Well Worth the Line

This past weekend I was in Boston with my family. We strolled through the North End--home to Paul Revere and the American Revolution along with a well established Italian immigrant community. The two co-exist in perfectly balanced dichotomy. The vibrant community of ever arriving newcomers is the realization of the dream of its very first denizens.

Not surprisingly, the most ubiquitous expression of Italian Heritage in the North End is in the restaurants, salumerias, gelaterias, and coffee shops that line the streets, tucked into the storefronts of buildings from the colonial era right up to modern times.

We strolled looking for a place to eat, stopping in at a local firehouse for a suggestion. I'm a big believer in asking the locals, and no one is more local to a neighborhood than a firefighter who lives and works there. They suggested Giacomo's on Hanover Street--a place we had passed up because of the long line. Sure, it may seem like a line is a good thing, right? After all, if folks are willing to wait, it must be worth the wait. But I've found that lines are sometimes just culinary come on's, more hype than anything else.

Still, we decided to give it a go, standing in a line that was 20 people deep ahead of us, and moved at a snail's pace. The restaurant only seats 25 at most. Our four year old provided diversion to the young women behind us, as she showed off her newly acquired Silly Bandz, brightly hued, animal shaped rubber bands she wears as bracelets.

While we waited diners exited the restaurant throwing around words like "outstanding"  and "unbelievable". All I kept thinking was "It better be, after this wait."

An hour later, after being subject to the stares, comments, and sometimes jeers of passersby dumbfounded by the line that had now swelled to at least 100 people, it was our turn. To add insult to injury we were seated right in the front window where those who were still waiting could woefully watch us eat.

The menu was seafood heavy--all the red sauces were cooked with lobster, and the pasta was mostly homemade. Forget substitutions because, as our waiter informed us about the cooks, "those guys can't speak english, they just read the ticket and that's what you get."

The wine list was limited but solid, at jaw droppingly low prices. We ordered the Pinot Grigio and even though we left at least one glass behind, at $16 a bottle it was still money well spent.

The food came out at lightening speed--a not so gentle reminder that these tables had to be turned fast. All the better though because the aromas of garlic, homemade red sauces, pesto, and seafood that came from the kitchen behind a counter not 20 feet away were not only hunger-inducing, they were absolutely torturous in their promise of the epicurean delight to come.

When it arrived--not 10 minutes after we were seated, the food was ample but not obscene in volume. My husband had the fried calamari for an appetizer and homemade fusili with seafood for an entre.  My mozzarella marinara was a bright stepping stone to the wild mushroom ravioli with pesto that was little more than lightly crushed pine nuts and chopped basil swimming in aromatic olive oil, along with sun dried tomatoes and goat cheese.

For about 15 minutes no one spoke as we wolfed down our food. Any annoyance i felt at being pressed to finish quickly (after all watching the waiting crowd just a foot away from me, separated by a thin pane of glass) dissipated because I don't believe I could have eaten any slower if I tried.

Next time I'm in Boston, I'll definitely be back at Giacomo's. But I plan to be a little savvier. The restaurant opens at 4p.m. weekdays and 5 p.m. Fri-Sun and I'll arrive 1/2 hour before opening, armed with a good book and some coloring for my daughter. I've since learned there is a less touristy location in Back Bay that takes reservations and is just as good--though even with a reservation, you'll likely wait. Still, even though we became part of the tourist attraction for a brief while, it was one of few humiliations I can say was worth its culinary mettle.