the world is your OYSTER: Stingray Lounge

RER 7.1.15

Oysters are supposed to be sexy, at least that’s what people say. They’re an aphrodisiac (if that’s a thing) and a delicacy. I want to believe it. I want to believe that those slimy wet globs are as seductive, visceral, delicious, and intriguing as people say they are.

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Stingray Lounge made me believe. The new-in-town seafood bar and eatery does in fact make oysters sexy. There is something poetic in the mechanical dirty work of shucking an oyster. There is something thrilling about not knowing what to expect when the shallow dish of ice displaying a ring of mysterious morsels slides in front of you. There is something luxurious about the smooth and creamy nature of the Blue Point, the sheer softness of the Stingray, or the melt-in- your mouth quality of the Pearl Passage. There is something surprising in the strong flavor of the Kumamoto, the meaty firmness of the Conway Cup, or the metallic saltiness of the Hood Canal. There is something unnerving about their slinky texture and origins, and yet there is something intoxicating about an oyster’s pure freshness, overwhelming rawness and pristine character.

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It is not just about the oysters themselves at Stingray Lounge— it’s about the ambiance you are thrown into crossing the threshold as well. No matter how bright and bustling it is on Washington Street, there is a captivating silence and refreshing refinement that oozes mature sexiness encapsulated in the lounge. The details help to make the experience sensual: the cool greys and blues, painted brick, speckled marble slabs, finely appointed furniture. You forget where you are and submit. 

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Despite the trendy vibe, Stingray still maintains a warmth and friendliness where extravagance and attitude have not overwhelmed familiarity. Plus, the 4 to 7 pm happy hour offering half-off oysters and bubbly makes it easy to come, sample and linger.

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7.1.15

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LITERARY devices: The Shakespeare

RER 6.3.15

Sometimes a catch-up session with one of your favorite gals can cure all, but a fat burger and thick fries and a yummy Pimm’s beverage most definitely can help. After a tasty drink and a not so tasty snack at The Archive, the gal pal and I headed to The Shakespeare for something a little more substantial (and delicious).

Walking down the stairs to the lower-level entryway felt like we were breaking the rules and crashing a secret clubhouse. Dim lights and hot hostesses greeted us, along with dark walls and a kind of inexplicable British warmth.  Tables crowded in close, creating an intimate space and communal conversation and spirit in the dining area. Pictures and paraphernalia took over the deep read walls, fighting for attention in harmonious contention. Candles dripping hot wax lined a congested mantle piece warming the room and emanating the feeling that it was dark and late outside.

Pretty punch hypnotized with Bourbon, mint iced tea and floral cucumber and sweet Pimm’s and Chambord with tangy sweet lemonade quenched thirst and amplified smiles.

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But the creamy rosemary and herb-laced pot of homemade ricotta swimming with olive oil and aged balsamic, soothed raucous feelings. The smooth cheese spread across the warm bread with sensual ease and filled the proximity with delectable aromas, pleasant and revealing.

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And then there was the burger—fat and stacked high on a little wooden board, accompanied by tall wide “chips.” Its toppings were dreams, mingling to create refined pub fare and complex bites, memorable and comforting. Thick rashers of super smoky bacon straddled white melted cheddar crowning a perfect house blend patty. Salty tart thin sliced pickles, pungent spicy rings of red onion and dark green strands of lettuce added brightness to the fatty meat and buttery sesame seed bun. It was more than a burger; it was catharsis and a feeling.

The Shakespeare offered ambiance and attentive service. It dished up lovely refreshing drinks and flavorful food evoking pub moments. It was perfect for gossip and support and hearty laughs.

With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come

-William Shakespeare 

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6.3.15

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happiest hour: The Cuban

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They were spontaneous for his birthday. It was a Monday and they decided they would not be quiet. They would step out of the box and sit at the bar.

This time the dark red walls of The Cuban were not suffocating and the low hanging lights felt brighter. Even the bar felt welcoming and open, not just high stools and slick counters. It was different. Better. They were celebrating a birthday.

They were ready to take on the menu. Both menus.

Their happiest hour involved a rainbow of mojitos and caipirinhas: blush with guava, golden with passion fruit, electric with apples and winter white with coconut. Each was distinct and flavorful, and strong enough to keep her giggling.

But the bites held an intensity of feelings and flavors, satiating hungry eyes and insides. Fatty and delightful pork pieces blending with slinky onions and garlic green mojo were hardly forgotten in the tumult of their mirth.

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Warm moments of sticky sweet plantains wrapped with thin salty bacon and showered with farmer’s cheese made them tongue-tied, when their mouths knew no bounds.  

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Mussels and chorizo sinking in wet broth and encaged by soft aioli-drizzled and smoky paprika-dusted fries made messes like wet kisses.

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They gulped down the drinks and the atmosphere, laughed too loudly, and showed their affection, through delicious bites and wide smiles. Of course they did, because it was his birthday...

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4.20.15

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photo op: a taste of VEGAS

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What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas. Just kidding… take a peek at my adventure to Las Vegas to celebrate a very special birthday (more on this later) and get some sun before spring has fully sprung on the East Coast.

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3.31.15

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