The longest running 5 star restaurant in Cincinnati (indeed La Maisonette, which may have been the longest running 5 star restaurant in the US) was located on exactly the same site as Boca. After this evening’s dinner, I am 100% certain that those ghosts are at peace, if not the tiniest bit jealous.

Boca is everything a destination restaurant should be. The room is magnificent, a beautiful bar on the left as you enter, an open kitchen directly ahead, a wonderful staircase up to private dining room (and restrooms), and an elegantly appointed dining room with a crystal chandelier out of another era, set the stage for a meal to remember. Wood, leather, glass and a sense of style to bring them all together to accent the culinary offerings are the hallmarks of Boca.

Promptly seated (despite the absence of Roger and Janet) at a table offering both the best view of the well-appointed bar and the bustling kitchen, Milady and I were instantly put in the best possible frame-of-mind to enjoy our evening. Both the winelist and the food menu are tightly focused – they present carefully crafted opportunities to dine extraordinarily well, at a reasonable price. We began with cocktails – we were given the leisure to enjoy them while socializing and mentally preparing ourselves to step back from the day and step into the evening. My restaurant experiences suggest that the special moment to do that, make the transition from chaos to harmony, is sometimes overlooked. In fact, it may be the single most important element in dinner preparation, because without it, the chef is competing against a myriad of distractions she/he cannot possibly prepare to confront.

The menu is user friendly. Appetizers, small plates, salads, pastas, main courses and sides are thoughtfully arranged – and smaller portions are graciously offered. We ordered the very special pommes souffle to accompany our cocktails. These fries are what every “ranch fry” should want to be when it grows up. The shape is the same, but these have been refried in super hot oil, causing the amazingly crispy outside crust to become completely filled with hot air. (A more descriptive name for them might well be Pommes Politico.) Sprinkled with fleur de sel the pommes are the ultimately decadent members of the “French fry” family, and indulging in them might tempt one not to bother with the rest of the menu. Do not make that mistake, for more wonders await you.

I began the feast with the scallop crudo. Ever so slightly salty and gently flattened into a plate-filling pancake, then drizzled with a carrot and ginger balsamic glaze, the crudo was anything but crude. It was sublime, and just the right size to whet my appetite for the main course. Milady and Janet enjoyed the grilled romaine, and Roger chose the seafood risotto. From where I sat, everyone seemed to be savoring each mouthful, and the conversation lagged just a tad as attentions were directed towards the food. At about this point the sommelier arrived with our wine. It was a 2010 Bordeaux, a Fronsac from Chateau Beauséjour. The 2010 vintage, while still young, has a wonderful balance of fruit and tannin that will make it very hard to discipline oneself to wait while the wine reaches towards its full potential. In any case (may I have two please? One for the cellar and one to drink while the cellared case matures), it was delicious and a real bargain. Another thing to like about Boca – they know great wine doesn’t need to be expensive; though the list does include some stunners, including a vertical flight of Pomerols priced to explore the stratosphere, it also contains several very good wines at very reasonable prices.

I have occasionally tweaked my friends and family about Beef Wellington, remarking that all of them are too wary of my criticism to attempt serving me this paragon of culinary art. For those of you who have forgotten, or tried to, Beef Wellington is a perfect filet of beef slathered with foie gras and wrapped in a butter pastry dough. It is then roasted, sliced and plated with a Perigourdine sauce (reduced veal stock, fresh foie gras and truffles, and I think a hint of cognac). The tricky part is getting the pastry wrapper perfectly baked while not over- or under-cooking the filet. Mine arrived beautifully medium rare, as ordered, as did Roger’s, and if I have any criticism at all, it was that I thought the perigourdine was a bit too salty. Milady chose the Boca Filet – a butterflied small steak with an enchanting sauce of butter, cream and chunks of king crab and Janet had an elegant filet of bronzino.

I’d love to tell you about dessert – but I’d have to invent it from whole tuile de chocolat. As I struggle to retain my FAA air-worthiness certificate, I find there are times when my favorite course is best left to my imagination. Milady and I left with the pleasant thought that not only were we left with the memory of a wonderful meal, we also have another reason to return to Cincinnati for dinner at Boca.

“T’was the eighteenth of April…” and we returned to Cincinnati to celebrate with our friends the Achs. Our evening started with a “Mad Men” event at the Hamilton County Memorial Hall, great little bites, an open bar and toute la ville. Dress for the evening ranged from currently chic to fabulously Fifties, and everything in between. Being an event at the Memorial Hall the entertainment featured a band and singer who serenaded us with wonderful oldies, featuring tunes made famous by Sinatra, Damone, and Milady’s all-time favorite, Bobby Darin. The performance space is simultaneously intimate and spacious. The acoustics were wonderful, and sitting only a short distance from the stage created a wonderful bond with the entertainers. Being able to see facial expressions and also be far enough away that one could get a sense of the entire venue was enchanting. After the concert there was dancing and more liquid merriment and suddenly I was reconsidering my “humans are helpmates not hors d’oeuvres” pledge (taken centuries ago and NEVER violated). Fortunately our friends Roger and Janet picked exactly that moment to round us up and shepherd us across the park to Salazar.

Cincinnati is filled with beautiful repurposed (or artfully reconstructed) late nineteenth century buildings and Salazar is housed in one on 14th Street just off the park. There is an indoor/outdoor counter seating perhaps six close friends, a modest room filled on the right by a classic bar running two-thirds the length of the room and down the left and around the bar tables for two or four. The acoustics, in contrast to the Music Hall, are appropriately loud, making conversation more challenging – but no less interesting. The crowd looks to be young, on the hip side, and out to enjoy themselves for the evening.

We were seated immediately (I suspect because Roger was greeted as a friend and regular visitor) at a comfortable table and our young (aren’t they all these days?), knowledgable and eager waiter provided menus even as he inquired about preferences in libations. Milady chose a glass of an excellent (and extraordinarily reasonably priced) pinot noir. As Sr. Salazar brews his own beers, I opted for his delicious kolsch. Not too hoppy, enhanced with just the faintest hint of cardamom, served at the perfect temperature. A nectar of the gods? Probably not, but only because the ones I’ve met personally like their nectars from honey – much too sweet for my tastebuds. A nice winelist, reasonably priced, and a selection of wonderful beers, ales and cider provide appropriate potables.

The menu is billed as “New American” but that doesn’t do it justice. The cuisine at Salazar is chef-driven, I suspect very much locally sourced, eclectic and extraordinary. Both Roger and I tried to order the shrimp ceviche – sadly there was but a single serving remaining in the kitchen and he graciously allowed me to have it. Saucy shrimp,habaneros, cilantro, lime and sweet onions jumped up, invaded and completely captured my mouth, my sinuses and eventually my tummy. Balanced between the sweetness of the shrimp and the sharpness of the habeneros, the onions,lime and cilantro were perfect. Lest you think Roger suffered unduly, he enjoyed the one of the evening’s featured dishes, cod bretdande. Fresh cod, firm English green peas, mashed potatoes, butter and a couple of chef’s secret ingredients broiled exactly to the point perfection and served with “Blueoven” bread. A brief aside – anyone who has subjected her/himself to my reviews for any length of time knows that I am a Francophile, especially when it comes to bread. I may have to seriously reconsider that – Cincinnati has breads that rival or surpass any I have every enjoyed. I gather “Blueoven” is a local purveyor, if not actual baker. These breads are so good Parisians could mistake them for their own. Milady (watching her diet in preparation for our annual Bacchanal in Paris, and in recognition of the late hour) had the white asparagus salad featuring pistachios and an incredible vinegrette was thrilled, or at least her tastebuds were. She followed her salad with gravelox – cured and silky salmon that delighted her. Janet and I ordered what the menu listed as a “small oyster sandwich” which turned out to be a perfectly fried oyster set on a thin slice of daikon radish, in turn set on a mini-brioche bun, sauced with some wonderous mixture and delivered on a slice of tree (not edible). Wow! Meanwhile, Roger had the quail cassoulet. Little joints of quail, perfectly cooked in a sauce that smelled divine, even from across the table.
Sadly,the humans at the table were all short hitters, and I was unable to snag dessert. No matter, (to borrow from Douglas MacArthur) I shall return!