Still living up to its billing
Radius
Boston
The dinner at Radius was exquisite and the service exemplary. We were content. As the weeknight crowd thinned in the dining room and we sipped the last of our coffee, a companion looked over the bill, his eyebrows raised. ‘‘Can this be right?’’ he asked, passing the check over to me. It read $1,300 and some change. With some entrees climbing above $40 and a wine list that offers only a couple of bottles under $50, Radius would never be mistaken for casual, budget-priced dining. Still, the amount seemed stratospheric. Had we spent that much?
The first item in a long list of beverage orders caught my eye. Diet Coke. We would never have ordered that. After discussion with our waitress, the matter was remedied; and a more reasonable bill was exchanged for the one meant for another table.
That made me think, though: What makes a restaurant experience worth the price? Radius opened to fanfare in 1998, one of a burst of restaurants in the late ’90s riding a surging economy; it became a place to be for Bostonians as its chef and co-owner, Michael Schlow, gained national recognition. When I wrote about Radius then, I ended a positive review with a small caveat that the restaurant, like many, needed time to blossom. So now, when the prevailing restaurant trends point to more casual styles and broad-based menus, I’m back to consider the mature Radius.
Over seven and a half years, things have changed and yet stayed the same. Esti Parsons, now one of the owners along with Schlow and Christopher Myers, greets us at the door on a first visit. That means I’m not incognito, since I’ve interviewed her several times, but her graciousness is still one of the warmest welcomes in town. (On a subsequent visit, she’s not there, and I’m not acknowledged.) The dining room has been painted in subtler, paler tones than the original rather high-tech grays and reds, and there’s an ambience of luxury — heavy table linens, softer lighting, more sound-proofing, even leather-bound menus — that I don’t recall from the early days. The waitstaff obviously prides itself on being professional — quick, helpful, unobtrusive, and, except for the bill mix-up, very efficient. It’s a little disconcerting to have an extra, distinguished-looking gentleman carefully describe each dish as it’s placed before the diner, but the routine seems to be part of the modern, upscale restaurant theater, so maybe I shouldn’t quibble.
Each dish is definitely theater on a plate. A crab and zucchini appetizer evolves down a rectangular dish: molded crab salad at one end slightly tangy with lime juice, two delicately fried zucchini blossoms, small soft-shell crabs crisply fried but without heft or oiliness. A drizzle of zucchini sauce is imbued with an elusive herbal flavor (mint, Schlow reveals later in a phone interview). And, then, more visual accent than taste, a row of tiny zucchini slices down one side of the plate. Tuna sashimi shows up in different guises, depending on the season. Earlier in the spring, the strong flavor of squares of tuna was offset with the acidity and sweetness of orange and of ponzu sauce and smoothed out with avocado.
Gnocchi also reappears, and though it’s well-made and pillowy, it’s less interesting in appearance and ultimately in taste than the seafood appetizers or than a salad of slices of duck bedecked with fennel, slivers of dates, kumquats, and macadamia nuts.
Schlow was always known for his brawny approach to cuisine, with strong flavors and generous amounts of protein. With time, or maybe because of his new chef de cuisine, Patrick Connolly, the main courses especially are more nuanced, showing off their flavors in layers rather than in one punch. Sometimes, many components add up to the final flavor palette of the dish. A thick cut of black sea bass, its skin crisp and flesh creamy, sits in the middle of a rimmed plate. Around it are braised morels, little chunks of rock shrimp, and swirls of dark-green arugula pistou, a French version of pesto. Then the waiter pours in a shallow puddle of fragrant mushroom consomme. The result is multifaceted — the taste and texture of the fish, the bright taste of the pistou, the sweetness of the shrimp all brought together with the dual flavors of mushroom.
A veal dish has a similar complexity with surprisingly disparate ingredients — delicate veal, assertive smoked bacon, and the unusual taste and texture of escargot — all melded into what Schlow describes as a take on a BLT. On an earlier menu, that confidence in matching up unlikely tastes shows in a vaguely Eastern Mediterranean spicing on skate wing that is offset by bitter mustard greens and pomegranate seeds.
And then some dishes are the dressed-up version of comfort, such as gorgeously crisped roast chicken over plenty of honshimeji mushrooms, baby turnips, and spears of wild and cultivated asparagus. Then, vaulting the dish into elegance, there’s a foam of foie gras emulsion, giving a new dimension to comfort. There’s no stinting or much subtlety, really, in the menu’s obligatory steak offering. A fat knob of slow-roasted rib-eye sits on top of a cloud of whipped potatoes, over red wine sauce rimmed with an herbal oil. It’s not only dramatic to look at, but also theater in the mouth, even in a steak-drenched culinary landscape. The potatoes are pure luxury, whipped in the style of the famous French chef Joel Robuchon, with so much butter that they literally melt on the tongue. The beef melts, too, and there’s just enough bite from the sauce and crunch from thin green beans to balance the richness.
After that wallop of a main course, dessert seems superfluous, but we press on. The showstopper, by pastry chef P.J. Waters, is called Cinema Paradiso for two: caramel corn in a box, popcorn-flavored ice cream, a slushy, and chocolate candy, enough dazzle to last through a full-length movie. But other desserts — such as a lovely cocoa cake with malted milk ice cream and a little glass of banana milkshake, and a delightful creamy panna cotta topped with bright orange mango gelee — not only had fine flavors, but made a more coherent statement. A sorbet tasting, especially after the main courses, is really my favorite, especially one of blood orange spiked with chilis and another of cucumber with Meyer lemon.
That sweet but spiky ending accents Radius’s raison d’etre. It’s expensive, yes, but full of culinary revelations and consistent service. The care, the style, and the thought that go into the food and the experience match up to what the diner hopes for, making a dinner at Radius an expensive — and for most of us — a rare luxury. But a worthy one.