of Juliet, the Magazine volume 1, part 2

of juliet spring/summer 2018 Seasonal Magazine and Program

Price $12

BEHIND THE SCENES AT: Xenia. Feast of the Gods Marseilles March Beach Rose

PLUS ORIGINAL: Short stories Interviews Art and photography Recipes

“this is everything I have to tell you”

Juliet Cafe

Romeo’s at Juliet Romeo’

Wink + Nod

Juliet Gitana at ONCE Lounge

Jimmy’s No. 33 Persian New Year Kitchen Kibitz

Nowruz James Beard House

May Day Flower pot luck at Eva’s Garden

Austinland / Texas Breakfast

Beacon Hill Bistro

O.N.C.E.

BELLYwine bar +The Blue Room

CREDITS

Juliet is: Home Of Somerville’s Most Unique Dining Experience As well as Juliet Café and Romeo’s At Juliet Gratuity Free Dining. Living Wages.

Great food. Great jobs. Great company.

Katrina Juliet Jazayeri, Proprietor/ Wine Director/ Set Designer Joshua Lewin, Chef/ Creative Director Katie Rosengren, General Manager Rachael Collins, Executive Sous Chef Will Deeks, Sous Chef

Staff, in order of appearance: Reggie Tarver, Carlos Ponce, Carlito Pineda, Gilberto Santos, Elvis Reyes, Samantha Mangino, Noah Clickstein, Alexis Charney, Annie Gilmore, Isabel Gorham, Karin Hoelzl, Guereline Jean-Francois

Of Juliet is: Joshua Lewin, Editor in Chief Katrina Jazayeri, Design and Illustration Katie Rosengren, Managing Editor

Contributors: Ilsa Jerome Nina Coomes Cole Rosengren Lucia Jazayeri Will Deeks Sam Mangino Rachael Collins Thea Engst Blind Fox Art

CONTENTS Juliet Family Tree Curtain Notes 1 Juliet Takes Manhattan 2

by Rachael Collins

I Was Listening 10

by Joshua Lewin

Box of Seashells 12

by Samantha Mangino

Collective Piety 17

CONTribuTOrS llsa JEROME likes to feed her ears and taste buds in nearly equal measure. Other than a brief and delightful stint as university radio DJ, she cannot produce music. She works as part of a clinical research team. When not reading or writing about study indings, she enjoys crafting mixes from when these were stored on cassette tapes. She is fascinated by, and attends to, the sounds around her.

RACHAEL COLLINS Is the executive sous chef of Juliet, valedictorian of her culinary class, activist, and gardener growing a variety of tomatoes, corn, and chili peppers; not to be confused with her love of Red Hot Chili Peppers. As a Wisconsin native, she wears her Badger and Packer pride loudly, but strangely loves the Red Sox. She and her husband often have Gilmore Girls meals where they eat similar items, or the exact same thing, from more than one restaurant to see which place does it best.

NINA COOMES is a Japanese and American writer, performer, producer, and artist. She was born in Nagoya, raised in Chicago, and currently resides in Boston, MA. Her writing has appeared in EATER, Catapult, The Collapsar, among other places. Her debut chapbook, haircut poems, was published by Dancing Girl Press in December 2017.

by Joshua Lewin

SAMANTHA MANGINO

Ritual Gathering 22

is a writer, student, and server. Born in Yarmouth, Maine, she grew up with a restaurant named after her, and parents who helped to develop her disdain for the kid’s menu. She studies journalism at Emerson College but prefers studying food and wine at Juliet.

by Nina Coomes WILL DEEKS

We hold these myths...29

by Joshua Lewin

On the Trail 30

by Will Deeks

Katie’s Corner: Don’t Eat 32

by Katie Rosengren

Bottomless Bulk 34

by Cole Rosengren

In Conversation 37

by Will Deeks

Sounds Grand 38

is a Boston based cook, writer, and musician. After working in a number of kitchens throughout the city, Will has settled in as a sous chef at Juliet. Whether he is at the stove there, or occasionally touring the country with various bands, he works to provide insight to the human experience through hospitality and art.

KATIE ROSENGREN is the general manager of Juliet, a job which combines two of her favorite things, making spreadsheets and eating food. After a decade plus detour in New York, Katie and her husbandboth native Mainers- are happy to be back in New England and call Somerville home. In her spare time, she likes to ight the patriarchy, eat all the food, and watch lots of TV.

COLE ROSENGREN is a reporter on the literal garbage beat, covering all things waste and recycling in the U.S. and beyond. He currently does this full-time for Waste Dive and occasionally freelances for local outlets such as Dig Boston. You can hear him talk about all that, while also pumping up your evening, on the Boston Free Radio show Techno Trash every Friday.

THEA ENGST is a bartender and writer. She grew up on her father’s dairy farm in Upstate New York and now resides in Somerville. Thea has poetry published in The Paragon Journal, SWWIM Every Day, Poets Reading the News, Up the Staircase Quarterly, Sugar House Review, Gutter Eloquence, and Runaway Parade. Her noniction book Drink Like a Bartender was published by Simon & Schuster last fall.

by Ilsa Jerome BLIND FOX ART

A Painstaking Spell 39

by Joshua Lewin

Find more on Instagram: @blindfoxart

LUCIA JAZAYERI is the creative director and one of the original cooks at Clover Food Lab. She’s worked there pretty much consistently since graduating from BU in 2009, except for 3 weeks when she was a PA on Top Chef DC (and nearly had to drive a van to the FBI). Lucia illustrates the joys and challenges of building a local-food empire in the fast food space, and in 2014 was named one of Zagat’s 30 under 30. When she’s not working, you’ll ind her cooking fundraiser dinners, ignoring dishes in her sink, or relaxing in front of chips and salsa with her parents and sister, Katrina, in Austin, TX. One day she will inally see the Minions movies.

Curtain Notes his magazine has its origins in a company that is always ready to hit the road and share what we’ve got. Even, yes, if it’s a little bit incomplete. Not incomplete like building frame wrapped around an elevator shat incomplete. Not that sort of incomplete that you can never unsee once you’ve seen it, no matter how glossy the eventual paint and full the window planters.

We never invite your attention before we’ve got something worthwhile to share. Worthwhile, though, at least as far as we’re concerned, isn’t simply a synonym for done.

I thought about that as we found ourselves, about two months ago, with three cars full of staf, two of them full also of...stuf, in New York City. hat stuf included everything needed to serve dinner for 45, ive hours from home. It also included the irst copies of this magazine.

Printed just in time to make the packing sheet for an event four months in the planning, but four years in the process.

Four years prior, we had cooked for the irst time at he James Beard House. Yea, that James Beard. Yea, really his house, turned educational foundation ater his death. By “we cooked,” I really just mean “I.” he organization was just two of us at the time, Katrina and me, and she had to rush back home for work. I was out of a job already, putting my full attention toward what eventually became our restaurant. She had a few months let to work.

Four years later we were back, with the two year old restaurant safely locked down and lights out and most of our staf in tow. he magazines were still warm from the printer, and one by one, we sold most of what we had ready.

Here’s to the next four years. I wonder where these pages will end up by then.

This is Everything i Have To Tell You, Joshua Lewin Cook and storyteller; craft as immersive performance.

Aspiring to something… I almost know what at Juliet, etc: Home of Somerville’s Most Unique Dining Experience as well as Juliet Cafe and Romeo’s At Juliet

twitter: @jlewin @julietunionsq instagram: @jdlewin @julietunionsq www.JulietSomerville.com www.ByJoshuaLewin.com

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JULIET TAKES MANHATTAN PHOTO ESSAY bY rACHAEL COLLiNS illustrations by katrina jazayeri

Shortly after I started with Juliet in the summer of 2017, I was asked, “what are your culinary goals?” Without hesitation, I responded “I want the team at Juliet to cook at the James Beard House.” So with the glimmer of a summer sunset and a few phone calls and emails later, a date was set for Team Juliet to embark on this endeavor to Manhattan and cook our very French hearts out. The holiday hustle and bustle had passed for most of our community, but we were creating a holiday all of our own in February. Traveling to the Big Apple and cooking as a team was something our whole group was dreaming about for weeks. It shouldn’t be a surprise that we love food and so we really ate our way through the city, hitting some favorite spots that have inspired our menu and also snagging a $1 slice on the corner as the late night post dinner service hunger began. Many of our friends now reside in New York and reconnecting over martinis and mezcal margaritas at Balthazar was the perfect setting for beautiful conversations. Travel with us through our Manhattan journey by way of these photos. of juliet 3 of juliet 1.

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P

Balthazar BunKer

James Beard House

Prune

Cafe Select

What I really asked Rachael was, “what are your goals?� As in, bigger than just the kitchen. And what

i Was Listening

By Joshua Lewin

In the spirit of These Wild Apples, this series turns snippets of conversation from our dining room into stories for everyone to overhear.

T he thing about a grapefruit, though, is that to eat it, just requires so much of my attention.

What?

Here, try it. You need this little spoon knife thing, and you have to really look at where you are going. You can’t just scoop out of it anywhere… all these little skins, you can’t eat those.

I mean, I’ve been eating grapefruit for a while and I’ve never really noticed it being that big of a deal.

Have you though?

There. See. I eat a grapefruit, just like this one, all the time. Well, not quite as often as I used to, I moved recently, and I’m not going to just go buy a grapefruit to have at home.

You’re not?

NO, are you?

Well, I’m not, but I’m also not thinking about the grapefruit at all… really, I just don’t think it’s such a big deal.

This is what I’m saying. A grapefruit is a commitment.

See, like this grapefruit, it’s a half, right?

Have I been eating grapefruit?

Right…

10.

No, I’m sure you’ve eaten grapefruit, but I’m saying, have you really been eating that much of it. Like, when was the last time, really?

So, like, if I’m at home for starters, what am I supposed to do with the other half?

Well, I guess I don’t actually know.

Eat it?

No, no one eats a whole grapefruit. Look at the size of this thing. This place knows what they are doing, you just serve half. Which is great for a restaurant, they can just serve the next half to you

Sure, sure. Hey, let me have some of your coffee.

Hey, you could have gotten your own coffee…

I’m not going to have one.

I was busy. Look, I’ll get you another one, just let me have some.

I know, I know, it’s not going to be YOU, you. But, like anyone else. So there, everyone gets their half a grapefruit, if they want it, and everyone is happy.

Whatever, here. So what’s the big deal about this grapefruit anyway, you have something else you’d rather be paying attention to?

But then, finally, it’s time to eat the thing. You gotta pay attention to what you are doing to eat it. You have to really carve it up, carefully. Gotta watch where you cut. Then you have to be careful with the spoon, it’s got a knife on it, you can’t just go poking at yourself with that. This is hard work.

I mean, that’s a pretty funny way to describe eating a grapefruit that you ordered. You could have ordered eggs. Eating these is definitely not hard work.

Shhh… I’m almost done.

With the grapefruit?

No, no, look. This song. I’ve been trying to work this out for months.

Are you going to finish that grapefruit then? I like to squeeze the juice.

No. I’m finished. Take it. •

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@blindfoxart

box Of Seashells

By Samantha Mangino

Without leaving our corner of Somerville, minutes from boston, i’ve

experienced the New England coastline, walked the French countryside, and celebrated Persian New Year; but my time at Juliet began with a march to Marseilles. Everything we have to to tell you about the trip to the south of France that gave life to Juliet is in our creation of Marseille March. Embodied in each dish is the transportive power of memory. Inspiration drawing from the Côte d’Azur lingers in the fragrance, texture, and taste. There is a story begging to be told.

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The easy part of being a server is balancing delicate dishes in my hands as i deliver courses to tables; it becomes muscle memory. What makes my heart race is acquainting guests with each ingredient and how it is intentionally composed on the plate. Our menu has a story and I am presenting it. The layers of a dish are chapters in the story. The experiences which inform the dish are rooted in the history of the place that inspired our menu. The ifteen minutes we get before each dinner service to hear the story as a team is never enough time to fully dive into the complex backstory. During the run of our menu, the details unfold with each service and my storytelling gets better.

Marseille March, our tribute to the French riviera serves bright and lively lavors. Beginning with fougasse, a latbread with origins in italian focaccia, which leads into to the irst course of tomatoes and peppers over a lentil and rice cake. Our onion consommé deconstructs a classic soupe l’oignon. Mussels in our third course are tinted yellow from marinating in a bath of saffron and herbs, a dish reminiscent of never-ending bowls of shellish served along the French Mediterranean. A whole ish and a simple sounding lemon tart round out the meal, not missing a beat on the bounty of the southern coastline.

The 124 miles of the Riviera is a keeper to a collection of found things, and at Juliet we’ve captured those moments and carried them to somerville. Monaco is the luxe escape for former Hollywood stars turned royalty, Cannes is the

glamorous showcase of current movie stars, and Nice is a city easily described as “quaint” with the blue seas, clean streets, and red tiled rooftops. Embracing a cuisine all its own, Nice has taken proud French culinary tradition and seamlessly blended it with the resourceful offerings of the Mediterranean. lush markets put forth the freshest produce year-round luctuating with what is in season.

With the transition of spring into summer, the produce bursts with color from peppers, zucchini, and tomatoes, all crucial ingredients in Niçoise cooking. You’ll ind Nice in Marseille March. The rocky beaches with rolling pebbles appear as fried chickpeas and lentils on the irst course of our production. The lemon groves produce succulent, sweet fruit which are weaved into tarts served for dessert.

Nice has reined its cuisine and now it stands among the stars of the Riviera.

The second largest city in France, Marseille, is the rougher cousin to the allure of neighboring Nice. As a city known for its ports, it functions as the master collector of not just foreign products but people, too. The multicultural capital’s reputation was once that of a collapsed port city with a high rate of crime. Corsican maia ran the town and when industry slowed and factories closed, the wealthy led elsewhere and made the city truly for the working class. After the French North African colonies gained independence, migrants from Morocco and Algeria led into the ports. The migration of Mediterranean neighbors looded the edible landscape with lavors that assimilated even before the people that brought them.

STEP BY STEP: LESSON 1: FILLET A FISH TABLESIDE an illustrated guide

by Katrina Jazayeri

Before we begin, let me say this is a skill honed only with lots of practice, and you’ll beneit greatly from the right tools. For a perfectly cooked ish, the only tools strictly necessary are two spoons...however as a bit of insurance, I recommend a ish spatula. Now down to the ish, I recommend starting with a 1-2# branzino or similar, ask your ish monger to gut and scale the ish for you, but leave the head a tail on. Choose your favorite cooking method and begin.

DISCLAIMER: this guide is for illeting a cooked ish.

unintentionally, but systematically, Marseille has embraced a Mediterranean identity over a French one. Rather than dissolving into a melting pot, differences in cuisine seem to coexist without overlap. French, Moroccan, Italian, and Algerian cuisines all meet each other over the shared resources of the Mediterranean. In any city, we are always eating each others’ food, but Marseille has allowed its character to be based on the differences and exciting polarities, rather than seeping toward homogeny.

That isn’t to say the traditional dishes of Marseille go unseen – they are still holding their own. Tourists keep navettes in demand, a simple cookie signature to the city which have been turned out at the bakery Le Four des Navettes since 1781. Bouillabaisse is also found generously throughout the city. Chez Michel carries on the tradition with elegance, while others are revitalizing classics by using tradition as a guide rather than a rulebook.

Chef Gérald Passédat has broken down bouillabaisse into four courses at his acclaimed Le Petit Nice, deconstructing the dish while maintaining the expected elements. Raw shellish opens the meal and courses of saffron potatoes, rockish stew, and whole mediterranean bass piece together a memory of bouillabaisse and Passédet’s childhood.

Chefs like Passédet are cooking the truest form of what they know, and in doing so preserving memory. This ambitious retelling of a once simple original is a style we’ve adopted across many menus at Juliet, including this one.

START HERE

There is more to Marseilles, though, than just French Marseille: tea rooms, hallal, and Moroccan food are always close by. Couscous, lentils, and bright orange blossom are not quite French but wholly of Marseille. Maia inluence may have iltered out, but Corsican charcuterie and cheese live on in the city. Pizza, or the pissaladiere, is borrowed from Nice which was borrowed irst from Italy. While it is more of a tart than pizza, you’ll still ind locals referring to pissaladiere as “peetza”. The thicker dough, comparable to Sicilian pizza dough, is topped with caramelized onions, anchovies and a single olive.

The food and distinct lavors made available in Marseille aren’t asking to be thrown into one dish or even one meal.

There’s so much to be told in the story that it would be a disservice to blend it together. The city is deeply personal and representing individuals from all strokes of the Mediterranean. The depth of the city has been simpliied down to a bad reputation but for many Marseille took what was once displaced and gave it a home with meaning. stories matter. The story of the French Riviera matters to me. It inspired the production in which I began my career at Juliet. That production is a memory of Josh and katrina’s conceptualizing Juliet’s beginnings. When I begin to tell you the story of our fougasse, even though you don’t know me, and even if it’s just for a few hours this summer, the riviera matters to you, too; the memory box in which you store ticket stubs, chipped souvenirs, and seashells from each beach you’ve ever visited. •

DON’T FORGET THESE SMALL BONES THAT ATTACH THE FINS TO THE FILLET.

END HERE

THEY ARE EASY TO SCOOP OUT WITH A SPOON

DON’T FORGET TO DETTACH THIS FIN

Step 1: Identify the gills and ins, perforate the illet hese are the seams that allow you to unzip the illet and gently remove from the major bones. hey are also the location of most of the small bones that you want to keep of your plate. Starting at the top of the gills with a spoon or the tip of a knife, begin to separate the top illet from the head, and work your way toward the stomach perforating the skin that connects the illet to the tail.

Step 3: Remove the head and spine his is the best part. Make sure you have an audience. Again, starting at the tail, lit the spine of the bottom illet. he head will come too and you’ll be let with the quintessential cartoon dead ish, pictured below.

THIS IS WHAT THE FILLET WILL LOOK LIKE.

Step 2: Remove the top illet.

Start at the tail with a ish spatula, or large spoon, and wiggle the illet of the back bone, leaving the head and tail in place. he goal is to lip the illet of the bones and leave it skin side down above (dorsal) the ish.

Step 4: Replace the top illet, and serve Ater you’ve scooped away any small remaining bones, lip the top illet back to it’s original position, and serve a perfectly deboned ish. BON APPETIT.

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UNPARALLELED SUMMERTIME DINING EXPERIENCES

Illustrations by Lucia Jazayeri

CoLLECTIVE PIETY

By Joshua Lewin Xenia is not our own story. My family never ate a lamb. Certainly not a whole one. My father took us to a pig roast once as kids… it was an exotic experience. A chili cook off was a more likely food adventure; I’ll never forget the tiny bag on the counter, tied with twine: “kick ass chili seasoning”. Exciting.

Xenia is a mythology. Like any real mythology, it belongs to everyone. A meal intended for gods. Anyone’s gods, although we obviously had the old Greek ones in mind when we irst prepared it. Are my Greek gods any more deserving than your Roman ones? Is my father’s forever unmade chili any more or less indulgent than his reluctant pig roast in an amusement park parking lot? Are my mother’s springtime rituals any more pious (unlikely, but I honestly don’t know), than your grandmother’s?

Xenia. Feast Of The Gods was our irst comprehensive menu production at Juliet, in 2017. The irst to incorporate original artwork into the menu, the irst to be “scripted” for the kitchen staff, the irst to be booked via a prepaid ticket.

Xenia is a collection of Juliet irsts, and the memory it is based on is not even our own. So what? Maybe it is simply everyone’s.

This poem is rearranged from the irst chapter of one of my favorite books, “Blood, Bones and Butter” by Gabrielle Hamilton.

Hamilton runs a twenty year old, perfect restaurant in New York City; Prune. Go there. Eat the food. Buy the book. Without them both, I wouldn’t have Xenia.

I’ve buried myself in this poem. Katrina, also. Don’t worry about inding us and digging us out. Poke around a bit, and maybe you’ll ind yourself, too.

we were five kids Hissing all night over an open fire In an otherwise pitch-black meadow hanging upside down in mud suits a pack--like wild dogs tongues flopping out the sides everyone is still, pretty much, intact and wholesome the rest of life will resume the rest of us saw not a regular yard a wild castle ruins of a nineteenth-century silk mill here…see the lightning wander around my own mind my drifty imagination

like a rowdy sheepdog twice my own weight

etched into our brains clung to it for thirty years mopped slowly, gently, thoughtfully crushed rosemary and garlic, and big chunks of lemons

our mother was French ruled the house so slowly and patiently ballet dancer friends with long necks and erect posture a photograph from a magazine an oily wooden spoon plywood-on-sawhorse tables articulate the “s” all that yet troubles us

fresh peas in a bushel basket sweet, starchy…in their own canoe hoisted off the pit onto the shoulders of men their song filled business

glowing greenish discs arcing through the jet black night psychotropic reason artful, freakish, habit

we sat up in our sleeping bags, reeking of smoke politely kissed the older guests wondering how late we would stay up watching the scenery go up or come down like grave markers

childish to admit to loving your siblings dodging the oncoming headlights back and forth between two states the greatest show on earth HIss. Hiss. Hiss.

blood dripped down into the coals hypnotic and rhythmic Hiss

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rECiPES: These are a couple of the many recipes that are used to prepare a seemingly simple dish of wild mushrooms during the Xenia performance.

OIL CURED SHIITAKE MUSHROOMS 5 lb shiitake mushrooms Water, for stock olive oil

Stock: Remove shiitake stems Sear stems in canola oil Add water to just cover Bring to a boil Reduce to simmer Simmer 25 mins

Pour stock over mushrooms add olive oil to cover bring to a simmer, avoid boiling cook until softened approximately 20 mins

GREEN GARLIC SAUCE 1 spanish onion, quartered 2 cups olive oil mushroom stock (use from oil cured mushrooms) 1 lb green garlic, green tops removed, pale green and white bottoms sliced thin 1 brunch parsley Sachet (black pepper, thyme, coriander, bay) Blanch green garlic tops and parsley in well salted water Shock in ice water to stop the cooking Meanwhile: Cook onion and remaining garlic in stock with sachet until very soft reserve all and chill completely (discard sachet) Puree blanched greens and cooked vegetable with stock and oil Season to taste with salt and pepper

20.

For His Son

by Thea Engst

When it occurred to me that he would die i thought about being at his funeral, meeting you, the son he never left, but wasn’t there for, either. I want to tell you I knew how well your father knew himself and maybe he wasn’t the kind of person he wanted around his only son. I used to sit at the bar till three after my shifts to talk to him about childhood and Vietnam, to discover what made him drink double espressos at midnight. Ever heard the song, “Mama Tried?” he asked once, and told me about Episcopalian Church on sundays, how he hated it, but my mother tried.

He pulled up his sleeve to show where a homemade tattoo used to be. One of the irst laser removals in the world!

But he couldn’t remember what the words had said.

At twenty he was in France on a motorcycle when it broke, his friends went on, but he stayed back, called his mother to check in and was told he’d been drafted.

He said his best advice for a long life was staying away from dark roads in France. Your father worked reconnaissance, he could disappear beneath humidity in jungles, live off of snakes and water. I spent a lot of time in the door of a helicopter. In the moment, I wouldn’t say I was afraid.

Now, i hate tall stairs, can’t look down when i’m walking them. Roofs -- windows, give me the creeps.

You should know your father had stories he could only tell a stranger.

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14.

RITUAL GATHERING

By Nina Coomes Juliet has a second loor. For those who have been in the neat rectangular space of the restaurant, it seems impossible--past the pastry case and coffee counter are the seats, and then the bar. Behind the bar is a supply closet (which I later learned houses Juliet’s one and only refrigerator) adjacent to a bathroom. Everything has its designated place at the open but tidy Juliet.

A sort of indoor terrace jutting out over the dining area feels unfeasible. And yet there I was, perched on a chair, my head grazing the ceiling, somehow loating above the cheery chatter of a rapidly illing Saturday brunch service.

I sat across from Joshua Lewin, co-owner and chef at Juliet, who had irst suggested that we meet in the “secret mezzanine ofice” which I quickly agreed to, bafled and intrigued by where such an ofice must hide. It turns out this mezzanine is above the supply closet, and can be reached by precariously pulling oneself up a ladder, a feat Josh seemed to do with total ease. As I looked out over the restaurant, it struck me that I was in something like the brain of Juliet, which felt apt, as here I was, talking to the human-brain of Juliet.

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Though we are meeting to talk about Josh’s experiences and ideas surrounding the summer long Beach Rose menu, Josh spends the first 10 minutes of our interview not talking about himself, but rather talking about Katrina, his partner at Juliet. When I ask him how they met, he replies quickly with a smile, “In a bar.” After their initial meeting at the bar, he followed up. “She owned a farmer’s market, an indoor farmers market in Central Square,” he tells me, “a couple days after we met at the bar I made a point to leave work and show up at that farmer’s market in my probably awkward way. In a couple months after that, we had thrown our irst dining event together and really, it was just a hobby at irst; us just enjoying each other’s company and sharing that with people.” He goes on, talking about what Katrina speciically brought to the table (her attention to detail, her attitudes toward service), when I comment that it seems from various interviews and articles that Katrina is the public face of the restaurant, and we rarely ever hear from him.

He responds, laughing, “Katrina will be horriied to hear that!” and begins to talk about how adept Katrina is at interviews (“a very private person but very comfortable”) when he cuts himself off, saying “Look already I’m just talking about Katrina and not about me!” We share a laugh, and I ask him about where he grew up, mentioning a snippet of commentary I overheard at the

24.

November Les Pommes Sauvages menu where he mentioned being from the Boston/Dorchester area.

Josh begins, launching into his story: “I didn’t live in Boston much when I was young. We went back and forth. I was born in Springield, and then moved over the Connecticut border. We eventually settled in Western Mass.” Later in his life when thinking about where to start his culinary career, he decided on Boston, reasoning that “I have roots and family and support system in Boston which is how I ended up here.” On his involvement in the food industry, Josh says “I really had two entry points, one is that I needed a job in a big family, I wanted to have my own car, I had to pay a little bit of rent. I wanted to have a lifestyle and none of that was coming from my family, that was all coming from me.” He describes himself wryly, his face animated as he asks “What do you do if you’re an intelligent teenager with a problem with authority?

You skip school to go work a lot in restaurants, so I had a lot of restaurant experience by the time I graduated, but that had nothing to do with career; it was a necessity.” Instead, Josh says his interest in food started at home, explaining, “I had no background in ine cuisine. Food wasn’t an intellectual subject or a travel tool even though we did eat well. My family split up so early and we moved around so much there was

a lot that was uncomfortable about childhood. One thing that was never uncomfortable and always a lot of fun was the dinner table. Helping people cook, mostly grandmothers in that case. There were times, as a shy kid, too, if people were out having a raucous good time in the living room, there was a quieter meditative experience where I could learn something real about my family in the kitchen.” He regales me with descriptions of the cuisines his respective grandmothers made, one Jewish and the other Italian, resulting in alternating menus of brisket and chocolate chip cookies, or fresh pastas and pizzas. Josh jokes that between those two grandmothers, at one point he also went to CCD (early Catholic education for children) and Hebrew school at once, quipping, “Maybe that’s why I’m staunchly an atheist, but also why I love ritual.”

The Beach Rose menu is also born of a ritual of sorts.

When I ask if his Massachusetts upbringing is where the ode to the New England coast comes from, Josh tells me that his Aunt Denise and Uncle Donny took him, and his brother and sister, every summer to the Connecticut shoreline. His Aunt Denise managed a local grocery store, and through her work there, she became friends with the president of a food workers union who owned a house on the Connecticut shore. Of his Aunt and Uncle, Josh remembers that “they just attracted

these generous and warm people from all walks of life which was so fun to be exposed to. They learned that all kinds of people could come together, so somehow these very hard working, definitely middle class but upwardly mobile people, people who shared all their resources, would attract more well to do friends who would share with them. So we always felt all the time that we had these resources but it was based on these people’s generosity more than bank accounts.” Josh stops, mulling his words over, and adds, as if an afterthought, “What an important concept.”

During those Connecticut shoreline summers, Josh tells me that he and his brothers and sisters would go “crabbing with a clothesline,” proceeding to explain how one can catch crabs by attaching small pieces of hot dog to a clothesline, dropping it down into the water, and “pulling up a feast of crabs.” As he recalls watching friends drag up lobster traps on lobster boats, neighborhood cookouts, and block parties, I imagine the sprawling joy of summer, the lingering heat of beach sun still thrumming under one’s skin, the satisfaction of sharing food in large communal gatherings. “That’s food,” Josh summarizes, “that’s New England food.”

But the Beach Rose menu isn’t just a memory of childhood.

It’s an echo of the present, too. Josh tells me that now,

of juliet 25.

his sister lives a mile from that same Connecticut shoreline with her young family.

“They’re developing a life there, right by where we would go out on those excursions and I know for my sister, this is a sense of comfort. Her husband works on a tugboat. This menu was developed over two summer trips with Katrina before Juliet opened, “when we were on my sister’s boat, digging in the sand bar.” His face suffused with delight, he explains that the beaches Katrina was used to were the beaches of Santa Cruz, “with cold water and roaring waves and clear beaches and year round everything. It’s a very different experience from the rush of New England shoreline, where you really only get 90 days a year when it’s even feasible to be on that shore. It’s a party for the whole summer.”

Another thing the New England shoreline has that the West Coast apparently does not, are steamers. For those of you who may not know what a steamer is (I certainly didn’t until after the interview), a steamer is a type of clam integral to the New England clambake, where the clams are steamed and served whole.

Biologically speaking, they are a species of soft shelled clam known as Mya arenaria, and can be found in sandbars where they burrow 3-8 inches below the surface. “So here we are on this boat and my sister brings us to a sandbar and my sister’s young kid is there, Delilah, bright red hair she looks like that princess in that movie Brave, and there we are, Katrina’s irst New England sandbar and someone says “Hey Katrina, usually you can ind steamers around here!” That’s not something they have in California, certainly not in Texas. Next thing you know, four hours later we have huge gallons and gallons of steamer clams we dug out of the sandbar.” That night,

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Josh tells me they took the steamer clams back to his sister’s home and cooked them into a feast. He concludes by saying “That trip, and that resulting sunburn where we couldn’t walk for almost a week, really is the Beach Rose menu.”

Our conversation meanders from there, dipping into his time in the Marines, where the mussels served in the Beach Rose menu are sourced (Cape Cod, where the mussels act as both food source and natural ocean ilter), sustainability in food, and where one can ind a beach rose in Somerville (in front of the 7-11 on Prospect Street, though Josh does not recommend eating those).

It strikes me that as Josh speaks about his various experiences and the many people who led him to Juliet, he constantly comes back to the word “share.”

His cooking with Katrina is an exercise in enjoying one another’s company and “sharing that with other people.” His irst true interests in cooking were the result of his grandmothers and their ability to share a kitchen. At the Connecticut shoreline in childhood, he spoke of generosity and shared homes, how they opened up the possibility of wide open, abundant summers. He shared the knowledge of steamers with Katrina, shared the shoreline, shared even the sunburn painted across their legs.

Back down the ladder from the “secret mezzanine ofice” after our chat is over, walking through the clamor of the dining room, exiting into the brisk mid-February cold, I am left with an undeniable anticipation of summer. The impression of heat thrumming under skin, the particular joyful exhaustion of a day well spent in sea and sand, the wonder of the ocean and all its sustenance somehow shared with me, too. “What an important concept,” Josh had earlier said. I can’t help but agree. •

of juliet 27.

MADEIRA FOR THE MASSES a celebration of American history+values, cuisine+culture unlikely, unexpected, unheralded. sweet, acidic, and ours.

july 12 through sept 29 28.

...we hold these myths to be true…

The only thing I ever wanted to eat as a child was an omelette. Not just any omelette, of course. A jelly omelette.

I ate other things, when I had to. Boiled hot dogs (gross), mashed potatoes (sure!), popcorn. If I ever got to choose though, I chose to eat a jelly omelette.

My father invented the jelly omelette. Not all jelly omelettes, I later learned, but this one. He was an ok cook, I remember from later in life. During the period of time when the jelly omelette was created though, i don't remember him cooking much at all. Except for that one fateful afternoon, of course. i don't know what my mother did for work at the time, but i do remember for sure that this was something that was invented when we all still lived at home. All, meaning my father and mother, with my brother, sister, and me.

All ive. If all could mean just the three of us, just the kids, well then, we would all still live at "home" forever. Or at least for as long as it mattered.

Although home would change, a lot. Eventually we became an altogether different group of ive. That’s a story for another time.

This jelly omelette came to be when we were all still living at a short lived home as the irst ive. And how dad got to cooking that day, or why he was home and i was too, or why no one else was there to stop it from happening; I don’t really know the answers to any of that. i know that three eggs went into a pan, set until they were just slightly crispy on one side, and then dad's wrist slid forward and then sharply back and the eggs lipped clean over in one mass in the American style, to cook fully on the opposite side too. if i told you that this was an omelet, instead of an omelette, would that word give you all of this imagery? The wrist and the lip, the browning edges, the three eggs, not two?

This wasn't yet the omelette of my future, but still the omelet of my youth.

The omelet of my father's legacy.

The crack, the whisk, the slide, the lip. Then the jelly. Grape jelly. The un-natural purple stuff mixed with the pale yellow to create a boy's dream of brown. And for the next six years, or something like that, to my father's horror (or was it delight?), this boy ate this omelet anywhere he could. In private, or in public.

My father's omelette lives on now as our own. The eggs, just two of them, but two of the best around, cooked gently, no brown, and rolled, not lipped. Filled with roses, and Madeira wine. His legacy, a dream wrapped tight around an altogether different destiny. •

of juliet 29.

Wenzday Jane delivering Farmers to You. photo courtesy of Metro Pedal Power

First time on the trail. Stop. Take note. Go slow. Follow the markers, watch for roots and low hanging branches, beware ofshoots and clearings that appear welcoming, but lead the wrong way.

Marvel at the natural beauty unfolding; the hues of bark and leaves, and the smells and movements of life. Everything is new.

Over time, the experienced hiker learns the turns of the trail, remembers the hanging branches and becomes accustomed to the colors and movements of the forest. Not blinded to these elements, no, but in learning to see them fully, the hiker may stop seeing them at all.

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On The Trail

By Will Deeks

Metro Pedal Power being a supplier for Juliet is far more than a business transaction.

In their collaboration, Wenzday and the staf of the restaurant are working to shape the environment in which each of us live. hough it may not feel appropriate to shake their hand everyday, something I ind rewarding is to simply look up every once and a while and recognize that even if we know where we are going, it doesn’t mean we should not take a breath and recognize the environment changing landscape around us.

Wenzday Jane founded Metro Pedal Power in 2005.

What started as a custom utility bike manufacturer and sometimes bicycle delivery service has evolved over the past 12 years into a full time primarily bicycle-driven fulillment company.

Prior to entrepreneurship, Wenzday worked as a custom welder, and was a member of a local bicycle collective: SCUL [“We make spaceships out of bicycles”: from www.scul.org]. She had built a steady career as a working artist in the welding world. here was something more she was looking for, but she had to blaze her own trail.

In the ten plus years of Metro Pedal Power’s operation, a city that was once ruled by automobiles has become increasingly bike friendly. Bike lanes are commonplace and bike-speciic traffic lights have begun appearing throughout Boston and Cambridge. he number of bicycles on the road has increased greatly. No one can take sole credit for the movement of increased bicycle ridership, but Metro Pedal Power is a large building block in a change for the better in the city of Boston and surrounding area.

Metro Pedal Power has even secured a contract with the City of Cambridge to remove waste from public receptacles in parks and squares, meaning much of the city’s trash is removed by bicycles.

And not just ordinary bicycles, those built and designed by Wenzday and her team at Metro, to revolutionize the way things move around the city.

Big things. Lots of things. he work of Metro Pedal Power happens around us every day as we walk our own trail. As we learn to see the large trash collection bicycles, and then, over time, slowly unsee them.

Not simply a removal company though, Metro Pedal Power is about access, and delivery. hrough

various CSA (community supported agriculture) organizations, Metro Pedal Power delivers farm fresh food to consumer’s doorsteps, and also operates as a delivery option for various restaurants and caterers. he premier achievement of Metro Pedal Power, though, may be Wenzday’s commercial delivery program.

Two to three, and up to four times during the most productive weeks of the growing season, Metro Pedal Power’s iconic bicycle carriages are out on the streets delivering food to restaurants. “Farm to table” has become a household phrase, and there are few restaurants, of any size or scale, that don’t display some of the ideal. Farms are not all made equal however, and without further context, the information doesn’t mean much.

Wenzday Jane’s version of farm to table, like her company, is like a physical manifesto of access. Her ordering systems are ine tuned and easy to use, making it hassle free for restaurants all over the area to order from a trusted and simple source. he true feat though, is in the aggregation of the products from the farms themselves, and the mode of their distribution. Wenzday’s commitment to local growers puts them in front of all of the city’s great restaurants without having to make a single phone call, or make the deliveries themselves; two things they would never have time for before she came along. Carting those products then out to the restaurants, Wenzday’s fulillment network spreads their web, crisscrossing the city and surrounding area, without the burning of one bit of fossil fuel. here are no idling trucks in traffic. he sight of one of the compact, human powered vehicles, parked neatly on the sidewalk, the labors of real farmers stacked neatly inside, is like a storybook version of what usually passes for food access and market share. his story, though, is true. •

of juliet 31.

Katie’s corner

Do NoT EAT

By Katie Rosengren

I

had a reputation for being a picky eater as a kid, which I never really understood. I just couldn’t igure out why my aunt insisted on making Tuna Helper on nights I spent at her house, knowing I hated it. The inevitable standoff that would occur when I refused to eat it, the empty threats about starving children in Africa, my willingness to express mail my untouched creamy ish noodles.

Wouldn’t it have been easier for everyone involved if she just made something I liked?

I liked to eat as a kid. A lot. I still do. I just have a discerning palate (read: a nicer way to say I’m a little picky.) My husband, Cole, still claims he can’t keep track of all the things I don’t like. As I’ve gotten older, the strict will-not-eat list has turned more into a suggestion of things I would prefer not to have, but will mostly eat if someone else puts them on a plate in front of me. As a grown up and primary grocery shopper and cook in my household, I have a lot of control over what ends up

32.

gets older. I think about him on a tiny stool pulled up to the kitchen counter to help me prep our dinAs for those ner. Then I think about myself as a starving kids in child, sitting at my aunt’s kitchen Africa I was happy table, refusing the meal she made to send my dinner to? me. I also think about all of the I care a lot more about kids I have babysat over the years them now, too. And the and the untouched bits and bites thousands of food insecure left behind on tiny kids in the US. I “I look forward plates decorated with don’t want to waste food because it is a to all of the irsts cartoon characters. And privilege to be well I realize that I will have and exciting fed when so many no control over my son. moments that That he may have a others are not. So I’ve spent most of my adult I will have with discerning palate of his life as a card carrying my son, but the own. That there will be member of the clean meals that he refuses to thing that I’m plate club. I’ve tried to eat for his own reamost looking for- sons and I will be left be mindful of what I buy and what ends up ward to is sharing wondering how to get in my compost bucket. food with him.” him to care that having Though I have lost enough nourishing food some leftovers along to eat is not somethe way, I’m happy to say most of thing to be taken for granted. the food I buy will never make it How many plates of cold toddler into the trash. leftovers will Cole and I eat in the name of not wasting it?

In May, I will give birth to my irst child and I’ve been thinking I have so many resources at my a lot about the ways my life will disposal, not the least of which is change. Basically, in every conmy own history with being a little ceivable way. In ways that I can’t picky. There may be many plates even begin to imagine. I look forof picked over cold spaghetti in ward to all of the irsts and excitmy future, and Cole and I may ing moments that I will have with end up eating that ourselves, lest my son, but the thing that I’m we guiltily scrap it into our commost looking forward to is sharing post bucket. Despite that, I do food with him. believe that I will also be able to raise a socially conscience child I think about what foods we’ll who understands the value in introduce irst. I think about the food. And at the very least, there meals we’ll share as a family as he won’t be any Tuna Helper. • on my plate.

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Katie’s corner

BOTTOMlEss Bulk

By Cole Rosengren

Long before I knew anything about food waste, I knew it was bad to waste food.

I grew up in a house where clean plates were encouraged. The motivation was more financial than environmental. We never had an issue filling the cupboards, but spending money on something that would get tossed never made sense.

This underlying mindset, combined with a bottomless pit appetite, took me on an eating journey that circuitously led to my current job as a reporter on the waste and recycling beat.

Through that work, I’ve since learned that the most beneficial way to tackle food waste is by reducing it upstream, which depends in large part on changing our concept of portion sizes and what it means to be full.

I say this as a person who isn’t one to talk. If I encounter food that has been picked, cooked, or otherwise prepared - and can’t be saved for later - I will find a way to eat as much as possible.

Trash piling up on the streets of Marseilles at night. photo courtesy of Katie Rosengren.

Over the years this evolved from pure spectacle (eating contests at the Chinese strip mall buffet in high school or late night trips to rescue unsold pizzas from the curb in college) to a form of survival mixed with opportunism.

During various restaurant jobs, I’d eat just about anything they put in front of us for staff meal - dry pans of scrambled eggs, greasy pasta, even the “fish surprise” - and had little shame in going after what guests left behind. At my first high-end New York serving job, we stockpiled mini muffins, fries, calamari, or the rare untouched steak tartare back by the dishwasher.

Though it wasn’t until I started working for one of the city’s biggest catering companies that I truly understood excess. As part of the “sanit” team in charge of logistics, I helped execute events for 10-10,000+ people all over the metro area. The sheer scale of this enterprise - happening at multiple locations around the city on any given night for our company alone both terrified and fascinated me.

Often times our guests had paid good money to host or attend the charity ball/awards dinner/wedding/birthday party/ political event. Yet I still saw many hors d’oeuvres trays and buffet pans coming back full. While New York’s elite were out front, I was in back eating their untouched leftovers. All in the

34.

name of powering through 12-16+ hour days.

Even after feeding everyone possible, I often still ended the night by dumping aluminum tins of leftovers into bags and buckets that got schlepped out the back door. Sometimes this was diverted for composting, digestion or donation.

Many times it was not.

When I later learned just how much of this could help feed our food-insecure neighbors or be processed for higher value, rather than emit methane in a landfill or be burned at an incinerator, I knew we could do better.

Changing our society’s improvident nature isn’t going to happen overnight. Grocery stores are designed for bulk value, restaurants pile plates high, food recovery infrastructure is still developing and many people stop thinking about waste the moment they create it.

Today, I’m by no means perfect. The occasional jar of sauce or forgotten vegetable does sprout mold in our refrigerator. I still overeat at events and make bigger meals than necessary at home. Yet after years of working in service, I’ll never stop feeling queasy at the thudding sound of perfectly good food hitting the bottom of a trash can when I know how easily it could have been prevented. •

Celebrate your special occasions at JULIET

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WEDDINGS, GRADUATIONS, BIRTHDAYS To book your next event at Juliet contact us at info@julietsomerville.com or 617.718.0958.

of juliet 27.

22.

in Conversation with Elvis Reyes, interviewed by Will Deeks Hometown: La Union, El Salvador Years cooking: 10 plus Favorite band: Heroes del Silencio Elvis is a vital presence. He is calm, he is methodical, he is funny, and he is positive. Despite all of this utter strength in the kitchen, he is about as humble a person as you will ever meet.

Arriving in the United States from El Salvador at 23, his plan was to work for a few years and then return to his home country for an education.

His original plan was to become a lawyer, and with his dedication to organization, detail, and process, he would have been a good one. We are happy to have him in the kitchen, and in our lives.

What was your irst cooking job? What brought you into the kitchen?

I was looking for more work. I was working mornings in a bakery. A friend of mine called me and told me that the restaurant he worked in needed a dishwasher. I showed up and worked for about a month. A kitchen position opened up and the chef said he liked the way I worked- he offered me a spot cooking the fry station. At irst I told him no.

“ I LIKED THE IDEA OF FIGHTING, OF HELPING OTHER PEOPLE FIGHT FOR WHAT THEY NEED IN THEIR LIFE.” learning experience. And I have also learned a lot working at Juliet.

Your dedication to process and method is really inspiring to work around. There is a calm persistence to your cooking. Does that translate to how you cook at home?

At home, I like cooking proteins. Steak and ish. I make tacos. My process is more relaxed. I see what’s at the market and I try to mix it up from what I cooked the week before.

Did you ever think about cooking growing up? What did you want to do?

I didn’t think about cooking growing up. I just thought that I would make some money and then use that money to pay for school. Maybe become a lawyer. I liked the idea of ighting, of helping other people ight for what they need in their life. Once I started cooking though, I loved it, and I loved the life it built for me.

You told him no? What was the reasoning?

What is the food scene like back home for you? How is it different than the United States?

Ole, the restaurant was really popular and busy at the time. I would watch the guys on the line at night and think, ‘how do they do that? I could never do that.’ After a week though, I decided for some reason to just go for it.

There is great food where I am from- but we don’t have the variety that exists here. I can walk down the street and eat great Indian food and great Italian. In El Salvador, the scene is more singular, and a little less diverse.

How did it go at irst?

What is your favorite part of working in kitchens?

At irst, it was very intense. Lots of pressure. We were very busy at that time. The chef taught me everything. I didn’t even really know how to cut an onion or a tomato.

After about a month of working the line, he came over to me and shook my hand. He told me I was doing well.

It meant a lot and things just got better from there.

There is proving to yourself and to the chef that you can do the work. But more importantly, it is creating something people can enjoy. The process of doing something that makes people happy.

What brought you into other kitchens?

I just wanted to learn. I knew that I needed to learn more. Another friend of mine was working at Foundry, I went over there, started working brunches. They sent me straight to the grill. Eventually I switched to Foundry full time. Now I cook every station there. That was a great

Thanks so much for taking the time to talk with me today, man. It’s always great to catch up with you.

What are your plans for the future, where is it all going?

I am not totally sure. Sometimes I think I would like to open my own place. Small, something like Juliet. Just like 3 cooks, making Spainish food. But we will see. •

of juliet 37.

ounds Grand Most of us expect our meals to be accompanied by music; sometimes live, usually recorded. In these situations, we have little control over the music we hear, unless we are eating at one of the few remaining establishments with a working jukebox. Or one of the very few willing to turn over the tuner dial, or Spotify password, to me.

When I sought to provide guidance and suggestions to Katrina and Josh for music to support the dining experience of Juliet, I wanted to select music that was consonant with the current theme. I also wanted the music to be warm and engaging without being overly fascinating or “dificult,” and in cases where a theme was not tied to a speciic era, I veered toward music not easily tied to the nostalgic memories of a particular generation.

Mealtime music should not take center stage. Depending on the venue, that role is illed by food, conversation, or both. Musical accompaniment should make listeners feel welcome, lively or content, and should not draw too much attention to itself. It should not be showy or experimental, and despite how it is presented in some bars, it should not be so loud as to overwhelm all other noises within a space.

The music should not compete with the ine art of conversation, and it should, certainly, not turn people’s stomachs. It may even be wise to steer away from virtuoso pieces better suited to concert halls or nightclubs, since these pieces may demand too much attention of the people hearing them. Inner music is not there to impress your friends and clients with how sophisticated or edgy your tastes are. In fact, it’s not really there to be listened to, even if it will be heard. It is not there to entertain, but to enrich.

The music should either feel as if it belonged to that speciic theme, such as French pop music or big band music to match the era of the steakhouse, or I wanted it to be dificult to peg in terms of time and place. I wanted material that belonged to nobody or to everybody. I also wanted to cultivate just a touch of mystery around some of the tracks, enough to pique curiosity without the piece grabbing people’s attention. I have strong musical preferences that include a preference for heavily distorted guitar and experimentation, but I also realize that much as I love this sound, it is entirely inappropriate for a

38.

By llsa Jerome high-ceilinged restaurant full of relecting surfaces.

While fashioning recommendations for These Wild Apples, I discovered that, at least for someone unschooled in the esoterica of regional French folk music, a good sample of regional music from Normandy was hard to ind on the internet. I was only able to ind a single video on YouTube that looked more like a living room jam session recording than anything else. It was just a taste of a musical form that the sea changes of modernism and two world wars, plus the emergence of national and international pop music, likely erased.

However, I could capture likely refractions in other musical styles and places, even inasmuch as picking up on the prominence of iddle and strings in the music.

I offer musical advice as a suggestion. I am delighted when it is followed and not offended when it is not. What I hope I am able to manage successfully is the balance between a sense of adventure and homecoming, welcome and discovery, always at the service of the activity at hand, that of a good meal with good company.•

MUSIC ON THE MENU An evening with Aurora Birch, at Juliet A special, one-night only menu. An intimate performance. A conversation on the nature of creativity.

Join us Sunday, May 20th 8PM Presented by Cornerscape in association with Bread + Salt Hospitality Tickets: https://bit.ly/2GXs9p4

an evening with aurora birch, at juliet sunday may 20th 8pm presented by cornerscape in association with bread + salt hospitality

A PAINsTAkING sPEll reviewing Promenade Opera Project’s Justice or Mercy

by Joshua Lewin

Promenade Opera Project’s Madeline ross cold called Juliet one Sunday afternoon looking for a place to host a sing-along/promotional event in preparation for Justice Or Mercy. We hosted that event, and the transformative sound experience of unassisted, opera trained voices has rooted itself in the foundation of our little space. Following this performance, Promenade Opera Project became an integral part of the conclusion of our own immersive, ive day long, show: These Wild Apples. Promenade is now planning their second full production: Cinderella. look for it this summer. of juliet 39.

thing secret. If the opera is indeed to be torn from its culturally accepted reputation of stuck in place, it might take just a bit more pushing.

This pushing though, I suspect, is exactly what the artists behind Promenade Opera Project are laying the foundation to take on. This, their irst performance, did indeed aspire to that Holy Grail of immersion, experiential, and achieves some notable milestones in that direction.

Last summer, a three story property in Cambridge’s Porter Square erupted in a frenzy of political intrigue, mystery, and murder. It is unlikely that you heard about this, or heard any of it unfold, although you might have walked right by as it played out. While you were on your way to a trendy ice cream cone, bowl of handmade pasta, or maybe just to pick up a prescription nearby: an assassination attempt was botched, a childhood friendship cum unrequited love burned itself up in a fury of gunire, and the history of the free world was rewritten.

Why didn’t you know then? Well, because this all happened in the language of opera, and if there is one thing I always knew about the opera…it’s that no one understands what happens at the opera.

That is, maybe, until the formation of Promenade Opera Project. Promenade, founded by three graduate students (Rachel Davies, Madeline Ross of Longy School Of Music, and Marcus Schenck of Boston Conservatory at Berklee), has a mission to deliver the opera in a way that it’s never been delivered before, and immerse us in, fully, it’s plot.

You can’t remain unaware of the action if you are forced to take part in it. Even if it happens in an antiquated version of a foreign language.

This tale of attempted murder and political upheaval was Promenade Opera Project’s freshman effort, an adaptation of Mozart’s La Clemenza di Tito, renamed for the immersive “stage”: Justice Or Mercy. The original ending, one of clemency (or mercy), was shelved for this production alongside one of vengeance (or justice), and the audience was put in control of which would be presented at the conclusion of each performance.

The show succeeds in being immersive in that the action does indeed play out all around, to the left and right and behind the audience, sometimes even out of sight. However, it suffers by insisting on being attended to; sat and watched. Or sat and listened to. But sat. There is limited joy of discovery, of peeking, of the walking in on of some-

40.

The setting itself though, while beautiful, works against the concentric and metronomic physical reinforcement required for true and uninterrupted immersion. The temporary theater is the borrowed home of a generous Longy professor and could have done well with a few dimmer switches, or a bit of roughing up to go along with the heavy themes of corruption and cover-up. We are treated to a universe bending vocal performance by a powerhouse of talented artists. The scenery, though, fails to bend from its buttoned up for entertaining the neighbors roots.

The audience plays the role of jury during intermission, deciding the fate of the alleged murderer, a conviction delivering not only a potential prison term but the sentence of death. This process plays out over a cheerful cocktail (mint julep anyone?) and plates of egg salad and hummus. The intermission itself may be the most successful and unexpected immersion, as the audience is invited to become one of the supporting cast; unnamed ridiculous politicians chumming it up over glasses of red wine and cheap whiskey while deciding whether or not to kill off one of our own.

Immersion is a spell though. It is painstaking to cast and despite the hypnotic and utterly mesmerizing vocal performance in close quarters, a single breath out of place still risks bringing the illusion crashing down. A pivotal scene, that is written as a private conversation (overtly so: “no one can hear us now”), but plays out publicly in front of the audience is a beautiful moment of theater, of revelations CONTINUED ON PAGE 42

Justice or Mercy 2017. photos courtesy of Promenade Opera Project.

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of juliet 41.

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between lifelong friends, a life saved decades before it is attempted to be snuffed out. But, are we here? Are we listening? Are we supposed to be? Or are we just theater goers banished now back to our seats? We lose our place in the story just before the exciting conclusion of the tale. We’ve already cast our votes for conviction or acquittal, but have now been excommunicated from the political inner workings.

moment. They have two endings rehearsed depending on the results of our voting. The inal scene unfolds with true emotion, surprise and terror written right into the dynamic script. This victory of the experiential may be the ultimate challenge of this truly ambitious show. A cast that carries their lines up until this point with the conident baritone or soprano which is their birthright, trips a time or two as the action wraps up.

The resolution, though, does bring us back in force with a simulcast of a live sentencing in which the audience is treated to two views at once and is rocketed back into the action. How have our fellow jurors voted? We should have been watching more closely instead of downing that second glass of wine. We are all glued to the proceedings, having failed to realize at the time how closely we were to the writing of history.

The spell though descends in inality as those voices whip us back into a frenzy one last time, delivering simultaneously a crash course in the traditional opera sounds and stylings along with the results of our just this moment voting, unbeknownst to even the players themselves.

I heard rumor of a previous show being hijacked by a lobbyist. Not a plant, but just a crafty audience member.

Who has lobbied for our show? Will we get the ending we want and this ictional country deserves? Is all of this enough to bring us back to the primal participation of experiential theater?

Almost. Maybe. Maybe it depends on which ending will play. The cast themselves don’t know until this very

42.

Ultimately immensely entertaining, this show dazzles, informs, and surprises but never quite consummates itself to its opening sequence of sexual gratiication reimagined as aria and live piano accompaniment in close quarters. If experiential is the measure of success though, Promenade Opera Project is threatening to usher in a whole new era of opera, of theater, and of performance in general. Despite a few snags in their ambition to drop us deep into a desperate pit of revealing narrative, this early effort from this visionary team may have been the irst step in rewriting the deinition of opera for a new generation. •

At Juliet October 3 - November 17

34.

JULIET Thank you for joining us.

-of juliet