At Scutra, fine cuisine is a labor of love
Scutra
92 Summer St., Arlington
781-316-1816
scutra.com
Dinner Mon.-Thurs. 5:30-9, Fri. 5:30-9:30; Sat. 5 to 9:30.
Reservations accepted
Major credit cards accepted
Accessible to the handicapped
I arrived at Didier Baugniet's kitchen at Scutra the same time as one of his frequent deliveries, and my jaw dropped when I saw what he was inspecting: 6-inch shrimp in an eye-popping bright blue. "They're flown in fresh from Hawaii," he said. "Call them in by noon, and they're here by 10 the next day."
The shrimp were featured on his new menu, along with Hawaiian wild sea bass. Baugniet is crazy about seafood, so much so that when Scutra opened five years ago, there were no meat entrees. It took relentless pressure from family, friends, and patrons to get him to add meat.
On a recent Saturday night, we were served a flawless meal from offerings that included four appetizers and two entrees on top of the regular ambitious menu. The specials were so complex we had the descriptions repeated twice.
"Can you really use the words 'strudel' and 'wasabi' in the same sentence?" I asked the waitress.
"It works," she replied, smiling broadly. Indeed, the seafood strudel with horseradish sauce did work, as did everything else. It amazed me that 90 elegant dinners, including desserts, were rolled out that evening by one owner-chef in a kitchen smaller than that in most trophy homes.
So I returned a few days later to find out how Baugniet did it, especially since Scutra had just tripled in size from a recent renovation, with a new, adventurous menu.
By 9:30 a.m., Baugniet's wife, Cesidia, was already here. She runs the front of the house, scheduling wait staff and reservations. Her mother bakes the ciabatta the restaurant serves fresh every day.
Atop the stove was a huge baking tray of beef and veal bones, roasted until brown the day before, now layered with tomato paste and vegetable trimmings. All was liberally dusted with flour so the bones had a ghostly look, but Baugniet dumped everything into a 10-gallon pot, topped it with water, threw in a handful of bay leaves and pink peppercorns, and went about his business.
The pot would simmer for eight hours, spend the night refrigerated, and come back out the next day for a few hours of final simmer. Baugniet does this twice a week to produce the stock for his velvety sauces and soups.
Late morning, Jose Lagos arrived. He worked part time when Scutra opened, with limited experience in the kitchen. Since Scutra expanded, he has been working full time. He smiled as if I was joking when I referred to him as "sous chef," then began plating mussels, julienning leeks and daikon, and wrapping scallops in prosciutto.
Traffic was brisk as suppliers popped in and out. Baugniet is always on the lookout for the newest and freshest. Softshell crabs arrived from Captain Marden's, produce from Russo's. Baugniet knows a Lexington man who grows 7 acres of exotic mushrooms.
Baugniet unscrewed a tiny tin and offered me a sniff of the current culinary rage: golden fennel pollen. I wondered fleetingly if I should snort it like an illicit drug. "It's like pastis," Baugniet said, and when I sniffed, a heady blast of anise whisked up my nostrils and into my brain. It did smell like the popular French summer liqueur.
When I inhaled again, I'm sitting in the sun by a French swimming pool, iced glass in hand. . . . Meanwhile, Baugniet was dusting scallops in the pollen and searing them in a skillet. In minutes he offered them to me, succulent and tender, the fennel pollen lending them a beautiful golden aromatic crust.
In the downstairs storage area, incongruous among the boxes of toasted Israeli couscous and dried porcini, a huge black motorcycle helmet gleamed on a counter: "I work hard. I need toys!" Baugniet declaimed. The large motorcycle parked near the kitchen door was his.
By early afternoon, three liquids were simmering on the stove: the roast bone stock; the stock that porcini mushrooms have been soaking in, which would reduce into the porcini glaze for mashed potatoes; and a sweet crème anglaise that could be flavored with espresso or Fra Angelico for desserts.
As a high school student arrived to do odd jobs, another supplier turned up. In spare minutes, Baugniet filled three large squeeze bottles with extra virgin olive oil, one for him, one for Lagos, and one for the high school student who would plate salads and desserts that night.
Baugniet set brown sugar sizzling in three small skillets as he stoned and sliced fresh peaches, then arranged them in the pans, topping each with a circle of puff pastry. In less than 10 minutes, they're popped into an oven and in less than 20 they were out and flipped onto plates, three perfect peach tatins. Baugniet said Americans won't order the classic French dessert, apple tatin, or this peach tatin, as is: "We serve it with ice cream and people like it. We learn what to do."
A native of Belgium, Baugniet has spent 19 years as a high-end chef for hotels in Europe, Canada, Taipei, and the United States. But he became disillusioned with the corporate hotel circuit. When he launched Scutra, he said, "I became myself."
Now he was parboiling green tea soba noodles, but only when he saw the fresh produce later in the afternoon would he decide on the pairings for the day's specials. At 4 p.m., the wait staff arrived and began setting up tables.
The porcini stock smelled like a forest, the bone stock was deep brown and voluptuous; swordfish fillets had been dunked in parmesan and the wild mushroom, corn, and duck twisted into tiny tamales. Baugniet and Lagos had their ritual 5:30 cappuccino when the restaurant officially opened, and were good to go.
CATHIE DESJARDINS 
