I've lived in Boston long enough to know that you should never go to the North End on a Saturday night without reservations. But due to construction at the Charles MGH stop, we had to abort our Central Square plans. We found ourselves meandering the North End amidst throngs of people who shared our hunger pangs. Favorites on Hanover such as Pomodoro, Daily Catch, and of course Giocomo's already had lines out the door. We could feel rain droplets from the sky, and decided to find shelter, pronto. Maybe we would have better luck on the side streets.
"At least 45 minutes," said Ristorante Euno.
"Two and a half hours," sniffed Antico Forno.
"We may be able to seat you before 11," said the host at Sage. "Sorry." His voice was soft and his eyes lowered, as though he were turning away a couple of starving orphans.
The tiny droplets turned into a steady shower, and we found ourselves back on Hanover. We ducked into Lucca and decided, what the heck.
"How long is your wait for two people?" I asked, preparing to turn around and walk out the door.
"We have a table downstairs right now, if you don't mind being a little cramped," said the very kind host. "Take a look first and see if you like it."
The host led us downstairs to a dining room as big as the one upstairs. There was a lone two-person table in a sea of big groups, some who were drunk and fairly loud. But the table wasn't that cramped, and it was available. Sold.
"And just so you know, a lot of these people are leaving for a U2 concert in half an hour," the host said with a wink before he left.
We took in the decor, Italian and American wine bottles encased behind glass, set amidst mahogoney and exposed granite walls. But somehow the rustic feeling was lost. Maybe because the restaurant is huge in comparison with other North End trattorias. Or because of the raucus yuppies surrounding us. Or because the waitress took our orders with a condescending tone even though she could pass for a BU student.
The bread, though not warm, made for good sustanence during the long wait for our appetizer. (The waiting would be a reoccuring theme throughout the night.) We split the lasagne ai funghi, a warm potato and mushroom filling in between two small crisps brushed with a sweet balsamic glaze. The salty/sweet flavors made for an interesting combination.
Our main entrees took even longer to come, most likely a result of a tiny kitchen serving a large restaurant. The cider-glazed pork chop, however, was perfectly tender and savory, along with the caramelized onions. The little pieces of roasted vegetables on the side were crisp, though a few pieces were burnt. The entree didn't look that big on the plate, but halfway through, I was stuffed. Still, I had to try my companion's Statler chicken breast with fennel. Good, but not great. I took a few more bites of pork chop, leaned back and sighed.
And wouldn't you know, it was the quieter tables that left for the concert. Our boisterous neighbors were still there, cackling over wine and birthday cake.
Our haughty waitress finally remerged to hand us our check (we had seen her exactly twice before that moment.) The food was great, the hosts were great, but is it normal to find the whole experience tainted because of bad table service?
That was the question that was still on our minds as we wandered out into the post-rain streets, eager to walk off a delicious, hearty meal.
Lucca - 226 Hanover Street, North End
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