A taste of the old North End
Mamma Maria
North End / Boston
Editor's note: Alison Arnett recently retired from the Globe. Dining Out will feature a rotation of guest reviewers until the paper names a new restaurant critic.
I'll be honest: I walked through the front door of Mamma Maria filled with equal parts hope and fear.
This much I knew: That, despite its name, Mamma Maria is to the ethnic North End what the famed L'Espalier is to the uptight Back Bay: a gorgeous townhouse, slightly off the beaten path, with a warren of small and mid-sized rooms tended to by a highly professional staff.
I knew that while L'Espalier is all buttoned-down, Mamma Maria is energetic and bustling. While L'Espalier is about whispers and discretion, Mamma Maria has waiters whisking plates of luxury pasta through the cramped reception area and up the main staircase. If it seems slightly chaotic at times, well, isn't that part of the show?
But the North End is changing - too fast, if you ask me, though no one has. It undoubtedly began when the European restaurant turned into - there's no way to sugarcoat this - a CVS. A chain flower shop opened a couple of blocks away. Droves of young outsiders began buying overpriced condos because, with unintended irony, they liked the authenticity of the place.
And finally, there's this: With the Central Artery down and the new Greenway parks set to open, a local activist recently told the Globe of her hope to have Hanover Street ''in some ways, become more like Newbury Street.'' Good Lord.
Put another way, with nouveau Italian restaurants like Bricco and Mare becoming all the rage among the beautiful people who flock to this part of town, would an old mare like Mamma Maria still be able to hold her own?
The answer, derived from three visits: Sort of. Sometimes. Depends on the night. What I found is you have to hit it at the right time, in the right seat, or with the right dish, and when you do, it's an experience to savor. When you don't, well, you'll look at the hefty bill and wonder if you just broke a window.
Before the food, though, a word about the interior: Gorgeous. The main first- and second-floor dining rooms are elegant without being overdone; crisp without being austere; the walls the color of coffee on top, mocha on the bottom, the two shades separated by a blaze of white molding.
All of which is incidental compared to the picture windows that dominate the front of both rooms, each one of the small panes gleaming in the gas lanterns outside. If you can't enjoy yourself at a window table at Mamma Maria, the downtown skyline so close you can all but poke it with your fork, you ought to be wearing an electronic ankle bracelet and confined to your home.
And indeed, there's more than the view to be upbeat about. At the outset, the crusty bread is served warm, not with butter, but fresh basil, a signature touch. The service is unfailingly refined, if at times slightly slow. The wine list is affordable, with many bottles in the $40 range.
But with the food comes the first tinge of disappointment, and that disappointment often involves an alarmingly heavy hand with various varieties of sauce. In fact, it's the unevenness of it all that's so frustrating. The jumbo Maine sea scallop appetizer is a smoky delight, surrounded by a warm medley of blood oranges and fresh fava. But the first-of-the-season fava-bean salad tastes like the season may have been rushed. The wild mushroom polenta appetizer is too laden with cream. The baked oysters in a champagne zabaglione is sublime. It's like playing appetizer roulette.
Even the same dishes are handled differently on different nights. One dinner, a half-order of the spinach-infused spaghettini tossed with small shrimp, smoked bacon, and kernels of sweet corn is a dream. Another night, an entrée portion is so oversauced it sticks to the roof of the mouth. On another visit, the smoked bacon, goat cheese, and tangerine dressing on the baby arugula salad is served slightly warm, meaning perfect. Later, it is below room temperature.
Temperatures are a recurring problem, which is baffling at a place this ambitious. On a busy Saturday, the otherwise phenomenal halibut, pan seared and served in a puree of spring vegetables, is barely warm. Likewise, the tasty bone-in ribeye, ordered medium, served in two pieces and accompanied by a memorable spinach gnocchi, is a notch above room temperature. Why?
That same Saturday, by the way, we are seated not in one of the elegant dining rooms but in what seems like an upstairs sunporch - a good place to avoid.
I love the pastas, the aforementioned complaint about the shrimp notwithstanding. The sweet Italian sausage with firm orecchiette and bitter broccoli rabe, dressed in a light olive oil and served in a skillet, is a template for perfection. The more sophisticated springtime asparagus dumplings, with grilled asparagus and grated parmesan, are worth the trip alone.
Not so with the parmesan-encrusted pork, too heavy on the cheese. The lamb special is so good that a dining companion chews it off the bone. The house specialty of osso buco seems notable for its sheer Fred Flinstone-like size.
Desserts are the most consistent part of the night. Problem is, they are consistently mediocre. The chocolate torte is dry to the brink of inedible. The lavender-infused panna cotta is, well, not any good. Even the crust on the crème brulee is cool to the touch, rendering the dish bland.
The old girl looks beautiful. And she has her moments, many moments, when she's every bit as good as she's ever been. But with age, there seems to be a lack of concentration. At the prices she charges, she doesn't leave a wide margin for error.