COUP BOSTON SUMMER 2012

Summer ����

THE summer ISSUE the food nerds' ultimate guide to summer eating + Seafood galore + Day drinking + New coastal hotspots + Patio heaven

LIFE’S A BEACH (AND THEN YOU BUY)

Irresistible swimwear & killer accessories

girlfight

Why Boston women are assaulting each other

turning the tide

The Cape’s most impeccable getaway

LAND ROVER NORWOOD 9 NEPONSET STREET NORWOOD, MA 02062 781.619.9000 LANDROVERNORWOOD.COM

161 Berkeley Street (at Stuart Street) in Boston’s Back Bay 617.542.2255 www.grill23.com Brandt prime beef / 7 private dining rooms / 1000+ wine selection

CONTENTS & DEPARTMENTS

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TABLE REVENGE OF THE FOOD NERDS

Enough with 'foodies' already. We want more food nerds—the kind of food lovers who

dive into things like the science of ice cream, meticulously sourced seafood, unexpected rosé-food pairings, and into this: a most deliciously dorky guide to summer eating.

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LETTER FROM THE EDITOR SUMMEr-Y JUDGEMENT Welcome to the season of no regrets, starting with Krispy Kremes and bikinis and ending with a hard-core karaoke session.

12 COUP DE GRÂCE ECLECTIC POWEr Sure, she's decorated the cribs of music gods.

But in her approach to design and dressing, Maureen Griffin Balsbaugh is a rock star

in her own right. �4 SOCIETY THE FrONT rOW

Who's wearing what, why, where, and how.

26 WANDERLUST making waves

A beautiful seaside perch. Personalized

attention that rivals any in Paris.

Wequassett Resort is a hive of

world-class splendor.

48 NEST THE ILLUMINATI

Today's contemporary chandeliers are as

inspiring as they are enlightening.

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ARMOIRE gilding the lily What becomes a season of sunshine most? More shine, of course. When it comes to gleaming accessories, too much is never enough.

58 VANITY she’s a knockout

What's pushing more and more women into the

boxing ring for a round of unladlylike behavior?

We take one on the chin to find out.

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ARMOIRE COME AWAY WITH ME In a season built for escapist fantasies, youthful exuberance, and first-blush romance, there isn't much choice but to go with it. Preferably with a tote full of clothes as easy as summer itself.

80 COUP D�ÉTAT INDEPENDENTS’ DAY

In the current one-size-fits-all big-gym culture,

one duo has opened a new facility that restores

freedom to personal trainers.

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LETTER FROM THE EDITOR

SUMMER-Y JUDGEMENT “THERE IS NO REFUGE FROM MEMORY and barely-there bikinis and frolic unabashedly on the remorse in this world,” wrote the late Canadian beach with a summer fling. To indulge in endless Romantic poet Gilbert Parker. He and I would never glasses of the city’s best rosé paired with fried foods— have gotten on. First, because I’ve always wanted my alfresco, no less—and chase them with epic amounts epitaph to read: “She lived without regrets.” Second, of seafood and ice cream. To drape yourself with gold because he had a preposterously pointy beard. baubles. And then, if a twinge of guilt does happen

But of course, the guy’s not entirely wrong. to squirm its way into your psyche? Exorcise it with Regret has a way of showing up to the party uninvited a full-contact, aggression-detonating boxing session, and, well, just starting trouble. Maybe like the women in our story about girls getting their it’s something little at first: We get fight on. grumpy and yell at our kids or snipe At this time of year, I’d argue that what Parker at a friend when we didn’t mean to. needed was a joy ride in a Mustang convertible, a Then out of guilt, we do something good old-fashioned bitch slap from another (far worse—say, plow through a box of superior) poet, Robert Herrick, and a hard-core Krispy Kremes right before bathing karaoke session—singing none other than Oasis. suit season. Then out of guilt about And with any luck, the lyrics of “Don’t Look Back in that, we convince ourselves that the Anger” would ricochet in his head all season long: beach is a stupid place anyway, and “Step outside, ’cause summertime’s in bloom.” who needs it, and you should proba- In New England, that bloom won’t last nearly as bly go shoe shopping instead. Before long as we want or a quarter as long as we deserve, you know it, you’re doing something and there will be plenty of time the rest of the year to alexandra hall on her way to far beyond twisted, like wearing play the puritan, if you must. In the meantime, seize a guilt-free summer.

Jessica Simpson espadrilles. the season. And regret nothing.

But this is no time of year for that kind of pointless self-mutilation. It’s summer—the season that hijacks all of our regrets, takes them out back, pummels them, then slams them in the car trunk and drops them off at the town line.

Our summer issue of COUP Boston does pretty much the same thing. It gives you every bit of permis- Alexandra Hall sion you need to throw caution to the wind. To wear Editor-in-Chief alex@coupboston.com

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Alexandra Hall Editor-in-Chief Joseph Gordon Cleveland Creative Director Austyn Ellese Mayfield Managing Editor Michael Blanding Editor-at-Large MICHAEL TrOTMAN Copy Editor Coco Knudson Social Media Manager Miguel Flores Gaydosh Graphic Designer Contributing Writers Katherine Bowers Amanda Hark Jolyon Helterman bernard leed Erin BYErS Murray Brigid Nastasia Jeffrey Osborne Lisa Pierpont Dani WageneR Contributing Photographers Joel Benjamin Daniel Bleckley Conor Doherty Tim Gilman Tristan Govignon COrY STIErLEY dan watkins Jessica Weiser Editorial Interns jesse ackerman OLIVIA CArTLAND MADELEINE DAILEY ALAN FANG BASIA GOrDAN SYDNEY KIrSTEN Shanique Fowlkes alexa robertiello JESSICA SANIEOFF Lisa Baker Sales & Marketing Director TO ADVErTISE, CONTACT salut@coupboston.com

COUPBOSTON.COM

200 Stuart Street | EmeraldUltraLounge.com

20 PArK PLAZA, SUITE 1105 BOSTON, MA 02116

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CUrated What the finicky editorial COUP crew is donning, devouring, hoarding, imbibing, inhaling, and generally lusting after right now.

BY JOSEPH GOrDON CLEVELAND, ALEXANDrA HALL AND Austyn ellese mayfield

1. THAT’S PRETTY SUITE: Tech-systems perks, mod-princess design, and city attitude flow through the rooms at Newport’s sassiest new boutique resort. Rooms from $159 at The Attwater.

—Alexandra Hall

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2. DAY GLOW: Getting flawless summer skin

doesn’t have to be a long, drawn-out process. A dab of tinted 4-in-1 Peau Vierge from Le Metier de Beaute protects, brightens, and refreshes in one fell swoop. $125 at Neiman Marcus.

—Austyn Ellese Mayfield

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3. EYES OF THE STORM: Summer partying

means less sleeping; avoid looking like one of the less-fortunate extras on True Blood with Kiehl’s Facial Fuel Eye De-Puffer. $20 at Kiehl’s.

—Joseph Gordon Cleveland

4. RAY BAND: Swap the clunky cowrie-shell

necklaces for these stingray bangles from designer Julia Groos—a far more chic bit of aquatic indulgence. $1,800–$5,400 at Julia Groos.

—AEM

5. TAKE A DIP: Jacked to the hilt with garlic

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and peppery heat, nothing loves grilled bluefish or potato salad more than a dollop of habanero mango aioli. $7.50 at Stonewall Kitchen.

—JGC

6. TOTES AMAZING: FAA regulations can’t put

a damper on your travels when your one personal item is this swank and functional carryall from local bag guru Meg Erickson. $440 at Twohippies.

—AEM SQUARE MEAL: Alfresco noshing’s as portable as it is pretty, thanks to this vibrant bento-inspired lunch caddy. $40 at Xylem.

—AEM

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COUP BOSTON � SUMMER ���� � CURATED

8 8. SHELL SHOCK: Discovered off the coast of

Java and dating back to the 15th century, Rose Tarlow Melrose House’s barnacle-encrusted vases are more art history than simple objets d’art.

So beautiful, flowers are extraneous. Price upon request at Webster & Company.

—JGC

9. IT’S ALL IN THE WRIST: Turn photos of loved ones into suave-meets-sweet cufflinks, forged by local artist Gen Cole. Could anything make Dad more proud (or spiffy)? $65 at Funktional Glassworks.

—AH 10. NEW HEIGHTS: Belarus-born, Montrealbased Anastasia Radevich makes all her shoes by hand, and designs them to be as gravity defying as they are daring. The third-generation shoemaker honed her craft (and aesthetic) working at Nicholas Kirkwood and Alexander McQueen. Starting at $2,340, by special order at Anastasia Radevich.

—JGC

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11. GREECE FIRE: Cheaper than a flight to

Mykonos and less tedious than planting an orchard, the Geodesis Fig Tree candle is inspired by the quintessentially Greek scent. $38 at Good.

—AEM

12. FASHION PLATES: Whole-animal dining takes on new meaning, thanks to these striking and graphic creature dishes. $240 at PatchNYC. —AH

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13. SHADY CHARACTER: My must-packs for any weekend away: six pair of shoes, toiletries, arm floaties (who can be bothered to swim anymore?), cologne, and Barton Perreira Darwin sunglasses in “heroine chic.” Perfect with your favorite shade of black. $395 at Lunette Optic.

—JGC

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HEEL, GIRL: Sandals season demands immaculate toes; obey it with an intoxicating orange-lemongrass pedi, complete with warm oil massage. $47 at MiniLuxe.

—AH

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STEAK YOUR CLAIM: Reason #243 to nab a dinner table in Kendall Square: chef Matt Goubeau’s 32-ounce rib-eye, seemingly marbled by divinity and capable of converting the most adamant vegetarian. $53 (it feeds two) at West Bridge Restaurant.

—AH

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617.851.2166

amy@amykimballevents.com

www.amykimballevents.com

STAND AND DELIVER Griffin Balsbaugh’s design style is “the softer side of modern.”

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COUP BOSTON � SUMMER ���� � COUP DE GRÂCE

ECLECTIC POWEr

Sure, she’s decorated the cribs of music gods. But in her inimitable approach to design and dressing, Maureen Griffin Balsbaugh is every inch a rock star in her own right.

BY Alexandra Hall �� PORTRAIT BY JOEL BENJAMIN

OURS MAY BE A CULTURAL MOMENT OF EXTREMES (makeovers, sports, and—for better or worse—personalities), but Maureen Griffin Balsbaugh seems to somehow have mastered the fine art of playing the pendulum. Without, that is, also playing the overwrought drama queen. “I’m always either in jeans or in couture,” says the statuesque Brookline-based interior designer, who’s decorated for everyone from Steve and Liv Tyler to John Legend. “Nothing really in between.”

Much like the spectrum represented by her high-profile clientele, Griffin Balsbaugh’s aesthetic inclinations veer from classically beautiful to unapologetically boho-rocker. Catch her in the office by day, and odds are she’ll be sheathed in denim (“Riccardi has the absolute best,” she insists), maybe a Haute Hippie blouse she scored at Calypso, with a killer leather Rick Owens jacket and boots from Barneys New York. (“I practically live in Golden Goose,” she laughs.) But then, run into her on the town later that night, and you very well may not recognize her in a commanding, streamlined Valentino number, or just as easily, a vintage Chanel jacket tossed over an Isabel Marant frock.

The key to keeping it all reined in? “Everything I wear has to have a clean feel to it,” she explains. “Even my casual things.” That same sense of balance carries into her interior design work, in which she habitually brings the softer side of modern to homes.

There, as with her clothes, she extolls the value of both practicality and drama. “I’m not afraid of color. I love to punch it up,” she says. “But you also have to be realistic. Someone’s going to live in that home, so it absolutely has to work for their lives.” That professional understanding became a personal one recently when she bought a weekend house in Mystic, Connecticut (her home state), to be closer to family and design clients in the Hamptons. “I started to realize what some of my clients go through when they redo a home,” she laughs. “Now I’m starting to think maybe this interior designer should hire an interior designer. It makes it so much easier to make decisions.”

Decisions about her wardrobe, however, will forever be her own. On the summer shopping roster: flowy sundresses, wedges, plenty of white tanks, and cotton scarves. “I know what works for me, and what I can and can’t do.” Such as? “Preppy,” she shoots back with nary a second thought. “I have friends who look fantastic in it, but it’s just not me. I love heels. I love bikinis and leather jackets. I can dress up or down, but in the end, I’m a city chick.”

PRODUCED BY SYDNEY KIRSTEN & ALEXA ROBERTIELLO HAIR BY JAMIE CHAMPAGNE, SALON CAPRI �� MAKEUP BY KACIE CORBELLE

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THE FRONT ROW

Just steps away from the pitter-patter of preppy loafers and Wellies lies another dimension in Boston: bright, shiny fashion lovers who play by the harbor in fitted blazers and designer Danish footwear while keeping a well-appointed ring finger on the pulse of the global economy. With a lifetime pass to Boston’s glitziest gigs, these are the men and women we call The Front Row. Is there a seat with your name on it?

BY LISA PIErPONT

DUNCAN HUGHES

You can’t see them, but Duncan Hughes is wearing socks. “Happy Socks,” he says. “I always wear them. They make me happy on the inside.” As owner of his own eponymous interior design firm, Hughes takes a holistic approach to style. “Your environment is incredibly important. No one should live somewhere that doesn’t reflect who they are, or who they aspire to be.” He also wears that philosophy, head to toe. Which is why, due north of his socks, he sports an expertly coiffed mane styled by Jeremy Dellaria of Salon Marc Harris. “Most guys know, without a good haircut, nothing else works.” On this evening, Hughes rounds out his ensemble with a slim-fit Band of Outsiders blazer snagged at Barneys, a shirt by Elie Tahari, 7 For All Mankind jeans, and Salvatore Ferragamo shoes. Although the Montpelier, Vermont, native attributes his inner peace to “barefoot summers,” he credits aggressive and deliberate international travel for his sophisticated style. “Tailored.

Form fitting, without being too tight. I’ve always believed it’s not which brand you wear, but how it fits that matters.”

PAMELA VArGAS

Our camera is certainly not the first to capture Pamela Vargas. As Miss Colombia USA 2008, she’s quite familiar (and comfortable) with the pop of the flash. Born in Medellín, Colombia, Vargas later moved to the Boston area with her sister and single mom. “Medellin was considered one of the most dangerous cities in the world,” she recalls. “To provide a better future for me and my brother, my mother moved to Boston because of the reputation of world-class education.” The Boston public school graduate is now finishing up her master’s in economics and hopes to work for a nonprofit focused on helping the economically disadvantaged. As much as she proudly knows about capital and credit, she says she’s also well versed in consumer spending habits. “When I’m happy, I shop. When I’m sad, I shop,” she laughs. We snapped her in a few recent purchases, including a Bebe maxi-dress, Audrey Brooke platforms (“Comfort is very important. I need to be able to walk in my heels!”), and a ring from her brother’s jewelry line, VARGAS. “I take risks in life and fashion,” she says. “I’m never afraid to wear colors or accessorize, and I love to be able to have lots of fun in whatever I’m wearing.” Said with just the kind of pluck it takes to win—and deserve— a crown.

CarALINE ZEIZEL

the venue

PArTY ON THE HArBOr AT THE ICA MAY 4, 2012

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Ask Caraline Zeizel about her life, and she’ll simply say, “I’m a burner.” She’s talking about Burning Man, see, and her annual pilgrimage to Nevada’s celebrated temporary art event and community “based on radical self-expression and self-reliance.” That about sums it up for Ms. “fashion-sense-is-very-individual” Zeizel, a Scoop NYC boutique sales associate with a penchant for “exaggerated classic” looks, whose first brush with fashion came in utero. “I was born in May, so my mom was pregnant with me in the winter—and that winter she wore a floorlength coyote fur coat. She always joked I’d be into fashion because I was wrapped in fur from the beginning.” These days, Zeizel wraps herself in “leather, leather, and more leather—there can never be enough.”

Exhibit A: her IRO printed leather jacket over an oversized Chloé tank and teeny-tiny black Hervé Legér bandage skirt. And we’d be remiss not to mention those Camilla Skovgaard shoes (meet GEO and METRIC!).

“The party was all in the shoes,” Zeizel observes about her outfit, “but really, I just wanted to be comfortable. With a good silhouette, of course.” Clearly.

PAMELA vargas

DUNCAN HUGHES

CArALINE ZEIZEL

steeRing committee Meet the gentleman of Uber Boston.

COUP BOSTON � SUMMER ���� � SPONSORED FEATURE

PARTNER SPOTLIGHT

HOW THEY ROLL

They rode into town, and in mere months have already seriously changed how Bostonians get around.

Meet the trio behind Uber Boston, the gamechanging transportation operation.

PHOTOGRAPHS BY DAN WATKINS SHOT ON LOCATION AT THE HAWTHORNE

Getting around this city could drive just about anyone to complain. With an undependable public transit system that puts the “T” in temperamental, taxi rides that run the gamut from mediocre to appalling, and a parking situation that has brought grown men to the brink of tears, we’ve long been in desperate need of a serious pick-me-up. Literally.

Enter Uber, a superlative solution to Boston’s transportation conundrum. Blending the reliability and convenience of on-demand mobility with the swagger of a private chauffer, Uber has managed to make top-notch car service a smart (not to mention affordable) transportation option.

The idea’s as simple as it is innovative. Here’s how it works: download the app on your phone, enter some billing info, then push the “Set Pickup Location” button. And just like that, GPS technology directs a dapper personal driver, complete with a slick sedan or SUV, to your location within minutes. It’s kind of like having a genie in your phone—one that expertly handles a singular yet common thought: “I wish I had a ride. Right. Now.”

At the helm of Uber’s Boston operation are none other than Michael Pao, Matt Marra, and Nick Mathews. Like the service itself, the team makes quite the impression. The self-proclaimed “three best friends anyone could have” (shameless The Hangover reference their own—and fully intended) were good enough to roll down a window for us into what drives their mission to add a touch of class to the Boston roadways.

STYLED BY SYDNEY KIRSTEN & ALEXA ROBERTIELLO

smooth opeRatoR Matt Marra works behind the scenes to keep Uber Boston running like a well-oiled engine.

MATT MARRA Operations Manager

TYPICAL DAY AT UBER // Lots of texting, phone calls, e-mails, and video chats to make sure our service runs smoothly in Boston.

BEST UBER WAR STORY // A client trying to put a Great Dane in the back of a Cadillac sedan after it had just rained. Seriously?

HOW MY COWORKERS WOULD DESCRIBE ME IN THREE WORDS // Gets. Shit. Done.

CELEBRITY/ICON I'M MOST LIKE // Chandler (a.k.a. Matthew Perry).

IF ANYONE IN THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD (REAL OR FICTIONAL) COULD BE MY PERSONAL DRIVER, IT WOULD BE // Dr. Shaquille O’Neal. An educated entertainer, basketball czar, and bodyguard all in one. We’d be best friends.

MY IDEAL NIGHT OUT // Dinner at Red Lantern or Eastern Standard, then catch a Celtics or Sox game, drinks at the Liberty Hotel, and finally a nightcap at Saloon in Somerville. Accompanied by my lovely fiancee and Uber rides, of course.

HOW UBER MAKES MY LIFE BETTER // Hanging out with Boston’s social elite is really awesome. It’s even more awesome when everyone tells you how much they love the service you work so hard on.

FAVORITE THING ABOUT UBER SERVICE // Bringing people together. Efficient and reliable transportation is something everyone can relate to, and when it’s done right, they really appreciate it.

FAVORITE MUSIC TO LISTEN TO ON AN UBER RIDE // The White Panda.

dRiving foRce General Manager Michael Pao is at the wheel of Uber Boston's game-changing service.

COUP BOSTON � SUMMER ���� � SPONSORED FEATURE

MICHAEL PAO General Manager

TYPICAL DAY AT UBER // No two days are alike, but the days that I can spend time meeting riders and listening to what they love and hate about the service are the best.

BEST UBER WAR STORY // My first month at Uber, I think I used 4,000-plus anytime cell phone minutes.

Our drivers love calling when they’re in the car, in between jobs.

HOW MY COWORKERS WOULD DESCRIBE ME IN THREE WORDS // Earnest. Empathetic. Authentic.

CELEBRITY/ICON I'M MOST LIKE // Jeremy Lin (after the post-Linsanity makeover). Surprises come from unexpected places.

IF ANYONE IN THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD (REAL OR FICTIONAL) COULD BE MY PERSONAL DRIVER, IT WOULD BE // Steve Jobs. He’s the antithesis of what we expect from a great leader, yet he turned five industries upside down.

MY IDEAL NIGHT OUT // Dinner and a movie with my girlfriend (I really like cheesy summer blockbusters).

HOW UBER MAKES MY LIFE BETTER // It’s easy to explain what we’re trying to accomplish at Uber.

Unlike when I was a “management consultant.”

FAVORITE THING ABOUT UBER SERVICE // That “aha” moment that I still get when I push a button and a town car pulls up curbside in minutes. Pure magic.

FAVORITE MUSIC TO LISTEN TO ON AN UBER RIDE // Carly Rae Jepsen’s "Call Me, Maybe".

A MAN OF THE PEOPLE As Community Manager, Nick Mathews is the face of Uber Boston's customer support, marketing and social media.

NICK MATHEWS Community Manager

TYPICAL DAY AT UBER // E-mail, coffee, support issues, coffee, phone meeting, lunch meeting.

Red Bull after lunch meeting, e-mail, drink meeting (probably with Red Bull in it), event, event.

BEST UBER WAR STORY // Hooking a driver up with a phone one time, I got to meet his awesomely adorable 3-year-old daughter. Then he gave me a ride (in his family’s Lexus) to my next meeting.

HOW MY COWORKERS WOULD DESCRIBE ME IN THREE WORDS // Crazy. Silly. Insomniac.

CELEBRITY/ICON I'M MOST LIKE // The dog from "Up." IF ANYONE IN THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD (REAL OR FICTIONAL) COULD BE MY PERSONAL DRIVER, IT WOULD BE // Robert Downey Jr. To be able to jam with someone nonstop on both entertainment and politics would make my life.

MY IDEAL NIGHT OUT // Somewhere new. Or the Liberty Hotel. I would live there. For realsies.

HOW UBER MAKES MY LIFE BETTER // It’s so awesome to see people experience something that makes their lives better— instantly. Transportation is probably the most influential and important topic that people don’t think about enough.

FAVORITE THING ABOUT UBER SERVICE // Shifting paradigms on a massive scale is the coolest thing I could ever possibly want to be doing.

FAVORITE MUSIC TO LISTEN TO ON AN UBER RIDE // Mashups in general.

LookYourBestThis Summer

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OVERLOOK HOTEL Wequassett’s panoramic view over Harwich’s aptly named Pleasant Bay.

COUP BOSTON � SUMMER ���� � WANDERLUST

MAKING WAVES

A mind-blowingly beautiful seaside perch. Personalized attention that rivals any in Paris. A jazz festival to be reckoned with.

Come summer, Harwich’s Wequassett Resort becomes a hive of world-class splendor.

BY MICHAEL BLANDING

IT WAS A PARENTAL STROKE OF BRILLIANCE that made me suggest the rock.

We’d just arrived at the Wequassett Resort and Golf Club, overlooking a half-moon bay on the crook of Cape Cod’s elbow, and were reveling in the panoramic ocean view. But my five- and seven-year-olds were restless, as only two children stuck in a car for two hours can be, and so they scampered around the outdoor patio looking for things to destroy. Finally they settled on the outdoor fire pit, asking me if they could put sticks or plastic shovels into it. Absolutely not, I said, but if they could move that rock—I pointed to a smallish boulder—then they could put that in.

For the next twenty minutes, my wife and I sat sipping wine and watching sea gulls whirl above choppy waves, listening to the magic of silence, as our children patiently pushed and pulled, trying to move an enormous rock. The true magic came next, however, when two maintenance men who’d observed our pint-sized Sisyphuses came by with an oversized martini glass filled with handmade chocolate truffles. Accompanying it was a note: “When you get tired of moving that rock, we thought you might like some sweets.”

After dinner, there was more: We arrived back at the room to a turndown complete with gargantuan tollhouse cookies and milk, two stuffed bears, kid-sized terry cloth robes, two rainbow umbrellas in case it rained, and a bedtime book about an anthropomorphic Cape Cod cranberry named Clarence. Before they drifted off to sleep, I heard my son say to my daughter, “You know what I think? I think we’re really lucky.”

It didn’t take bears and cranberries to convince me of the same thing.

The Wequassett is the kind of place that inspires feelings of providence—not just from its fortunate setting overlooking an egg-shaped cove on fittingly named Pleasant Bay, or from rooms tricked out with gas fireplaces, Jacuzzi tubs, and beds that feel like sea foam. Its sense of otherworldliness comes primarily from the individual attention the staff lavishes on each guest, which ultimately inspires the kind of loyalty that keeps families returning from honeymoon to graduation.

We first noticed the resort’s unusual penchant for generosity during a previous stay last year, when an inopportune rain shower kept us confined to our room with a DVD player. Did they have Pinocchio, my son asked? A half-hour later, a knock at the door came with the movie. Turns out that’s typical of the place, which strives to impress guests in a way big-box resorts never could. Staff members are each given budgets that they can use as they see fit to surprise guests; if Billy likes the Bruins and Sally is into horses, then maybe a Bruins shirt and a horse book appear on the pillow that night.

At the end of each month, the staff votes to decide its most creative or heroic acts. “We empower all of our staff to do whatever it takes to please the guest,” Director of Operations Mike Sharlet tells me later. “We’re doing whatever we can to become a memory maker.” That doesn’t mean only for kids; staff have gone to ridiculous lengths to make memories for adults as well, from decking out a separate suite with candles and a private dinner for a proposal to arranging a customized scavenger hunt for family reunions, complete with a staff member to follow groups and take candid digital photos while they search. WANDErLUST CONT. >>>

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MOREOVER, SOME OF THE MOST MAGICAL MOMENTS at the resort occur during summer, when the Wequassett hosts the summer-long Cape Cod Jazz Festival. What started as a way to fill slow Tuesdays nine years ago has grown into a showcase of regional—and increasingly national—talent. Intimate crowds of fewer than 300 people gather on the terrace overlooking the ocean as stars come winking out above and the music fills the air. Returning favorites this year include Mercedes Hall, a velvet-voiced crooner out of New York, and the Juilliard Jazz Ensemble, full of kids so talented, they make those Glee kids look like subway buskers.

This year, the Wequassett has upped the (figurative) star power in the lineup with new performers both inside and outside the jazz fold. Worcester native Anne Walsh was nominated for a Grammy a few years ago for her sultry “In the Still of the Night,” a ballad that seems ready-made for this location. More recently, Stephane Wrembel added his flamenco guitar riffs to Woody Allen’s Midnight in Paris. And those nostalgic for ’80s rock face a double threat: Boston guitarist Jay Geils (of J. Geils Band fame) appears with his jazz-guitar trio New Guitar Summit; and Journey drummer Steve Smith faithfully leads his jazz-fusion band Vital Information, a 30year endeavor that makes that other band seem like a side project.

And yet, as much as music is the centerpiece of the festival, it is more than complemented by the cuisine of resident chef James Hackney, whom Wequassett stole away from L’Espalier last year to helm its acclaimed restaurant 28 Atlantic. His cuisine is something of a jazz score in itself, taking classic New England dishes and syncopating their rhythms with unusual riffs—à la the breathtakingly tender butter-braised lobster dressed with cashew curry and basildaikon slaw. Hackney has created a lighter “jazz menu” to be served during the show, but guests wanting a guaranteed spot for the music can book an early prix fixe meal at the restaurant. This year, the resort has also put together several special events pairing food and jazz, including a free champagne and oyster tasting on August 7, with bubbles from Moët and Chandon and bivalves from the bay below; a French wine sampling to coincide with Wrembel’s performance on August 21 (and make 6:30 in Harwich as close as possible to midnight in Paris); and booze cruise, er, “cocktail regatta” with three boats tooling around the bay before final Tuesday show on August 28.

As for us, visiting early in the season, our last day was sunny but with a slight chill, and we worried for our children’s circulation after a dip in the unheated main pool. Instead, the staff suggested we bring our little dolphins up to the heated lap pool, which is normally adults-only but open to families during shoulder season. A potential disappointment became a memory in the making as the kids spent hours sloshing around in the pool while we lay back on the lounge chairs slurping down oysters and burgers. By this point, we should well have expected the platter of Popsicles that arrived (unasked for, of course) just before we finally piled the kids into the car for the trip home. In they went, with hands sticky, exhausted by giddiness, slightly sunburned, and undeniably lucky.

WEQUASSETT RESORT & GOLF CLUB 2173 ROUTE 28, PLEASANT BAY HARWICH, MA 02645 P // (800) 225-7125

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WATERwoRld The resort’s understated decor (below and at right) highlights the natural beauty of its surroundings(above).

COUP BOSTON � SUMMER ���� � WANDERLUST

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Dolan romper, $97

FEATURING EXCLUSIVE COLLECTIONS BY

Charlotte Ronson & Work Custom Denim SPRING & SUMMER COLLECTIONS FROM Dolan · Hudson Denim · The Cue · Chan Lu · Paul & Joe Sister · Lauren Moshi · Beyond Vintage Gold Hawk · Sold Denim · Stephanie Johnson · Yosi Samra · Dolan Tee · Bing Bang Yummie Tummie by Heather Thomson · Giles & Brothers 547 Main Street — Winchester, MA 01890 — 781.721.6700 — www.sellsandco.com

new season, new menu, new setting patio now open at harvest

44 Brattle Street (on the walkway) Harvard Square 617.868.2255 harvestcambridge.com

Revenge of the food neRds

A most deliciously dorky guide to summer eating.

BY ALEXANDRA HALL, JOLYON HELTERMAN, ERIN BYERS MURRAY & THE COUP BOSTON STAFF PORTRAIT BY JOEL BENJAMIN

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THE SCIENCE OF ICE CREAM PAGE 35

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DRINKING THE DAY AWAY PAGE 40

COUP BOSTON � SUMMER ���� � TABLE

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ROSÉ + FRIED FOODS + PATIO = SUMMER BLISS PAGE 37

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TODAY’S CATCH OF COASTAL HOTSPOTS PAGE 38

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SHELLFISH BEHAVIOR PAGE 44

FOOD NE R Ds .

We’ll just say it: The world needs more of them and far fewer “foodies.” The distinction? One craves status; the other, authenticity. Foodies manifest their affections by chasing the latest “it” ingredients, celebrity chefs, and consumption at only the most conspicuous of-the-moment tables. Food nerds, on the other hand, keep their eyes (and palates) obsessively trained on the food itself.

They dive into every plate, bite, and last atom of sustenance with as much love as curiosity—about how it was made, what it’s made of, who made it taste like that, and how. They defy categorization. They are locavores and street food addicts alike; vegetarians and nose-to-tailers; home cooks and pros. They’re equal parts scientist, historian, artist, detective, and above all else, lovers of every last smell, texture, color, and flavor they can stick a fork into.

And in New England, no season rolls out a more boundless and unbridled spread for them than summertime.

Nerds, your revenge is now served.

COUP BOSTON � SUMMER ���� � TABLE

BRAIN FREEZE What weird science lies at the heart of a perfect bowl of ice cream? ALEXANDRA HALL readies her microscope—and, just as importantly, her spoon.

LET'S START WITH WHAT WE KNOW: New England is a land of self-appointed ice-cream experts. We scarf more of it (year-round, even) than any other corner of the country. And we take that honor very, very seriously. In these parts, epic family rifts have been catalyzed by arguments over who actually invented the Smoosh-in (answer: Steve Herrell, though Cold Stone Creamery has since nabbed popular credit—and most of the profits from its sales), and over who in town owns bragging rights for the coolest esoteric flavor. (Christina’s bergamot? Oleana’s cocoa-rose with date-rose truffle? Ah, but then there’s the chocolate cayenne at Dolce Freddo.)

But here’s the truth, at least if you listen to psycho-sensory experts: What separates truly superlative ice cream from merely good—that is, what brings us back again and again, and renders us helpless to resist another spoonful—isn’t just a cleverly tricked-out flavor. Just as important, if not more so, is a flawless texture to carry said flavor. That’s the first lesson I learned when I applied a scientific analysis to one of life’s unadulterated pleasures. Some might say it defeats the purpose of a dreamy scoop of dessert to overintellectualize it. To which this food nerd replies: to know something is truly to love it. So in pursuit of identifying a perfect specimen of the cold stuff, then, I hereby invoke a run-through of the good ol’ scientific method.

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A FIRST HYPOTHESIS The ideal bowl of ice cream must be as creamy as possible, altogether devoid of ice crystals.

The biggest killjoy on the texture front? Those universally dreaded ice crystals.“They give you a gritty sensation in your mouth, and that is not very desirable,” understates Srinivasan Damodaran, Ph.D., food scientist at the University of Wisconsin– Madison. He’s right, of course, as anyone who has ever eaten a freezer-burned glob of Breyers can attest.

But not so fast, alerts Derek Spors, a food scientist with Ben & Jerry’s research and development department (which the company calls “bizarre and D,” not “R & D”). Ice cream isn’t just a solid, he says, but a liquid, gas, and solid all at once—starting off as a liquid blend of cream, milk, sugar, egg yolk, and stabilizers, it’s then frozen and injected with air.

More importantly, during that freezing process, what turns it into a solid is actually the creation of ice crystals—albeit incredibly small ones. “Everything that happens to the ice cream after that only makes the ice crystals bigger,” he says. “That seems counterintuitive, but we actually want to have as many ice crystals as possible, because the more we have, then the smaller they are on average.” BrAIN FrEEZE CONT. on following PAGE �

S U M M E R O B SESS I O n # 1

Grilled corn bread If pizza is like sex—worthwhile even when it’s mediocre, that is—then corn bread is more like a relationship: soul-warming when it’s good, but just plain ol’ depressing when it’s middling or bad. So many versions that fall below the upper-echelon stratum evoke bricklike texture—dry, leaden, with the density of a collapsed star.

The Rattlesnake chef Brian Poe’s take on the genre could never be described as such at any time of year (go ahead and thank his liberal use of creamed butter for that).

But then in summer, when fresh corn rolls in, it becomes a different animal entirely. Whole, plump kernels dot every bite, and settle in to ooze their field-fresh sweetness into the rich, cheese-laced mix. Once baked, Poe further ups the ante by tossing it on the grill, which layers in smokiness and adds crunch to the interior’s smoothness. Hell, even the corners are sweet, juicy, and addictively cakey. A convincing argument, if there ever was one, for a No Crumb Left Behind Act. —Alexandra Hall Poe's Kitchen at The Rattlesnake, 384 Boylston St., Boston, 617-859-7772

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BrAIN FrEEZE CONT. from previous page →

So in short, ice crystals are a good—in fact, vital—thing; the more you have in your dish, the more velvety your dessert. Until, that is, you leave it in your car trunk for an hour and then refreeze it, or make the tragic error of stashing it in your freezer door. There it gets melted and refrozen repeatedly every time you open the door, expanding each ice crystal exponentially until you have something that looks like an iceberg that could take down the Titanic, and feels like AstroTurf on your tongue.

Which is precisely why you need something called stabilizers: to keep the iceberg at bay.

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SCRATCH THAT, NEW HYPOTHESIS The ideal bowl of ice cream is one that’s been boosted up with stabilizers.

Time was, the only stabilizer used to keep ice cream emulsified and protect it from burgeoning crystals was eggs (still common in French ice creams). But these days, there’s a slew of options, from locust bean gum (a.k.a. carob bean gum) to guar gum (a legume-based powder) and carrageenan (i.e., seaweed extract). There are other, less frightening-sounding options as well.

“Jeni’s ice cream uses starch,” says Gus Rancatore, local ice-cream soothsayer-cummagnate (He owns Toscanini's. Enough said.) and brother to fellow/rival ice-cream impresario Joe Rancatore, who owns Rancatore’s in Belmont and Lexington. “It’s also what French pastry chefs use in pastry cream, and it makes ice cream taste more like a Sicilian gelato.”

Stabilizers certainly have their fans for good reason, but using even just a little too much can sometimes change texture for the worse; many commercial ice creams that use them taste almost too creamy, and take on a chewy, gummy consistency that tastes anything but homemade.

But hold on again. That’s where things get tricky and can turn into a bit of a vicious circle: The fancier you get with flavors (with things like sugars and fruits and liqueurs), the more difficult it is to perfect the chemical and physical balance that creates great consistency. Says Eric Fredette, group leader of flavor development at Ben & Jerry’s, “If you add caramel to the background of an ice cream, you are adding a bunch of sugar. That throws the balance off, which means every time you open and close that freezer door, your ice crystals are more likely to get bigger, faster.”

BrAIN FrEEZE CONT. ON PAGE 38�

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Summ e r Ob s s e s s i o n � �

Tea-smoked bluefish pâté The slickest hors d’oeuvres trick in my summer repertoire I learned from Tom Berry, the former Temple Bar chef who now cooks for a well-heeled crowd at Nantucket’s Great Harbor Yacht Club. Berry’s bluefish pâté recipe is a perfectly tuned crowd-pleaser, but you’ve gotta work for it. First, you’ll need a 2-pound skin-on fillet of flavorful and in-season bluefish (that’s where the “summer” comes in). Build a low charcoal fire, then stuff a foil packet with a cup each of soaked hickory chips, fragrant jasmine rice, and loose-leaf black tea. Place the packet on the coals, grease up the fish with canola, sprinkle with salt, and smoke it over indirect heat for 30 minutes.

As it cools, don’t be shy about quality control: As a host, you have a responsibility—plus, you need only 2 cups of the velvety flaked fish, and the yield is precisely 3.5 mouthfuls more than required. (Yes, I’ve checked. Many times.)

Then comes the naughty part. A cup of diced shallots gets simmered in a stick of butter, then tossed into a mixer with 2 pounds of softened cream cheese, chopped scallions, lemon juice, and a tablespoon of shichimi togarashi, an obscure Japanese spice blend. Gently fold in the fish, and serve on crostini, perched on endive leaves, or schmeared across a toasted bagel.

—Jolyon Helterman

COUP BOSTON � SUMMER ���� � TABLE

The Best Things in Life Are Frites

It’s a hazard of lolling away the day on a patio: that yearning for a trough of piping-hot fried food paired with a chilly rosé. JOLYON HELTERMAN sleuths out the best reasons in town to give up the resistance.

MOST MAGAZINES WOULD KICK OFF THIS STORY with a painfully drawn out apology for coming out in public support of drinking pink wine with cod cakes. I’ll hereby dispense with such formalities and just cut to the chase: When the weather gets hot, all I ever crave is the following delicious—and deplorably undersung—combination: a platter of crispy-fried morsels washed down with an icy rosé (nothing loves a fritter more than soft tannins) served al fresco (nothing spurs indulgence like a sun-dappled patio).

So in the interest of proving true the equation that fried food + rosé + patio = bliss, I set out to find it in its most perfect forms all over town. Oh, and I won’t bother giving you any it-was-a-tough-job-but somebody-had-to-do-it nonsense, either. Because actually, it was just awesome.

Bistro du Midi

� ��� Boylston St., ������������ Every spring, as the latest rosé releases trickle in, sommeliers make a mad dash to cobble together a decent portfolio in time for patio season. Meanwhile, Bistro du Midi’s Todd Lipman doesn’t break a sweat. While pink wines are generally drunk as young as possible (this year, ’10s and ’11s), Lipman likes to anchor his list with blushing lovelies that carry a little bottle age with grace.

To wit: two Château de Pibarnon vintages from Bandol, the most revered Provençal appellation. Trust us, there are lousier ways to while away an afternoon than conducting a “vertical” tasting of the ’08 ($80) and ’09 ($85) on the Public Garden–facing patio to determine whether that year of youth is worth the extra fiver. Due diligence? Next to godliness.

PAIRING NOTES Chef Robert Sisca’s refined southern-French fare is tailormade for rosés. A pichet ($18) of the gloriously complex Jean-Luc Colombo “Cape Bleue” makes a worthy companion for the crispy artichoke hearts.

GEEK-SPEAK CHEAT SHEET “They’ve got more rosés than anyone in town—except for maybe The Blue Room.”

The Blue Room

� � Kendall Sq., Cambridge, ������������ If rosé were a movie star, The Blue Room would be its fan-club president.

While Bistro du Midi gives the place a run for its money selectionwise (on a given day, each spot has roughly 15), on the proactive-exuberance front there’s no contest. Starting midspring, the @eatatblueroom Twitter feed becomes part pink-wine primer, part breathless travelogue of rose-colored new arrivals, with easily 40 characters reserved for squeals: “The excitement is palpable! C’mon #txakolifest! Getting ready to bust out the porrons!” gushes a tweet promoting a fête held on the restaurant’s sprawling patio to toast the bubbly Basque blush.

In short, if you're looking for a place to trash-talk rosés, this might not be your best option.

PAIRING NOTES Ever since Butcher Shop alum Robert Grant took over the kitchen, the Mediterranean fare is better than ever. Go for the pesto- and Parmlaced arancini and a glass of La Valentina Montepulciano d’Abruzzo ($8).

GEEK-SPEAK CHEAT SHEET “No, no, no...it’s absolutely pronounced CHAH-ko-lee. The vessel you pour it from is a poor-RAHN.” the best things in life are frites, CONT. on page 39→

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BrAIN FrEEZE CONT. from page 36→

Like most anything worthwhile, getting texture right takes serious patience. “It can be an ongoing experiment,” says Blue Inc. chef Jason Santos, known for his mad-scientist menus—and for adventurous ice creams like chocolate-molasses and cunning creations like brown butter ice cream with green apple purée (essentially a deconstructed apple pie). Instead of using stabilizers in a traditional ice-cream machine, he makes the ice cream using liquid nitrogen. “It freezes it superfast that way—in about 15 seconds—so it gets very airy,” says Santos. “It gives great mouth feel. But even so, when you add things like alcohol, it does change the texture and sometimes melts faster, so you need to play with the result until you get it right.”

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FINAL CONCLUSION Ice cream may not be scientifically simple, but it’s still one of life’s simple pleasures.

There is, even given all this, another factor in how human beings ultimately rate the perfect bowl of ice cream—one that’s far less scientific, and much more personal. In short, it’s the bigger context of its consumption: the place, moment, and overall emotional experience of eating it. Even if he was talking about cookies instead of ice cream, Proust certainly knew as much.

So does Rancatore. “If you ask me, some of the best ice cream in the world is at Berthillon in France,” says the longtime master. “It’s a parlor on an island in the middle of Paris [Île St.-Louis], and going there and having it is just unbelievable. And no matter how good the flavor or texture is, you can’t tell me that it would taste that good if you ate it in a strip mall in Akron, Ohio.”

We may not have an Île St.-Louis in our neck of the woods, around here, but our corners are still blessed with cold comforts and semi-magical spots at which to consume them. On a sweaty mid-July night, settle into a seat on Picco’s breeze-filled patio with a cone of the delectable passion fruit and watch the South End swirl around you. Or, over at Coppa, follow one of the most memorable dinners in town with a bowl of sublime toasted almond.

End a sun-soaked day at Duxbury beach by putting your feet up at nearby Farfar’s, and polish off a bowl of mind-blowing maple-walnut while watching the pooches and sandy kids scamper in the distance. Scientifically quantifiable or not, delicious moments like these couldn’t be more perfect.

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SHOR E TH I NGS The real reason swimsuits have elastic waistbands: The new crop of restaurants on the Cape and islands will have you hungrier than ever for some beach time.

BY BERNIE LEED

CRU NANTUCKET Panoramic views of the harbor, an epic raw bar, and a staff in uniforms by Michael Kors—no wonder the crowds are already lined up for this hot spot. Bring a large group to pick at the tiers of the cold seafood platters, or dine on chef Erin Zircher’s signature flounder meuniere.

1 Straight Wharf, Nantucket. 508-228-9278

HOOKED If you’re driving through Oak Bluffs and pass what appears to be the island’s coolest lawn party—badminton, croquet, cocktails with muddled fruit—just know that you’re invited too. Atria chef Christian Thornton has seen to it; his latest island venture is this fish house offering Vineyard-by-way-of-the-South dishes like shrimp and summer corn fritters and watermelon margarita oyster shooters.

15 Island Inn Road, Oak Bluffs. 508-693-6093

THE LOUNGE AT SAGE INN It’s housed in P-town’s oldest boardinghouse building, but there’s nothing old-fashioned about this newcomer. From its elevated, eye-level fireplace and a drinks program designed by Carl Christian of Boston’s 28 Degrees to small plates like boar and duck corn dogs, it’s tough to decide which element is the biggest scene stealer.

336 Commercial Street, Provincetown. 508-487-6424

MON AMOUR We at COUP have an obvious affinity for French monikers. But this Gallic lovely charms us as much with its menu as its name. Its unassuming, wood-shingled exterior doesn’t even begin to suggest the culinary pleasures inside, starting with the pâtés that fly out of the kitchen and ending with the stellar profiteroles.

395 State Road, Vineyard Haven. 508-693-8444

MET ON MAIN As a teen, MET Restaurant Group owner Kathy Sidell spent her summers scooping ice cream at a Nantucket ice cream shop. Now she’s opened MET on Main at that very shop’s one-time location. Settle in for lunchtime options like eggplant caprese, a tartare selection celebrating both raw and cooked fish, and a build-your-own pancake bar that starts the day out exactly right.

38 Main Street, Nantucket. 508-325-5111

SEA DOG BREW PUB NANTUCKET Yes, it’s a franchise. But it’s a legit New England one, evolved from the Maine-based beer company. Moreover, the new Nantucket branch has plenty of local flavor—by way of the island lightship hanging behind the bar and homemade bar snacks like candied popcorn ACK-Jacks, plus a lobster flatbread that’s flat-out addictive.

15 South Water Street, Nantucket. 508-680-1342

COUP BOSTON � SUMMER ���� � TABLE the best things in life are frites, CONT. from page 37→

Catalyst

� ��� Technology Sq., Cambridge, ������������ French fries are a poetry of simplicity—a minimalist potato-and-oil riff that still somehow packs a Poundian wallop. Right, so Catalyst’s fried rillettes aren’t anything like that. Quite a bit more, shall we say, Homeric: The epic odyssey begins as a buxom odalisque (bone-in pork shoulder) reclines wantonly on a wire rack (fridge, two days), nude save for a generous layer of fragrant bath powders (bay leaf, red pepper flakes, cardamom, thyme, salt). In stanza 2, our porcine Phryne (the pork) luxuriates inside a gurgling tub (hotel pan) of warm, melted duck fat for hours, until fork-tender, before being shredded, then mixed—like an overwrought metaphor— with a rapid succession of potent ingredients. The stylistic flourishes here are particularly refined, the galloping clop of a rhymed couplet (“Basil, honey, thyme / Spearmint, garlic, lime”) morphing seamlessly into sinuous consonance (“Soy sauce, sautéed onion, sambal ulek,” an unmistakable allusion to the pungent Indonesian chili paste). The final quatrain kicks back in unhurried iambic tetrameter: Yon tricked-out bowl of shredd’d hog Gets rolled into a one-inch log Then chilléd firm—sliced, dredged, and fried Till piping hot and crisp outside.

The unctuous nuggets end up dropped onto a plate swirled with piquant shallot-grape jam so good, it deserves its own lyrical encomium.

PAIRING NOTES The white-peach-tinged Domaines Ott, sold by the magnum ($130) exclusively to plein-air patrons.

GEEK-SPEAK CHEAT SHEET See above.

Eastern Standard & The Hawthorne

� Eastern Standard, ��� Commonwealth Ave., ������������ � The Hawthorne, 500A Commonwealth Ave., �������-���� Writing a story about patio rosés and fried food without mentioning Eastern Standard would be like omitting Fenway Park from a Sox-themed opera libretto. In other words: even weirder than what that would look like. The Kenmore Square stalwart basically invented the genre (the, um, fried-rosé-patio one...), and sommelier Colleen Hein’s list strikes an elegant balance between crisp Provençal standards and farther-flung oddities. Her latest trick is a limited inventory of Château Peyrassol (a step up from the winery’s ubiquitous Commanderie) jeroboams ($220)—that’s four bottles’ worth, for those playing at home. Down the block, ES’s craft-cocktail sibling, The Hawthorne, boasts its own cozy patio and a selection of rosy sparklers.

PAIRING NOTES Few props telegraph summertime fabulosity as nicely as sitting around an alfresco four-top with two friends and a 2-foot-high, 13-pound bottle of pink wine. (A juicy glass of Domaine Collotte Marsannay, $12, makes a quieter, yet equally delicious, statement.) The sweet-potato steak fries are an undersung delight.

At The Hawthorne, go with the house-made potato chips and onion dip and the Claude Riffault “La Noue” Sancerre Rosé ($12).

GEEK-SPEAK CHEAT SHEET “Apparently, four normal bottles would only cost $200; the extra 20 bucks is the premium for the ridiculous amount of glass required to make that ginormous bottle.” the best things in life are frites, CONT. on page 41→

S U M M E R O B SESS I ON # �

Thai green chile “krack” sauce I first tasted chef Seth Raynor’s Thai green chile sauce during the Nantucket Wine Festival a few years back. I was about to eat an oyster when the chef-owner of Corazon del Mar tossed a dash of electric green sauce over the meat.

I made a face. Really, dude? I take my oysters naked, thankyouverymuch. “Trust me,” he said. I reluctantly slurped all of it from its shell and let the sauce roll around my mouth for a bit. The brine of the oyster meat quickly gave way to the sauce’s sweet and salt, but there was something deeper underneath. Chiles, cilantro, lime juice, salt… what else was in there? Seth watched carefully, waiting for a reaction. All I wanted was more. A spoonful. A bottleful. Just give me more.

“It’s the fish sauce,” he said, smiling. “We call this stuff ‘krack sauce.’” I handed him another oyster to douse and asked, “How about a double?”

—Erin Murray Corazon del Mar, 21 South Water St., Nantucket, 508-228-0815

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Delights

Afternoon

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Summer quaffing heeds no time limits. Right now, drinking during the daytime has never been more appropriate. By the COUP Boston staff

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Sometimes, it’s like this: It’s 3 p.m. on Friday, and everyone’s fled the city early for Chatham. You’re bitter. Sunshine beckons from the window past your desk. Your inner Don Draper chides you: What are you still doing here?

Chump, go get a cocktail.

Or, sometimes, it’s like this: It’s 11 a.m. on Monday. Your week stretches out ahead of you like a patient etherized on a table. Your inner poetry plagiarist chides you: Really? You couldn’t do any better than a Prufrock reference? This is going to be a long day. Go get yourself a drink.

And sometimes, it’s even like this: It’s 2 p.m. on a Wednesday. Dead center of your workweek. The afternoon is pitch-perfect, cloudless, breezy, and 85 degrees—the kind Boston rarely sees. You don’t have time to channel your inner anything; you’ve already left the building. We’ll drink to that.

Aquitaine The time: � p.m.

The drink: The Kaleesi �vodka, rhubarb, bitters, ginger, lemon, and basil citrus� The toast: To a full night of Game of Thrones reruns afterward

The Butcher Shop The time: �:�� P.m.

The drink: Pretty much whatever wine sommelier Cat Silirie is pouring The toast: To the Bolognese sauce you’ll be toting home later for dinner

Deuxave The time: � p.m.

The drink: Any of beverage director Vincent Stipo's Belgian,style brews

The toast: To the passersby off the lovely patio

Eastern Standard The time: ��:�� a.m.

The drink: A Bloody Mariachi �with extra tequila�

S U M M E R O B SESS I ON ��

The toast: The early bird getting the worm

Pork chop with grilled peach halves and basil

Foundry on Elm

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The time: � p.m.

The drink: Dee Flowered �citrus vodka , StGermain , Earl Grey iced tea , honey , and lemon � The toast: To libations that get cheekier with each sip

Grass Fed The time: �� a.m.

The drink: An adult salted caramel milkshake �vanilla ice cream with caramel vodka , tequila , sea salt , and whipped cream � The toast: To your inner child AFTErNOON DELIGHTS CONT. ON page 40→

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There’s an abrupt, Brigadoon-like moment, some time around the second week of August, when local peaches take on an intense flavor so tangy and sweet and fragrant and ludicrously amplified, it makes their Jolly Rancher counterpart seem understated and demure. (The rest of the year: blush-and-yellow tennis balls with the astringency of an unripe pear and the squeaky, waterlogged texture of fading kohlrabi.) Given the brevity of the season, there used to be only one peach recipe that made any sense to me: chill 10 minutes; serve dripping, over sink, with best-quality paper towels you can afford. (COUP Boston’s test kitchen likes Viva.)

A dish I ate five years ago in Seattle bumped up that number to two: a Kurobuta pork chop at Sitka & Spruce, the hip, chilled-out eatery whose dreamy locavore fare resembles what I imagine the love child of Erbaluce’s bar menu and The Butcher Shop’s specials board might look like (but with more sockeye salmon). The deluxegrade chop was marinated, charcoal-seared, then served with nothing but juicy grilled peach halves and a scattering of basil, the ripe stone fruit doing double duty as the sauce, and as the luscious nectar of the gods. No, seriously: hyperbole, shmyperbole. It’s true.

—Jolyon Helterman

COUP BOSTON � SUMMER ���� � TABLE the best things in life are frites, CONT. from page 39→

Gaslight

� ��� Harrison Ave., ������������ According to scientists, nothing promotes the release of endorphins—natural, opiatelike chemicals that produce feelings of euphoria and calmness—quite like knocking back a carafe of house rosé and a platter of mayo-moistened crunchies whilst workout fiends huff and puff away for your voyeuristic pleasure. Indeed, most seats on Gaslight’s charming patio afford unobstructed views of Boston Sports Club’s cardio room, and on weekends, SoWa Open Market foot traffic provides a nonstop parade of conversational fodder. Free parking is a nice touch; however, driving and/or operating heavy machinery is discouraged.

No joke. Leave the derrick at home.

PAIRING NOTES The berry-packed Mas de la Dame Les Baux-De-Provence Rosé du Mas is available by glass ($10.75), half- ($16.75) and full carafe ($26.75), and bottle ($45). I recommend the half-carafe with the hand-cut frites, but the haunting je ne sais quoi of the brandade beignets, light-as-air fried puffs of salt cod swooshed with lemon-caper aioli and tomato jam, simply cries out for the full bottle.

GEEK-SPEAK CHEAT SHEET “Authentic? More or less.

At Gaslight, the chef's been obsessed with smoking duck wings, salmon sides, lamb bellies, tomatoes, slab bacon, and country hams on his new toy, the SmokinTex 100CXLD. Real Parisian chefs tend to stick with Gauloises. ”

Il Casale

� �� Leonard St., Belmont, ������������ Belmont spots sometimes get put on lists like this one as the result of a guileful, calculated effort to ratchet up “geographical diversity.” Other times, it’s the squid. At Il Casale, Dante de Magistris takes the region’s most routinely phoned-in foodstuff (with the possible exception of the slider) and transforms it into a fresh masterpiece.

Slicing up locally sourced cephalopods in-house easily outclasses scores of ersatz pretenders that start out frozen and prebreaded. Then there’s the fine-tuned cooking method: Cleaned rings and tentacles are dipped in seasoned buttermilk, dredged in a 50/50 mix of durum wheat and imported “00” flour (see below), then small-batch-crisped in 375-degree canola. At the end of the day, though, it may be the deep-fried lemons—thin wheels simmered (twice!) in salt-and-sugar water, dipped in egg and bread crumbs, and cooked along with the calamari—that take the dish from technically flawless to utterly sublime. The rosemaryperfumed charred-lemon aioli doesn’t hurt, either.

PAIRING NOTES The assertive acidity and structural nuance of Il Casale’s mind-blowing calamaretti demands... any rosé on the list. Yup, any of ’em. It really isn’t about that.

GEEK-SPEAK CHEAT SHEET “[Smacking lips thoughtfully] You know, I have a funny ... hunch the chef ’s got some ‘Tipo 00’ in this coating. Oh, sorry: That’s the highly milled, ultrafine flour used by Italy’s top pizzaiole to produce shatteringly delicate crusts.” the best things in life are frites, CONT. on page 43→

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S U M M E R O B SESS I ON � 5

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VODKA & TONIC

Even as a New England native, myriad joys of stereotypical preppy life elude me. Whale belts?

Pass. Golf? Yawn. But a bracing vodka-tonic during the muggy, sun-filled height of summer? Fill ’er up. Not quite as hard-core prep as its blue(r)-blood cousin the G&T, it’s cleaner and sharper, unsullied by juniper, and thus more equipped to cut through the swelter of July and August. And just as it has its perfect months, it also can’t be downed at just any time of day: Late afternoon is ideal, when the light dancing through the tree above your hammock (or across waves off the bow of your Catalina) is particularly giddy.

Meanwhile, it’s so darn easy to make, even total morons can play the mixologist: pour equal parts vodka (uppity designer labels abound, of course, but my new favorite is the organic, slightly peppery version from locally based Bully Boy Distillers) and tonic over ice. Douse with a squeeze of fresh lime, then lie back and marvel that something so simple could so instantly and so entirely capture the elemental feeling of what summer is at its apex.

Whale belt definitely not required.

—Alexandra Hall

AFTErNOON DELIGHTS CONT. FrOM page 38→

Matt Murphy’s The time: � a.m.

The drink: So Red the Nose �dark rum, fresh lime, and apple−maple honey�

The toast: To Irish ingenuity

Myers � Chang

The time: ��: �� a.m.

The drink: A Bloodlust �blood orange liquor , sriracha , and lime zest � The toast: To sugar and spice that’s exceedingly nice

Stella The time: � p.m.

The drink: Pink guava lemonade

�Skyy Citrus, guava pur É e, and a splash of lemon� The toast: To the party scene that never quits

Strip T's The time: All afternoon The drink: One of the David Chang-y wines

for bargain prices �a yummy Rully that other restaurants peddle for three times as much� The toast: To the miso-and-lemon-aiolilaced burger: one of the best around

Sweet Cheeks The time: � p.m.

The drink: House Bill ��� �tea-infused− Berkshire mountain corn whiskey, lemon juice, mint, and simple syrup� The toast: To “Tootsie,” the kitchen’s �,���− pound smoker S U M M E R O B SESS I ON � 6

TOMATO SANDWICHES Tony Maws is such a stickler about tomato pristineness that the menu listing for his celebrated Craigie burger—the CVap-swaddled, plancha-charred, hyper-umami marvel of bone marrow, suet, dehydrated miso, and three cuts of ground cow—famously carries an asterisked caveat: “Sorry, no tomatoes till August.” It’s a hard-line stance against the deleterious scourge of subpar fixin’s. It’s a nice touch, but also a tad misguided. Not to suggest that tomatoes aren’t worth exacting curatorial rigor, but rather that putting peakseason beauties in the service of even a legendary meatwich is like relegating Bernadette Peters to the chorus.

In their ultimate form—when the sweetness gets cranked up to 10, the acidity to 11, and the swollen flesh takes on a ruby pigment so rich and deeply saturated, its juices run like viscous ink—tomatoes deserve center stage. My favorite spotlight: thick slices piled onto white bread that’s been buttered and broiler-toasted on the interior side only (providing a crunchy middle layer), slathered with homemade mayo, and showered with coarse black pepper and flaky Maldon sea salt. Serve immediately, with an asterisked caveat: “Sorry, no burgers till October.”

—Jolyon Helterman

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Trade The time: Between � and � p.m., when the light still floods through the epic floor-to-ceiling windows, but before the happy hour crowd takes over The drink: Cucumber lemonade with vodka The toast: To the kitchen’s spectacular habit of sending food to tables perfectly hot off the burner

Upstairs on the Square The time: � p.m.

The drink: Jackie O �vodka, apricot nectar, crÉme de cassis, lemon juice, and bubbly� The toast: To having the chutzpah to put a zebra carpet into a Harvard Square institution

COUP BOSTON � SUMMER ���� � TABLE the best things in life are frites, CONT. from page 41→

Myers + Chang

� ���� Washington St., ������������ It doesn’t take a connoisseur to enjoy Newbury Street’s sidewalk cafés. Like uncomplicated merlots, they’re built to go down easy, tapping into a crowd-pleasing, time-tested formula of retail proximity, eye-friendly sightlines, potted begonias, and optional grilled chicken upgrades. By contrast, the bare-bones plot of poured concrete outside Myers + Chang, on the South End’s gritty fringe, beckons the al fresco veteran whose palate can handle a decent level of—what’s the word?—terroir-driven funkiness. Truly, the intersection of Washington and E. Berkeley defines a vibrant cultural crossroads. Between forkfuls of wok-charred octopus and twice-cooked lamb belly noodles, delight in a spirited game of destination bingo, diagnosing passersby as they scurry off to the dog park, to the Silver Line stop, to the Pine Street Inn a block away. Schadenfreude enthusiasts should check out the views at eleven o’clock, where, on a clear day, you can just make out the crestfallen faces of Red Fez patrons still not getting their drinks yet. Oh, the urbanity!

PAIRING NOTES A glass of the Ostatu Rosado ($12), a gutsy Basque blend of tempranillo and garnacha grapes (sharpened with a touch of viura), will stand up gamely to the crispy shiitake and garlic-chive spring rolls.

GEEK-SPEAK CHEAT SHEET “Apparently, Joanne [Chang] has a degree in applied mathematics and economics. Christopher [Myers] did graduate work in fin de siècle literature. Both at Harvard. Yup. Total brainiacs.”

Oleana

� ��� Hampshire St., Cambridge, ������������ The gurgling fountain, the potted herbs, the sun-dappled whatever-flower-that-is growing from every crevice: All coalesce to make the patio here so ridiculously superlative that Oleana could frankly slum it with white zin and Ore-Ida and still make the cut. Happily, wine director Lauren Friel is a card-carrying rosé geek whose decidedly non-Beringer palate runs headlong into the quirky and rare, as evidenced by her revolving lineup of pink pours you won’t find all over town—at least till late summer (see below).

PAIRING NOTES Three stellar options for washing down Sortun’s heavenly fried mussels, briny beauties kicked up with hot peppers and tarator (garlic-almond) sauce. The gutsy Château de l’Eperonnière Rosé de Loire ($48) bursts with refreshing dry strawberry; Friel prefers the frilly bubbles of the Meinklang “Prosa” ($36), a true Austrian party gal.

But our pick is the smoldering Clos Cibonne Rosé of Tibouren ($58), aged in open barrels, the resultant oxidation imparting a gentle sherrylike funkiness. That’s right. Sherry. Turkish tapas. We’re not exactly reinventing the wheel, people.

GEEK-SPEAK CHEAT SHEET “I hear the sommelier squirrels away her allotment of the most popular rosés until the end of the season, when other restaurants are on their last case.”

Russell House Tavern

� 14 John F. Kennedy St., Cambridge, 617-500-3055 No need to dwell on the irony of washing down a plate of locavoristically correct Cape fingerlings with a Côteaux d’Aix that’s still jet-lagged after its 3,700-mile voyage from southwestern Provence. Suffice it to say that strict farm-to-table-ites can quaff with relative impunity at Russell House Tavern, which keeps Westport Rivers Vineyards’ pinot noir rosé—with its rose-petal nose, berry-fresh finish, and downright miniscule carbon footprint—on tap ($6 glass; $24 carafe), alongside a smattering of similarly local brews.

The pitch-perfect New American menu doubles as a Burke’s Peerage of pedigreed purveyors, and Harvard Square serves up people-watching eye candy so sweet, you could skip dessert. Except, don’t: That luscious lemon-honey cheesecake with lavender caramel isn’t gonna magically eat itself.

PAIRING NOTES The crispy fried oysters, amped up with fiery sriracha, citrus-infused salt, and the clarion acidity of pickled watermelon rinds, are a symphony of contrasting tastes on a plate. Go local (see above), or spring for a bottle ($40) of the Beckstoffer “Hogwash,” a juicy cabernet rosé from Napa Valley.

GEEK-SPEAK CHEAT SHEET “Honestly, the sheer historicity of a place blows me away sometimes. Ever hear of Thomas Russell? Mid-19th-century fellow, dealt furniture on this very spot. Wow. Just wow. Give me a moment?”

S U M M E R O B SESS I ON � 7

Potato gnocchi with roasted peaches with Gorgonzola dolce and pistachio pesto Gnocchi is a dish that can’t be owned by time; made well, its addictiveness transcends clocks, calendars, and basically anything a know-it-all food writer has to say about seasonality. I learned as much early last summer, sitting on the riverside patio of Restaurant Dante, musing the menu.

As I sat there in the piercing sun, a bowl of heavy starch struck me as the least appealing option, so I ordered the obvious: a salad.

Bad move. The kitchen knew better and sent out a bonus starter plate of chef Dante de Magistris’s gnocchi with porcini and asparagus. Within minutes, I sent the plate back—mirror-clean, that is—and canceled the salad. Since then, I’ve moved on to the dish’s even-hotter-weather manifestation, wherein those handmade potato dumplings get treated almost as if they were a dessert, courtesy of local farms’ achingly juicy peaches, their sweetness cut with the tart creaminess of Gorgonzola and the salty, cosseting buttery crunch of pistachios. Light eating it’s not. But as summer indulgences go, I’d rather dive into one of these than your average sundae anytime.

—Alexandra Hall Restaurant Dante, 40 Edwin H. Land Blvd., Cambridge, 617-497-4200

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Betraying the Oyster She helped buoy them to cult status with her book, “Shucked.” So why would Erin Byers Murray now forsake her beloved bivalve?

There are, believe it or not, days I’d rather not eat an oyster. You’d feel this way too if you’d spent 18 months working on an oyster farm, then sat down to write a book about the experience, and then, for another six months, did nothing but eat and talk about oysters in an effort to sell said book. To be clear, my version generally only pops up once in a while and lasts only a day or two.

But with the arrival of summer, I’m thinking of taking a longer break: une huître repos, if you will. That’s because summer is when oysters are in their growth period, which means all of their energy is being spent on plumping up. Their meat is still tasty, but not as packed with flavor as it is in winter. What better time to let my eye wander toward another beloved shellfish? That’s right: I’m replacing the oyster (momentarily) with the clam.

One of New England’s most cherished native ingredients, the clam is universally and justifiably adored this time of year. Its versatility alone—fried, steamed, grilled, baked, beer-battered, leek-smothered, naked—makes it a far more utilitarian cousin to the oyster, which can be treated all those ways too, but not with the same effect.

In fact, the more I compare the oyster and the clam, the more differences I uncover. The clam wears flavors like a sundress, its briny, sweet seawatery parts still shining out from underneath; the essence of the oyster, meanwhile, disappears under the weight of too much garb. Clams prefer a dip in the fryolator and a wash of cold, crisp beer.

Oysters, a glistening bed of ice and a sip of something soft and spar-

S U M M E R O B SESS I ON # 8

CHErrY TOMATO cONFIT The window during which I get to binge on cherry tomatoes is just short enough to make me want to cry. I cherish every pint like a gift, especially when the multicolored orbs are dusty with farm dirt. The perky little stems are still attached, like builtin skewers, giving me something to hold on to when I’m popping them like candy.

They go in salads, they’re sliced thinly to sit on sandwiches. And then, just like that, September rolls around. The tomatoes disappear, and I weep.

That was, until I found a killer cherry tomato confit recipe. Toss 2 pints of red and yellow cherry tomatoes with a few swirls of olive oil, a generous fistful of rosemary leaves, a half dozen crushed garlic cloves, sea salt, and a pinch of crushed red pepper and roast them at 325 degrees for about 45 minutes. Shake the pan once or twice, then take them out to cool for a bit. Freeze all of it, and pull it out in February to thaw. When it has hit room temperature, spread over a slice of focaccia that’s been slathered with fresh ricotta. It’s just enough goodness to keep me from completely losing it till next year.

—Erin Murray

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COUP BOSTON � SUMMER ���� � TABLE

kling. One is hearty, bitter, sweet; the other is finicky, delicate, complex. Cousins? Yes. But they couldn’t be more diametrically opposed.

To gather a little intel on my potential new love interest, I call Patrick and Barbara Woodbury, growers of Woodbury Shellfish. Wellfleet’s famed clam-farming couple has been supplying littlenecks to Boston’s top-tier chefs—Barbara Lynch, Jody Adams, Jasper White, Chris Schlesinger—since the late ’80s. Meanwhile, they’re academics; both have studied zoology and hold PhD’s in invertebrate biomechanics. I need their technical insight into both the animal and how they come to the plate.

“They have a foot,” Barbara explains, as we sit down in the lounge at Rialto. We’re there to taste Woodbury clams in chef Jody Adams’s appropriately titled dish, Pat and Barb’s Grilled Clams.

“No head, though,” she grins. “But they have a neck.” The feet, she explains, make the little suckers mobile, so unlike oysters, they can burrow into the mud. The neck houses a siphon that pokes out of the shell when the clams need to eat. Patrick, with the weathered eyes and easygoing smile of a man who’s spent a life doing what he loves, offers some species talk: Littlenecks, a hard-shell variety, are part of the Northern quahog genus; Venus mercenaria is the common commercial clam of the East Coast, and the Woodburys, like most farmers, grow the notata variety, a fast-growing species that doesn’t pop up in the wild that often.

Fortunately, they do pop up on local menus often. As we each take hold of a warm-off-the-grill Woodbury clam, which the kitchen has showered with a squeeze of citrus and a crack of pepper before giving them a brief moment on the grates, Barb notes that it’s not just the waters of Wellfleet that give each clam its distinct briny sweetness, but specific zones of Wellfleet—right down to their individual beds. “There’s a certain brininess on some, a bitterness to others, an umami flavor, a fennel flavor,” adds Patrick. “It’s remarkable.” It’s worth noting that the notata’s fat content changes over time too, so the meaty chew might be at its peak in the winter, but come summer it’s remarkably sweeter.

So what of the wild varieties? There’s no better man to answer than chef Jeremy Sewall, who usually has a handful of clam dishes on the menu at Island Creek Oyster Bar. The cousin of a lobsterman and partner to an oyster farmer, Sewall is easily the city’s most informed seafood chef. “Wild clams are usually a little more rugged,” he tells me as we mull over dishes like steamed Duxbury littleneck clams with grilled summer corn, sausage and scallion broth, and cherrystones stuffed with sourdough crumbs, garlic butter, and fennel. “It’s survival of the fittest in the wild, so unlike farmed clams that might have softer shells, wild ones are a little tougher and sometimes meatier,” he adds.

Then there are razor clams. Working on the oyster farm in Duxbury for that year and a half, I’d become familiar with razor clams.

On low tides, I’d often see tiny geysers shooting out of the mud; they were caused by the quick downward plunge of a razor clam burrowing into the mud. The clam diggers there would often sell them to chef Charles Draghi at Erbaluce. “They’re very fast and tend to sit way down in sand,” he explains. “The trick is getting them to think the tide is coming in. They’re harvested only on low tides when the moon is right.” One of the last readily available foraged seafoods, razors are a fascinating species, relished from here to Italy. And it’s easy to comprehend why, tucking into Draghi’s dish of steamed razors in a broth of white wine, leeks, peppercorns, and fennel seeds. The wash of flavors is all bitter and brine. Pure ocean, pure pleasure.

But for a true taste of summer? I can’t deny myself a trip up to Woodman’s in Essex for a paper tray of deep-fried clam bellies. These are steamer clams, a soft-shelled variety that live in the mud and offer a spurt of water every time their siphons are pulled into their shining shells. They’re harvested mostly in the wild, and can be farmed too.

But that’s not what I’m thinking about when I pull a steaming, golden belly off the pile, bite into it, and let the salt and juice linger after the crunch and meat cross my tongue. Bite after deep-fried bite, the clams offer a sweet kick of ocean from beneath their crusted shells. Meat, salt, and an undeniable and shining essence of the sea. I may go back to oysters at the end of the season, but make no mistake: This is a summer fling I’ll return to again and again.

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Sense of self

Sense of stil

118 NEWBURY STREET, 2FL BOSTON, MA 02116 617.262.8118 WWW.SALONEVAMICHELLE.COM

740 Legacy Place Dedham, MA stilstudio.com

SPLIT PERSONALITY. SOME DAYS IT’S UP, OTHERS IT’S DOWN. DEPENDS ON WHETHER TAVERN FARE AND DRAFT BEER DOWNSTAIRS ARE ON HIS MIND, OR A SEASONAL DINNER WITH CIVILIZED CONVERSATION UPSTAIRS IS ON HERS. THIS IS POST 390. DINNER. DRINKS. LUNCH. BRUNCH.

At The Clarendon, Corner of Clarendon & Stuart Streets, Back Bay, Boston Refined Seasonal Cuisine ~ 617.399.0015 ~ post390restaurant.com

THE ILLUMINATI

Today’s contemporary chandeliers are as inspiring as they are enlightening.

BY JOSEPH GORDON CLEVELAND DESPITE NEARLY A CENTURY’S WORTH of design innovation, the word “chandelier” still recalls a mess of swooping brass arms suspended above Grandmother’s dining table. Those were the days when said fixtures were either a gaudy indulgence or a standardissue, stock-variety solution. But more and more frequently, interior designers and homeowners alike are looking to the chandelier with an eye for impact, incorporating a contemporary design as the perfect counterpoint to a compelling piece of art. Sometimes, even, in place of it.

Take Ingo Maurer, for example, whose work is to chandeliers what Basquiat’s was to contemporary art: art by way of its medium, not the other way around. The German industrial designer’s body of work is engaging and raw, with an undeniable spirit of rebellion. TU-BE LUESTER (pictured above) is pure sculpture in its own right, subverting the traditional definition of a chandelier with a sequence of manipulated paint tubes suspended at different heights from a swath of metal mesh.

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But if Maurer’s sculpture-cum-chandeliers are more at home in minimalist spaces, there’s always Baker. The brand’s classically leaning offerings are unimpeachably chic, and the sheer breadth of their big-name designer collaborations—Barbara Barry, André Arbus, Thomas Pheasant, to name a few—means they have pieces to suit any (refined) taste. Here, the Sillicate Chandelier’s milkywhite ribbons of Murano glass mimic cloud formations. By way of Hollywood Regency, of course.

Somewhere between the two is Tom Dixon, whose U.K. studio is perhaps best known for its Etch Pendant series. Each piece in it is a textural counterpoint that works for nearly any space, from traditional to transitional, with weblike metalwork that casts a kaleidoscopic set of fractured shadows. His designs, from lighting to furniture and decorative accessories, are a quieter sort of conversation starter.

At any point on this aesthetic spectrum, there’s a chandelier to challenge the traditional notion of Grandmother’s brass disaster.

Or, in Tom Dixon’s words, to illuminate the future.

COUP BOSTON � SUMMER ���� � NEST

1A

5

2

4 OPPOSITE PAGE

INGO MAURER “TU-BE LUESTER” CHANDELIER // $4,805 AT NEENA’S

THIS PAGE

1 // BRAND VAN EGMOND “DELPHINIUM” SERIES // $6,880-$8,896 AT NEENA’S 2 // BAKER “SILLICATE” CHANDELIER // PRICE UPON REQUEST AT BAKER 3 // CRAZY DIAMOND SUSPENSION LIGHT // $796 AT YLIGHTING 4 // CORBETT LIGHTING “NINE-LIGHT PENDANT” SERIES // $3,328-$4,538 AT YALE 5 // TOM DIXON ETCH PENDANT // PRICE UPON REQUEST AT MONTAGE

3

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SUMMER ���� � COUP BOSTON � ARMOIRE

GILDING THE LILY What becomes a season of sunshine most? More shine, of course. When it comes to gleaming accessories this exceptional, too much is never enough.

PhotographS TIM GILMAN �� Art Direction & Styling Joseph Gordon Cleveland ART DIRECTOR’s assistants JESSE ACKErMAN, MIGUEL GAYDOSH, SYDNEY KIrSTEN, ALEXA rOBErTIELLO

CLOCKWISE FROM TOP RIGHT PERSONA SOUTH SEA PEARL NECKLACE, PRICE UPON REQUEST, AT PERSONA; ALEXIS BITTAR LATTICE CUFF, $295, AT PERSONA; CATALINA DE LA TORRE, GEODE RING, $460, AT DANIELA CORTE; CHANEL PEARL CUFF, $3,600, AT CHANEL; PERSONA GEODE DRUZY RING, $150, AT PERSONA; LADY GREY TRAPEZIUM CUFF, $600, AT SCOOP NYC; ST. JOHN BANGLE, $135, AT ST. JOHN; ST. JOHN RING, $30, AT ST. JOHN; VINTAGE CAMEO BRACELET, $65, AT 20TH CENTURY LTD.; MIRIAM HASKELL BRACELET, $900, AT 20TH CENTURY LTD.

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SUMMER ���� � COUP BOSTON � ARMOIRE

CLOCKWISE FROM TOP RIGHT MIRIAM HASKELL LION STICK PIN, $200, AT 20TH CENTURY LTD.; VINTAGE TURNED ROPE BANGLE, $50, AT 20TH CENTURY LTD.; MICKEY LYNN LARGE STALACTITE NECKLACE, $155, AT MOXIE; CATALINA DE LA TORRE HORN INCLUSIONS BANGLE, $289, AT DANIELA CORTE; LUC KEIFER BARBED WIRE & LUCITE RING, $195, AT PERSONA; KENNETH JAY LANE LEOPARD BRACELET, $150, AT 20TH CENTURY LTD.; ALEXIS BITTAR HAMMERED GOLD CUFF, $260, AT NEIMAN MARCUS.

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CLOCKWISE FROM TOP RIGHT LULU FROST PEARL AND SPIKE DROP EARINGS, $216, AT DRESS; DIOR NECKLACE, $250, AT 20TH CENTURY LTD.; PERSONA ONYX AND DIAMOND DROP EARRINGS, $1,425, AT PERSONA; CHIC TO CHIC CHAMPAGNE DIAMOND RING, $2,250, AT CHIC TO CHIC; VINTAGE DROP EARRINGS, $95, AT 20TH CENTURY LTD.; VINTAGE BRASS CUFF WITH ENAMEL, $35, AT 20TH CENTURY LTD.; PERSONA TEXTURED HAMMERED BANGLE, $1,225 AT PERSONA; PERSONA THIN BLACK DIAMOND BANGLE, $1,750 AT PERSONA; PERSONA BLACK DIAMOND CHANDELIER EARRINGS, $4,950, AT PERSONA; LUC KEIFER BARBED WIRE & LUCITE BRACELET, $285, AT PERSONA.

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SUMMER ���� � COUP BOSTON � ARMOIRE

FROM LEFT TO RIGHT GUCCI GOLD MIRRORED SHOE, $675, AT THE TANNERY; CYNTHIA ROWLEY GOLD FLORAL SANDAL, $365, AT CYNTHIA ROWLEY; CHANEL FAUX PEARL EMBELLISHED SANDAL, $995, AT CHANEL.

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the store 211 Newbury St. Garden Level 617.608.4778

94 CENTRAL STREET WELLESLEY, MA P 781.237.7010 W GRETTASTYLE.COM

FROM TOP TO BOTTOM KENNETH JAY LANE GOAT CUFF, $125, AT 20TH CENTURY LTD.; CHANEL SILVER BANGLE, $675, AT CHANEL; GIVENCHY GOLD CUFF, $75, AT 20TH CENTURY LTD.; CHANEL PEARL LOGO CUFF, $1,325, AT CHANEL; TRIFARI STARBURST CUFF, $65, AT 20TH CENTURY LTD.

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COUP BOSTON � SUMMER ���� � VANITY

SHE’S A KNOCKOUT

What’s pushing more and more Boston women into the boxing ring for a round of decidedly unladylike behavior?

ALEXANDRA HALL takes one on the chin to find out.

PHOTOGRAPHS BY CORY STIERLEY TINA BURKE HAS JUST GOTTEN PUNCHED. Not by get arrested for punching each other on the street, right? So why her trainer; he was far across the room holding a bag for is this OK just because people are paying to watch it?) Later, I someone else to pound on. No, it was by another girl. bemoaned the misanthropic violence that I assumed fueled

“You OK?” asks her Lululemon-clad opponent. it. (How can you possibly want to punch someone who never did

“Think so,” replies Burke. She slips off her glove and anything bad to you?) And even later, as an aspiring writer, I reaches her hand up to her flawlessly tanned forehead to refused to read Hemingway entirely based on his boxing fixfeel for damage, flashing a diamond ring so big it ought to be ation. (OK, not entirely: His own smugness and machismo hanging above a dance floor. “Yeah, totally fine,” she says, figured in there, too. But even so: What the hell kind of aspirsmiling and nodding. “Come on. Keep going.” She then ing writer completely dismisses Hemingway, anyway?) proceeds to pound her heart out in a vortex of sweat and

The only time I’ve ever been punched was during running mascara. college, when I tried to stop a bar fight between two guys I’d

This all happens at Equinox Fitness Club, the swish never met, because I couldn’t stand to see anyone get hurt, playground adored by well-heeled Boston professionals and figured I could stop it, assuming neither one would hit of the work-hard-play-hard bent. The class (which, though a girl. (Turns out I wasn’t wrong, but one of them hadn’t called “Lights Out,” focuses not on person-on-person comrealized I’d jumped into the fray before he gave me a shiner.) bat but on punching bags) is nearly half-filled with women.

These days, though, it’s the girls doing the punching— After it's over, when the blur of pink racerbacks and blond and for many other reasons than just getting a workout. Says ponytails has dispersed, I corner Burke.

Jessica Reddey, a Dedham mom of three who loves her regu “Why are you here?” I ask. “Why not Pilates instead, or lar pedicures as much as she does her regular ring spars: “It kettle bells, or a spin class?” makes sense to me why I’m doing this. Women “I did do those before,” she are working more than ever and still manage I JUDGE NO MAN shrugs. “When I do this, I’m nicer to my BEFORE I WALK IN HIS most family life. Then because we’re women, kids after.” we’re supposed to be sweet all the time and SHOES. IN THIS CASE, pretend nothing is wrong. But something has SUDDENLY, IT SEEMS LIKE every othto give.” Even more succinct is the way one THAT MAN WAS A er woman in and around Boston is fighting. twenty-something Brookline newlywed puts WOMAN. AND And by “fighting,” I don’t just mean signit: “When my husband and mom-in-law are THOSE SHOES ing up for a lightweight kickboxing class driving me nuts or when things get out of conWERE TRAINERS. that’s the physical-intensity equivalent trol at the office and I feel nothing but frustraof step-cardio. That’s a different genre. tion, nothing feels as good as this.”

A relatively civilized one. I mean they’re pulling on boxing

Frustration? Now that I can relate to. In fact, the more gloves and ducking into the ring to get sweaty—sometimes I think about it, any small attachment to self-awareness bloody—and whacking things with all their might. forces me to admit that I’ve been ornery lately. Between

Oh, and by “women” doing this, I mean girly girls. The long work hours, doing my best to serve as a sponge for kind who head into the locker room afterward to shower, the petulant shenanigans of two spirited wee offspring, then meticulously put on makeup for 45 minutes before not to mention wrestling with garden-variety midlife sliding on Blahniks and a Gucci shift. Or Paige jeans and a angst and marriage speed bumps, my patience with one-shoulder jersey. And occasionally, a silk business suit. humanity at large has been wearing thin. And those previIt’s not exactly feminine, it’s not exactly feminist, and yet ous regular workouts—circuit training and running—used beyond either one, it’s not exactly easy to explain. to be enough, but not anymore. “Maybe you just need to go When on earth did boxing become a fashionable punch something,” advised my husband as patiently as he female pursuit? And more importantly, why? I mean that could one night after an utterly pointless argument (that I question not as the usual faux-curious kickoff to a twee had started). Or maybe, I thought to myself, someone. lifestyle story à la Carrie Bradshaw, but in earnest—and

My path was clear. As a rule, I judge no man before I in personal earnest, at that. Seriously, I just don’t get it. walk in his shoes. In this case, that man was a woman. And

Truth is, as a lifelong, often-smug pacifist, I’m the last those shoes were trainers.

VANITY CONT. >>> person in town who should be writing a story about boxing.

Even as a little girl, I denied its status as a real sport. (They’d

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“GO. HIT! NOW. GO,” barks personal trainer Mike Shea, jumping up and down. He and I are in a ring together. Actually, no. Rewind: We’re in a very, very pretty ring together. One that feels more jewel box than sweatbox, what with its cherry-red flooring and plush, alternating black-and-red ropes. Nonetheless, it’s a 20-square-foot, professional-sized ring. And whether I’ve any right to or not, I feel like a professional.

We’re at the cube-shaped heart of Vo2, a Needham fitness club that opened three months ago based entirely on the idea of incorporating boxing into all of its members’ workouts. “Our membership exploded from the start,” says Jessica Dupee, who owns the place with her husband and says that membership is about 60 percent women. “You don’t typically think of serious boxing as a women’s sport. They walk in here hesitant that they can do it. And leave with some ownership of a realm that isn’t usually theirs. Then they come back with their friends and sisters. Moms come with daughters. It’s been contagious.”

No question of that—all around town. “When I started, it was all people from the neighborhood and serious fighters,” says chef Barbara Lynch, who trains at a South End gym that could only be described as no-frills—unless, that is, you count having a vomit bag hanging in the ring as a frill. “But then it became this great mix of people from all over the city. And lots and lots of women.”

Other ladies have gotten so hooked, they’ve taken the addiction home with them. After seeing its benefits, six months ago, Liz Kelleher set up a punching bag and kickboxing form in her basement. “Whenever I need stress relief, I go down there and literally shake the house. It’s my therapy. I blast my tunes and kick and punch as hard as I can at the aggression. Then the stress and tension of my day is gone. I’m a better mom and person because of it.”

THAT PHILOSOPHICAL CARROT dangles above my head while bouncing around the ring, as Shea bellows at me once again: “Now! Follow your combos.” But within seconds of pounding away, the only thing I can think is, What were those combos, exactly? Ten minutes later, I’m sweating more than I ever have on any treadmill, and doing footwork more appropriate for a nightclub than fight club. All I can do is focus on each second, for as long as I possibly can. Suddenly, I understand exactly something Dupee had told me earlier.

“With boxing, you’re forced to let everything else go,” she’d said. Unlike with lots of other workouts, you can’t think about anything else. You get it all completely out, and it focuses the mind in a way very few other things can.”

This isn’t just an exercise in punching a bag. And it certainly isn’t about hitting or hurting another person. It’s about forcing yourself to adapt, and training yourself to learn something new every second, every moment, every round. And then, when the bell’s sounded, it’s about using that same ability to focus and adapt in the more significant seconds, moments, and rounds that happen long after you’ve left the ring.

PhotographS COrY STIErLEY, cs photographic Styling SYDNEY KIrSTEN, ALEXA rOBErTIELLO HAIR dee phon, james joseph salon makeup kate taylor, dw beauty model maria t., maggie inc.

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Step Into The Light

2 0 1 2

Step Into The Night Please Join Us on June 21 For Our

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Featured Performance by Young Visionary Singer

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SUMMER ���� � COUP BOSTON �ARMOIRE

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COUP BOSTON � SUMMER ���� � SPONSORED FEATURE

PARTNER SPOTLIGHT

BOSTON GLOBE TROTTER

How does local furnishings connoisseur Kevin McPherson hunt down a world of treasures, then deliver them to Boston homes? One continent at a time.

PHOTOGRAPHS BY JESSICA WEISER

Beijing. Jaipur. Bangkok. For most, such destinations are worthy of a travel bucket list. But for Kevin McPherson, founder and owner of South End showroom Mohr & McPherson, they’re regular stops on his annual multicontinent buying trips. But his hunt for exotic, artisancrafted antiquities, furnishings, rugs, and objets d’art isn’t just a profession, it’s a passion—one driven for more than two decades by the desire to bring unique pieces back to homes in Boston.

It began over 20 years ago, when he and partner John Mohr opened a small shop together filled with a curated collection of locally made artisan goods. “We sold Windsor chairs, we sold tiles, we sold decorative items made of stone, and wrought iron pieces ... a real mix of things,” says McPherson. “People thought of us initially as a company that sold wrought iron, because we had quite a lot of it. It was a fixation of mine at the time.”

They may be nearly ubiquitous now, but back then, wrought iron furnishings weren’t in fashion. McPherson made his mark on the would-be trend by sourcing local craftsmen to create complementary furniture tops in a range of materials and finishes, lending livable versatility to the flourishes of ironwork. Then, as now, it was that deft marrying of influences that set McPherson apart from his peers, especially in a then-brown-furnituredominated city like Boston.

“Kevin’s taste is worldly and amazingly eclectic,” says Ken Dietz, principal designer at Dietz & Associates and a longtime client of Mohr & McPherson. “To me, he embodies an enlightened voyager’s spirit.” But it wasn’t until 1996, after McPherson bought out Mohr, that he began traveling to Asia to purchase goods directly from the artisans whose centuries’ worth of tradition and craft he so appreciated. Before that time, he had focused his buying trips on the West Coast, shuttling back and forth between there and Boston with a moving van. “It was the only place you could find those items from Japan, Korea, Indonesia, or China.”

But like any great empire, McPherson’s would soon evolve. After a series of happenstance meetings, he began selling carpets. “I stumbled upon a few dealers selling flat-woven rugs,” he recalls. “And then I met some Afghani guys living in San Francisco who became good friends of mine and started selling me pile rugs.”

Each story in the evolution of his business begins this way, with a person, a story, and, nearly always, serendipity. “By the late ’90s, we were doing a fantastic

business with carpets, and it was only a few years later that the industry saw a boom in carpet sales, with retailers popping up left and right.”

Then came the economic downturn, and most of those retailers have disappeared. McPherson, still clinging to his inexhaustible wanderlust, shifted his focus to more contemporary carpets. In just a few short months, he’ll be adding on another space (9,000 square feet, this time) to his existing South End SoWa district space, which will further extend and spotlight his mix of furniture, accessories, and art.

These days, Mohr & McPherson is virtually a Boston institution, with a near-dizzying collection of goods from all corners of the globe. Furnishings, locally made jewelry, American-made upholstery, rugs, lighting, a cafe, and a mash-up of community programs like yoga classes and design salons. McPherson’s ultimate aim?

To bring more and more people from the neighborhood into the diverse world he’s spent decades cultivating—and to bring more of the entire world straight to his neighborhood’s doorstep.

Sense of self

Sense of stil

740 Legacy Place Dedham, MA stilstudio.com

REVEREHOTEL.COM FACEBOOK.COM/REVEREBOSTONCOMMON TWITTER.COM/REVEREBOSTON

JUST DEUX IT Broc Jackson and Ali Riaz (seated) on the training floor at B5 Fitness in Needham.

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INDEPENDENTS’ DAY In the current one-size-fits-all, big-gym culture, one duo has opened a new facility that restores freedom to personal trainers.

BY Austyn ellese mayfield �� PHOTOGRAPHS BY Jessica weiser

WHEN BROC JACKSON GOT WORD that the gym he was working at in Needham was about to be purchased by a regional fitness club franchise, he knew his days there were numbered.

Jackson, an independent personal trainer, was using the gym to train some of his private clients. But new management meant new policies—most of which began with ousting freelance trainers to make room for gym employees. His choice: join up or ship out.

“There was a time when any gym was more than happy to have an independent trainer there to attract members and keep them safe during workouts,” Jackson recalls. “But things changed.” Translation: Clubs figured out how to use personal training to strengthen their own bottom line—setting the rates for personal training, collecting both client membership and the lion’s share of trainers’ fees, while constraining trainers’ ability to instruct at other facilities.

Then one day, Jackson had a conversation with entrepeneur and client turned close friend and entrepreneur Ali Riaz.

“We took the market opportunity and looked at the gap analysis between what would be the perfect environment for the trainerand-client dynamic versus what was currently available,” he says.

“And that’s when we came up with B5 Fitness.”

Nine months later, it was open: a sparkling new workout facility that turns the traditional model on its head by focusing on the needs of professional independent trainers. There are no membership fees for clients; instead, trainers pay a flat rate to use the gym, and clients simply pay the trainers directly.

Just like its namesake, vitamin B5 (which energizes and sustains vital functions within the body), B5 Fitness aims to create an environment that nurtures and supports the relationship between trainers and clients. The brightly lit facility is appointed with a bevy of top-notch machines and equipment, with lively tunes kept at a level that permits instruction. The result: a distractionfree, fitness-focused space that allows trainers to concentrate on their clients, and clients to make the most of their gym time.

There was a sense of “if-you-build-it-they-will-come” hopefulness surrounding the project as Jackson and Riaz opened the doors to the operation in September 2011. Today, B5 Fitness is home to over two dozen independent trainers and is already in the black. “We know the business model works,” says Riaz. “The evolution of self-care has such awareness and demand around it.”

Meanwhile, says Jackson, “The trainers feel like it’s their place, and the clients feel like it’s their space, too. This is working, and we’re not going anywhere.”

B5 FITNESSS 322 RESERVOIR STREET NEEDHAM, MA 02494

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