I lunched at Blue Spoon yesterday for the first time in months. As in the past, I left frustrated. And reminded of why I just can’t put this place on my “go-to” list.
I want to love Blue Spoon. Menu items are creative and fairly priced. Produce and meats seem local and fresh. Service is friendly and fast. And yet – more often than not – I’m perplexed and underwhelmed by the culinary execution.
This time, it was a preponderance of grease that dampened what held so much promise. An otherwise lovely arugula, pancetta and poached egg salad wilted under the weight of a fried flavor that left me slightly queasy. A friend’s inventive grilled cheese (white cheddar and apricot preserves) had tasty tones that fought mightily. But in the end, an oily film – like days-old griddle drippings – won out.
As a lover of all things pig, I’m no shrinking violent when it comes to fat. So. . .what the heck?
I am willing to accept that I order poorly at times, or that I tend to visit on “bad days.” But the consistent inconsistency simply drags me down. My hopes float with a tasty beet and goat cheese salad only to be dashed on the rocks by an overcooked bistro burger. A dry chicken sandwich eclipses the happy haze from a discerning Meze platter of dry pungent cheese, shaved prosciutto, and toasted nuts.
Yesterday, a hearty mushroom soup – peppery and thick with kale, baby bellas and diced carrots – had me believing until the salad came and the grease, um, hit the fan.
I’m truly at a loss. Reviews rave. Friends speak highly. The bistro’s atmosphere embraces with its cozy warmth and charming simplicity.
I did once have a delectable haddock chowder. Creamy and lush with fingerling chunks and dense fish, it pleased with every bite. The memory of it still stirs my synapses. It’s that one flash of true brilliance that keeps me hoping – and trying – for that elusive golden dining experience at Blue Spoon.