatening to overwhelm the dish with it’s luxurious texture and flavor, was tamed too, appropriately, and even broadened with the unique and raw tastes of the pesto. Most pesto sauces have a sweetness to them; it’s what creates that inevitable cravability, and marketability, for that matter. However, the expertise of pairing ingredients in this dish made the average pesto seem like a cheap thrill you should be ashamed to eat.
I have two minor complaints about the evening, the first being that though the staff was authentically friendly, our food did not arrive promptly. We were that one unfortunate table that got looked over; our appetizer was served some time after the antipasti hit the tops of surrounding tables that had arrived after us, and although we did admire the gusto of the wait staff (for 13 tables there were only 2 waiters and a busser who was multitasking steadily), we were hungry. However, a quick joke from our server about needing to catch the quail relieved all tension and the meal arrived promptly after that. My only other small gripe is that although the pasta was divine (I don’t think I even need to mention that is was homemade, tender, and elicited the most enthusiastic mmms from me before the bite had fully passed my lips), the pesto and ricotta were inarguably the stars of the dish and the roasted eggplant, supposedly the focus of the plate, was overshadowed. The eggplant was cooked perfectly, but had a subtle flavor, and one that was not accentuated by the sauce but obliterated by it. However, I am willing to forgive this flaw too because the eggplant did give the pasta filling its impeccable texture, I would just like to try this particular pasta again with a sauce that permits its quietly, earthy flavor to shine through a bit more.
We did not sample dessert, although I’m sure it was fabulous -- bread pudding with a salted caramel sauce -- as we had a special engagement at Mike’s Pastry just around the corner. Too commercial? Never. You cannot beat the instant gratification of a Mike’s canoli or lobstertail. My mother, having never been there before, was immensely impressed by the crowds, the staff, and the blue string that spins off spools on the top of shelves in the back, runs through two eyelets, and finally dangles in front of the display cases to be wrapped quickly around a box at the end of each order. I worked in a patisserie in New York post college. I learned the names of every French pastry, the different types of dough that create each buttery treat, and how to wrap a bakery box in ribbon without tipping it upside down (it hadn’t occurred to me that this was a required skilled until my second day on the job when I found myself with the chocolate mousse cake in the box, ribbon ready to go, and with the sudden realization that flipping the box would put me in quite a pickle). My bakery experience did not, however, breed the stock of bakery gal needed at Mike’s. There are no meek women there; they are large, strong, don’t mess with us kind of ladies, they take the order, they expedite it seamlessly, and they wrap that box as if they could make short work of stringing you up by the feet as well. We sampled (and by sampled, and I mean we ate every last crumb, sucked on the tissue wrapping, etc.) the lobstertail, the espresso canoli, and the pistachio canoli. All were excellent. The espresso canoli has, obviously, espresso ricotta cream and chocolate chips, the pistacio one has regular ricotta cream with added nuts, and the lobstertail, well, it’s indescribable. The last time I had one I was slowly munching my way through it as I strolled Boston with Zach, and he continually reached over, dipped a finger into the pastry and ate a huge dollop of the cream filling. And you know what, there is so much cream in those things that I didn’t even care. That’s how good it is.
Terramia is an elegant restaurant that still exudes welcoming hospitality, and the fare is fresh and classically intelligent. Dinner at Terramia is a bit more than a casual meal, but not extravagant, and beyond a bargain if you consider the quality of the ingredients, the preparation, and the ambience. Dinner for two, including one appetizer, two entrées, and three glasses of wine (it was Mom’s birthday, she was entitled to two) came to $73 and change. Three mammoth pastries from Mike’s totaled $14. Subway fare for the day totaled $12, and the drive back to Cape Cod as I stuffed my face with pistachio canoli: priceless.
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