Orinoco

I don’t have much in terms of rigid criteria when it comes to choosing places to write about for this blog. I operate under a few basic guidelines. First, the subject of my review has to have a physical bar that I’d be willing to sit at for an evening of nothing more than drinks. After all, this is Boston BarHopper, not Boston RestaurantReviewer. Second, I prefer to avoid anything resembling a chain; the way I see it, the more locations a bar or restaurant has, the more its overall character diminishes. Of course, there will always be exceptions.

Harvard Square’s Orinoco does not have a bar. It also has two other locations, in the South End and Brookline. But when you invite me to a complimentary party on a picture-perfect evening in September with a roasted pig, mouthwatering Venezuelan hors d’oeuvres, and lots of sangria and beer…well, I suppose I can relax my standards.

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Bringing the culture and cuisine of Latin America – specifically, Venezuela – to Cambridge, Orinoco opened its Harvard Square restaurant in January 2012. After eight months, they decided it was time to host a bonche (party!) for their customers and neighbors on their back patio. The reason? Manager Martha Garcia told me that whenever a new Orinoco opens, the management hosts an open house. “It’s a way to introduce ourselves to the community,” she said.

Quite an introduction.

My friends Mario and Ivys, who always manage to find awesome places like Orinoco and Tres Gatos, had dinner here with Kelly a month or so ago, scored themselves an invitation to the bonche, and passed the offer on to me. Who am I to turn down a party on a weeknight? But this wasn’t any ol’ fiesta. The main attraction? A traditional pig roast.

You know how often I go to pig roasts? About as often as I go to Venezuela. No way I was missing this.

Just approaching Orinoco gives you the feeling that you’re headed to someone’s backyard for a cookout. The restaurant is on JFK Street but is a little set back and out of sight; you walk between a couple of buildings to get there, which gives it kind of a home-y feel. The bonche was held on Orinoco’s gorgeous back patio, which is normally set up with tables for what must be a delightful outdoor dining experience.

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Mario, Ivys, Kelly, Kat, and I arrived around 6 p.m.; the festivities weren’t yet in full swing, but importantly, there was no line at the drink table (yet). The beverage options were ideally suited to a late-summer, Latin American-themed party: mojitos (a treat, since they’re not usually available at Orinoco’s Harvard location), sangria, and a couple of beers – Negra Modelo and Pacifico.

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Even though it was quiet when we arrived, I could sense that a special night of revelry was ahead. Nothing about the atmosphere made me think I was at a bar or restaurant; it truly felt like a casual, well-planned backyard party. The stone floor, lush greenery, a running fountain, and strung lighting gave the patio the look of a grand garden and made me feel like a guest – not a customer.

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As we sipped our drinks, the heavenly smell of charcoal and barbecued pork wafted through the air, equal parts teasing and torture. But good hosts that they are, Orinoco wasn’t going to let us starve, treating us to some of their appetizers.

First up was a spicy ceviche. Even Kelly, who claims to not care for seafood (yet repeatedly gets it while we’re out), could not resist. The ceviche was followed by maracuchitos – queso paisa wrapped in sweet, fried plantains.

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I love plantains on their own. Throw in some cheese? Delicioso.

And it just kept getting better. The non-pork-related highlight of the night was Orinoco’s datiles – bacon-wrapped dates with an almond in the middle. ¡Ay, dios mio!

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Honestly, I’ve never been a huge fan of dates; but the list of things that I won’t eat when wrapped in bacon is very short. (You know what I loathe? Olives. I wonder if I would find bacon-wrapped olives palatable.) The smoky bacon, the nuttiness of the date, the distinctness of the almond…they were packed with flavor and I had to restrain myself from grabbing two handfuls from the serving tray.

The patio began filling up over the next hour or so, with excited guests trying to catch a glimpse of the elusive pig.

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Meanwhile, our hosts kept plying us with apps. Tequenos – guayanes cheese wrapped in a crisp dough, with chipotle ketchup – were like upscale mozzarella sticks. And while I didn’t get the proper Spanish name, chicken salad served on a bread-like cracker was delicious and artfully presented.

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Truth be told, I would have been fine just with the snacks. But that’s not why we were here. No, hors d‘oeuvres alone would not placate the restless masses. The anticipation gradually swelled to a crescendo, and soon a manic chant of “Bring on the pig! Bring on the pig!” broke out (not really).

At last, fashionably late and with great fanfare, the star of the show emerged.

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Look at that bad boy! Has an animal ever looked so happy to be devoured by 200 guests?

El cerdo was greeted with applause, excitement, and a long line. I have to admit – after three weeks of eating and writing about tripe, haggis, and head cheese, it was comforting to be eating a meat that people were actually clamoring for.

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The line stretched throughout the patio, culminating at a table serving yuca, black beans, salad, and of course, the roasted pig. The meat was well worth the wait – tender, juicy, and delicious, and no one could stop talking about how incredibly spiced it was.

By then the sun had gone down, the stars were out, and we had a full-on bonche on our hands. All that was missing from the festive vibe was the steamy South American climate, but I heard no complaints about the perfectly temperate September air. People mingled, chatted, danced to salsa music, talked about how good the food was. I was in no hurry for the night to end, but when it finally did, I felt like I was leaving a big neighborhood party.

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I stopped in on the following night for a quick chat with Martha (who not only remembered me but greeted me like an old friend) and to get a better look at the place. Orinoco’s interior feels small, but it’s actually rather spacious – probably about 20 tables or so. It has an authentic, rustic look, with classic old chairs and family pictures on the wall.

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The dark, candlelit atmosphere could make for an intimate evening of sharing small plates and a bottle of good Spanish wine, but if the previous night was any indication, things could just as easily be festive and lively. And as soon as I walked in, the salsa music that was playing immediately brought back the magic of the bonche.

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Orinoco offers a full, rich menu of traditional Venezuelan cuisine. Several dishes offer the shredded beef and plantains that Venezuelan cuisine is famous for, like Pabellon Criollo, which the menu calls “Venezuela’s most folkloric dish.” I hear the empanadas are a big hit, and there are always some tempting weekend specials.

I opted for a couple of arepas, which are Venezuelan corn pocket sandwiches. “Domino” was made with black beans and Palmizulia cheese, and “Pelua” was made with Edam cheese and that delicious stewed, shredded Venezuelan beef.

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Both were delicious and surprisingly filling. But I have to admit – the accompanying dipping sauce stole the show. Made of cilantro, garlic, parsley, and olive oil, the sauce had a zing that further brought out the flavors of the arepas. I could seriously drink this straight, like out of a shot glass.

Speaking of shots, Orinoco’s alcoholic offerings are limited to beer and wine, though they also serve sangria. (Only the Brookline location has a full liquor license.) Not that I’m complaining – the sangria is full-bodied and refreshing, made with a secret spice (cinnamon?) that gives it a unique character. Aside from that, I never mind a good Negra Modelo, which nicely complemented all the spices in my arepas.

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As if I didn’t already feel like a welcomed guest, Martha generously treated me to quesillo, sort of a Venezuelan version of flan. Topped with strawberries and blackberries, and with hints of coffee, it was sweet conclusion to my meal.

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Last Call

Orinoco seems right at home in an area as rich and diverse as Harvard Square. And what better way to be a good neighbor than to host big, backyard party? The bonche was a swinging success, and a great idea on Orinoco’s part – I’m not sure when or if I would have found the place were it not for their event, but I’ll certainly return.

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I don’t know much about Venezuelan cuisine, so I can’t vouch for the authenticity of the food. But all of Orinoco’s locations are run by native Venezuelans, so that’s got to count for something. I certainly enjoyed the appetizers and my arepas. And they sure know how to roast a pig.

Perhaps best of all, Orinoco is surprisingly affordable. Most of the entrees are around $15, but you can make a pretty satisfying meal out of the empanadas (under $9) and antojitos (little cravings). Those irresistible datiles are $7, and the arepas average about $6. A glass of sangria for $7 isn’t bad, and my Negra Modelo was a very reasonable $4.75.

I don’t know whether Orinoco will ever be hosting another bonche of such grandeur, but I feel fortunate to have been there. On their website, Orinoco says their goal is to effect a “neighborhood-focused dining tradition that is casual, lively and fun.” On at least one night in September, they succeeded in grand fashion.

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Address: 56 JFK Street, Cambridge

Website:http://www.orinocokitchen.com/

Belly Wine Bar

When I think of a wine bar, I envision something dark, stuffy, and deadly serious. A very fru fru bar, maybe in a hotel, with servers dressed to the nines and displaying a thinly veiled air of condescension. I see lush burgundy rugs, table lamps, maybe leather sofas and fancy cocktail tables. It would probably have a French name, like Vin Cache. Maybe that’s an unfair assessment, born out of how infrequently I find myself in wine bars. But let’s face it – wine is sophisticated. If a bar devotes itself to wine, I’d expect something very polished. A small plate of grandiloquence and a full carafe of pretension.

But when a wine bar decides to call itself “Belly,” assumptions are best left at the door.

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“We wanted it to be playful,” said the bartender, of the unusual moniker. “Like the wine list, which is kind of out there.”

Wait – a wine bar wants to be playful? Not highfalutin? And what’s with an off-the-wall wine list – can’t I just come in and order a glass of Merlot?

I imagine you could. Belly has something on the order of 120 wines, so I’m sure they can accommodate your blandness if you insist. But at a bar that strives to be anything other than ordinary, why would you yearn for dullness?

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From the people who brought you the Blue Room (right next door) and Central Bottle (just down the street), Belly Wine Bar opened this week in Kendall Square and is everything you wouldn’t expect a wine bar to be. Forget dark and staid. Belly is a bright room that balances a funky, modern look with a casual, laid-back feel. Of all things, what you’ll probably notice first is the wild black-and-white pattern of the tiled floor.

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Hand-painted by an Italian company that had never before shipped an order to the United States, the tiles would be an assault on the eyes if not offset by a plain, dark brown ceiling with wooden beams, and complemented by the warm, white and light-green color scheme. Cool stonework and exposed brick on the walls contribute to a comfortable, earthy atmosphere.

If the wine bar I envisioned earlier was akin to a fancy den, Belly feels more like a kitchen – it’s small, and in addition to the warmth and brightness, a long, rectangular table with 10 chairs occupies the center of the room, with three smaller tables and few round ones on the far wall.

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A table in the back artfully displays the cheeses that any good wine bar would offer. The bar itself is square with nine seats and an elegant, white marble top.

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I stopped in on Belly’s opening night at about 5:30 and again the night after. Opening night started off quietly – just one or two customers and me. But you could tell it was something special; I felt like I was sharing in a culminating moment that followed untold hours of preparation and anticipation. I got to meet the owner, Nick, who runs Belly with his wife, Liz. He’s a very nice guy whose enthusiasm was as obvious as it was contagious – there was almost an unbridled glee among the employees. No fancy waiters in dark suits here. Just some casual people who are pretty excited about opening a wine bar.

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The quiet start gave me a chance to talk to the bartender, Fanny, a veteran mixologist and oenophile who was only too happy to expound upon Belly’s wines, cocktails, food, philosophy, and pretty much anything else I asked about. And it’s a good thing, too, because I opened the menu and barely knew where to start. Belly’s menu consists of wine, cheese, salumi, charcuterie, and words that are hard to pronounce. The wines are organized not only by color but under offbeat headings like “Rocks in Your Mouth” and “Size Matters.”

Now I love wine, but I’m no connoisseur, so I asked Fanny to suggest something. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised when she opened with a curveball – “Do you want red, white, or orange?”

Orange? Dude, we’re talking about wine, not Crush soda.

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Sure enough, Belly offers a selection of “orange” wines. I learned that orange wines are dry wines made from white wine grape varieties that have spent some time soaking in the grape skins, giving the wine an orange hue and contributing more tannins. The result is a white wine with a bit of red wine character – or, as Fanny said, “white wine for red wine lovers.” Fortunately, I love both. She suggested a Radikon “Slatnick,” 2009; and sure enough, it did almost taste like a white/red hybrid. More body than I’d expect from a white, but less bite than a red.

Accompanying my wine was a small dish of taralli – traditional Italian wine biscuits. Fanny told me they’re prepared similarly to bagels (boiled before baked), which makes them light, buttery, and highly addictive. They made for good munching while I pondered my next wine.

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After my orange wine, it was time for some red. Again relying on Fanny’s good judgment, I got a Joseph Drouhin Brouilly. It was a big tasting wine, with shades of raspberry and blackberry. I also detected the unmistakable hints of a wine buzz.

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Now what would wine be without cheese? (Honestly, I’d have to say it’s pretty good even on its own, but I digress.) From what I’m told, the cheeses are curated by the cheesemonger at Central Bottle to match the wines. The eight cheese varieties are not listed by name, but by “character,” with options like “Fresh,” “Earth,” “the Blues,” and “Funk.”

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Bring on the funk!

In this case, “funk” was a whole milk cow cheese from Connecticut. It was delightfully sharp and perfectly complemented by fresh raw honey, fruity jam, and two types of crostini – one savory, one sweet.

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With red and orange under my belt, it was high time for a white. Fanny asked if I wanted something clean and crisp – qualities one would normally associate with a white wine – or something funky. I’d already gone the funky route with the cheese, and I figured there was no turning back. So I funked it up with Montlouis Sur Loire, Weisskopf “Le Rocher des Violettes,” 2009. I liked it; definitely an unusual flavor and mouthfeel for a white. In place of the oaky flavor you might expect was a certain minerality…which I guess is why it fell under the heading “Rocks in Your Mouth.”

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Now if Belly’s wine options strike you as a little unorthodox, wait until you see their food menu. You can choose from “snacks” like blanquette of rabbit offal (oh hoo hoooo! nice try, but I learned my lesson after the haggis incident, thank you very much), marrow bones, and pate de campagne, to name a few. The “salumi” section offers morcilla fresca, duck breast, and soprasetta, among others. And there’s “charcuterie” like rabbit rillettes and foie gras terrine.

I started with a snack, a word that does little justice to what I chose – lamb bacon and eggs.

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Ever seen bacon and eggs look like that? I didn’t think so. Made from lamb meat and topped with shaved egg yolks, the bacon was crispy, light, and delicious. A red wine would seem to be the best match here, but I was surprised by how much the white I was drinking brought out the flavor.

Admittedly, beyond duck breast and foie gras, I wasn’t all too familiar with the rest of the menu. So I again turned to Fanny (hey, at least I picked out the snack on my own), who suggested something from the charcuterie menu…

Head cheese.

The term alone sounds pretty gross, even if you don’t know what head cheese is. It quickly goes from gross to disgusting once you find out.

Despite what any logical person may deduce from the name, head cheese is not actually cheese. That’s a rather unnerving bit of trivia, is it not? Because let’s face it – when you use the word “cheese” to describe something that is not in fact cheese, you’re usually not talking about something good.

No, head cheese is jellied meat made from the head of a pig or cow. Oh, but it may also contain parts of the animal’s tongue, heart, or feet, so you might get a little variety. (I could explain this in further detail, but I’m afraid you’d stop reading.) Fanny acknowledged “there’s definitely several different textures going on in there,” but reassured me that “it’s not brains or anything.” Yeah, there’s a ringing endorsement.

I’d like to pause here and raise my glass, a bit wistfully, to the good old days of, say, a few months ago, when the raison d’être of this blog was highlighting the better qualities of a given bar and saying a few words about whatever beer and cocktails I had when I was there. I’m now in my third consecutive week of trying meats that society has by and large rejected. I wonder if, somewhere along the line, I got off track. Eating tripe, haggis, and head cheese isn’t winning me any awards or even garnering me any praise. No, all I get is people sucking in their breath, shivering, and scrunching up their faces like an audience watching an incredibly gory slasher film. I suppose it’s a good thing I derive such a deep sense of satisfaction from that reaction; otherwise I might have to get back to basics.

But enough with the melodrama. The head cheese was, believe it or not, really good!

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The exterior was crispy, and as advertised, the meat inside had a varied texture. It was served with crostini and a small bowl of mustard and vegetables, and the flavor reminded me of pork belly.

Of my three recent adventurous meat orders, this is the only one I’d look forward to getting again (the tripe at Tres Gatos would be second, as long as I was splitting it with someone; the haggis would be a very distant third).

Anyway, while awaiting the arrival of the head cheese, I figured I needed a little liquid insurance in case it was as bad as it sounded. Aware that Fanny’s cocktail knowledge probably exceeded even her wine smarts – after all, she personally designed Belly’s cocktail list – I told her I was a Manhattan fan and was looking for something in that neighborhood. She recommended the Vieux Carré, a classic cocktail that originated in New Orleans. Belly’s recipe was traditional and faithful – Old Overholt rye whiskey, Pierre Ferrand Ambre cognac, Cocchi Vermouth di Torino, Bénédictine, Peychaud's bitters, and Angostura bitters.

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Outstanding. This wasn’t the first Vieux Carré I’ve ever had, but it was without question the best. Each sip was packed with flavor, yet it had a very simple, smooth finish.

Belly’s list of specialty cocktails is small but, like everything else here, creative and playful. I couldn’t resist ordering the Silver Bullet. No, not that Silver Bullet. Belly’s Silver Bullet is a simple mix of gin, Kummel, fresh lemon juice, and perfectly crushed ice.

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For so few ingredients, this was intensely flavorful, which was probably the result of the Kummel. I’d never encountered this liqueur before; its caraway/cumin flavor gave the Silver Bullet a truly unique character. It was almost like a very sophisticated lemonade that you had to drink slowly. Very slowly.

Things were picking up when I was leaving, and there was a bigger crowd when I stopped in on the following night. As can be expected of any newly opened bar or restaurant with an unorthodox menu, I saw customers walk in with a sense of quiet curiosity and maybe even hesitation. But on both nights, I noticed that tentativeness gradually giving way to the sounds of laughter and clinking glasses.

Again – not what I’d expect of a wine bar.

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Last Call

Belly aims to be unusual, but it does so with a natural grace. From the décor to the wine to the charcuterie, everything here is deliberate – but none of it feels contrived.

It’s rare that I sit at a bar and rely solely on the bartender’s food and drink suggestions, but I felt completely comfortable doing so. And Fanny, with a genuine enthusiasm for her craft, seemed more than willing to impart her knowledge. I doubt Belly will ever be as quiet as it was in those first few hours, so maybe I won’t get a chance to do that again; but I feel fortunate to have had the experience.

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Belly isn’t cheap, but if you’re going out for an evening of wine and fancy cheeses, you probably weren’t planning on an inexpensive night anyway. The wines vary in price, but you have the option of a two-ounce pour or a five-ounce. The smaller pours range from $3.50 to $14, and most are $5 or $6. The full pours I got were $9, but again, that’s highly variable depending on your selection. The cocktails were $11 apiece, which is fairly typical for drinks of that sort. The snacks, salumi, and charcuterie are anywhere from $5 to $14, so if you are watching your wallet, you’ve got some flexibility.

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Belly is an invitation to adventure, and only a fool would decline. If you’re a wine lover, you’ll probably revel in the unconventional offerings. If you’re more of a casual wine drinker, you’ll likely come out knowing a lot more about wine than you did when you went in. And if you know nothing about wine, or if the food is wholly unfamiliar, then it’s an opportunity to experiment in an environment that is anything but intimidating. The staff are very friendly, happy to explain everything on the menu, and eager for you to try the intriguing options they’ve clearly worked hard to offer you.

Address: One Kendall Square, Cambridge

Website:http://www.bellywinebar.com/

Tres Gatos

Some bars choose to focus on one thing, stick with it, and excel at it. Church and Marliave come to mind as bars that specialize in cocktails while offering a more limited selection of beer and wine. By contrast, places like Meadhall and Five Horses ply their trade on beer, with an impressive number of taps and even more bottled options, and considerably less attention paid to mixed drinks.

Other places skillfully do it all. Like Scholars, which couples a top-notch beer selection with an extensive, well-conceived menu of craft cocktails (and good food to boot).

Then there’s Tres Gatos – a tapas bar that refuses to simply be a tapas bar. Yes, it serves excellent tapas, along with the solid selection of Spanish wine you’d expect at a tapas bar. But they also have an intriguing beer selection. And, of course, a book store and music shop.

Wait, what?

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Tres Gatos in Jamaica Plain is, first and foremost, a place that serves tapas. Beyond that, it resists any sort of categorization. I’m hesitant to even call it a restaurant or a bar; labels don’t seem to stick very well here. Not when a bar/restaurant has a separate room from which it sells books, CDs, and new and used vinyl.

Tres Gatos is a small, cozy place. Its main room consists of a square bar with a black, wooden top, surrounded by a dozen or so wooden stools. There are only six small tables, but there’s a separate room with one large table, as well as an outdoor patio for the more temperate months. The main room itself is dark, but windows let in shafts of warm sunlight at odd angles (a nightmare if you’re trying to take pictures). Between the worn, hardwood floor that creaks a little when you walk, and the book shelves that surround the interior, Tres Gatos feels more like someone’s home than a restaurant.

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I first visited Tres Gatos on a Sunday evening at about 6:30 with Mario, Ivys, Kelly, and Kat (Melissa’s taking a BBH sabbatical, for those who have inquired). We made a reservation, which was a wise move, given this place’s size and popularity. We had the separate room all to ourselves for an evening of refreshing drinks, excellent food, and the pleasant experience of sharing interesting dishes with good friends.

The first order of business, as always, was ordering drinks. Now there’s probably no beverage better suited to a long, leisurely evening of tapas than sangria. Unfortunately, Tres Gatos is only licensed to sell beer and wine, and since the best sangria usually gets a healthy shot of brandy, it’s not available here. But Tres Gatos more than makes up for this licensing gap by serving Tinto de Naranja – a “summer red wine” made with a splash of juice, sparkling water, and finished with an orange.

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The result tastes an awful lot like sangria anyway. A little drier, but no less refreshing. If white sangria is your thing, then the Blanca de Naranja, with lemon, is a more than adequate stand-in.

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Drinks in hand, we then faced the daunting challenge of not ordering everything on the menu. Nearly every entry looked mouthwatering, and between the five of us, we were able to sample a satisfyingly wide variety. The tapas proceedings began with Patatas Bravas. These fried potatoes were a perfectly light first course. They were served with a spicy salsa brava and a creamy aioli that was so good, I could have eaten it with a spoon, potatoes or no.

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We followed that with Lamb Bocadillo, which was probably the hit of the night. Smaller than burgers but a little bigger than sliders, these juicy bad boys were topped with crispy onions and a delicious chimichurri sauce. ¡Ay, dios mio!

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At that point, having downed a few drinks and devoured a couple of exquisite courses, we began planning our next move. That’s when the conversation moved to a dish I’d never ordered and never wanted to. A dish that, even presented in its smaller tapas form, challenged my “anything for the blog” mantra.

Tripe.

Just so we’re all on the same page here, tripe is the stomach lining of a cow or other animal. In terms of edible animal products, its popularity is somewhere in the vicinity of pigs’ feet and beef tongue. The only time I even use the word tripe is when I’m expressing disgust. Like if I’m in the car and, say, a Maroon 5 song comes on the radio, I might exclaim, “What is this tripe?” Yet here it was, on the Tres Gatos menu. And lying next to the menu was my notebook and camera, issuing me a silent challenge, reminding me that a good anecdote is sometimes worth an unexpected trip to the restroom.

So, with a level of enthusiasm normally reserved for having blood drawn or doing my taxes, I ordered the tripe, and only Ivys was bold enough to share it (truth be told, she was oddly excited about it). The verdict? Actually not bad! It was charred and served with pasilla negro chilis and aged provolone mandarone. The exterior was crisp, and the peppers and cheese contributed their own rich flavor. Maybe it was just very well prepared, but I couldn’t honestly say the meat had any noticeably unusual taste or texture (OK…maybe it was a little chewy).

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The rest of our orders were less daring, but no less interesting. Next up were Albondigas – chorizo meatballs that elicited a rare, high-pitched “Oh my god…oh my god” from Mario. They were spicy and tender and topped with the same delicious chimichurri we’d had earlier, served with a sinfully tasty saffron cream.

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We closed out the dinner portion of our evening with Tortilla Española. This Spanish omelet of potato and egg was kicked up with a pimento aioli, but otherwise served as a pleasantly simple conclusion to an evening of so many richly spiced dishes.

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I probably could have gone for a siesta at that point, but at Tres Gatos, there’s a much more interesting way to relax and digest.

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I’m not exactly sure why there’s a book and music store here, although, if my research is correct, the previous tenants were a music store and a book store, respectively. (This is only one reason why I’ll never be an entrepreneur of any sort. If I opened a bar in a place that used to be, say, a butcher shop, I’d never think “Hey, I’ve got the infrastructure, maybe I should sell raw meat to people when they come in for a beer.” But I bet somebody would. And they’d probably have me sitting in their bar, writing a review, getting tipsy, leaving with pork chops and strip steak, and thinking “Wow, what a great idea!”)

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Anyway, it doesn’t matter why Tres Gatos sells book, CDs, and vinyl – it’s just pretty awesome that they do. The book and music shop is just beyond the dining area, and the brightness is a sudden contrast to the dark colors of the restaurant. I was greeted by the warm sounds of soul and R&B when I stepped in.

Like the restaurant, the back room is small, cozy, and deeply interesting. You can’t miss the vinyl selection when you walk in. It’s chock full of new releases, reissued classics, used gems, and as of just this past week, a stack of rarities that were once promotional items issued to radio stations. The clerk excitedly told me about some of their recent acquisitions and offered to play any albums that were already open.

For me, looking at records is pretty much just window shopping. I mean, sometimes I wish I had a turntable (plus an additional turntable, and perhaps a microphone). And I can certainly see the throwback appeal of vinyl – after all, how valuable is the convenience of carrying around 10,000 digitally remastered songs in your pocket compared to getting up to flip a record after the first side is done, being careful not to jostle the player in any way so the record won’t skip, hoping it never gets ruined with a scratch, and knowing that if you really love your LP and listen to it all the time, it will eventually wear out? Yeah, let’s not let that medium die.

I know, heresy. Truth be told, there is something special about vinyl, and I do wish I was cool enough to have a record player at home and a carefully chosen selection of favorites to admire and show off to my friends. Like one of my all-time favorite jazz albums…

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If you’re not in the market for vinyl, there’s an excellent CD selection. The selection runs the gamut from new releases to obscure jazz, punk, classic rock, soul, and world music. In other words, pretty much everything. And what I love is that the CDs aren’t separated by genre – they’re just alphabetical. Which, in my opinion, is the way it should be – no boundaries, just music, all part of the same big family. That also seems to be in line with Tres Gatos itself. Sure, we sell tapas, wine, microbrews, books, vinyl, and CDs; what of it? Why should we only stick to one thing?

In the same room are shelves full of books, and the selection is impressive and varied for such a small space.

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Fiction, nonfiction, philosophy, bestsellers, classics, Game of Thrones audiobooks, classic editions of Ian Fleming’s James Bond series…you could easily spend a solid hour or two back here.

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And the best part? You can peruse all these gems with a drink in hand. If you’ve ever spent an evening at home, having mixed up a strong cocktail and put on your favorite CD (or LP) and gotten lost in a good book, I don’t think I need to explain the appeal of this to you. And if you haven’t? Please do.

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Mario and I emerged from our book-music-drink reverie to find that the ladies had ordered some dessert, which we were totally in the mood for at that point. First up was Roasted Peach Cake with wood sorrel (it’s an edible plant; I had to look that up), sherry, and peach ice cream.

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Since tapas is not the kind of meal you’d end with apple pie and vanilla ice cream, this seemed like a wonderfully sweet and well-chosen encore.

But wait, there’s more! What kind of tapas meal would be complete without churros? Served with a hot, spiced chocolate dipping sauce, these little Spanish doughnuts were a decadent way to close out the night.

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Mario and I returned one night after work to check out the bar area, where the bossa nova stylings of Jo ão Gilberto provided an appropriate soundtrack for our evening. For all its top-notch dishes and tasty pseudo-sangria, Tres Gatos also sports a pretty respectable beer selection. The focus here is on microbrews, which is probably no surprise. They only have a few beers on draft, but they’ll please any beer lover with above-average taste. Clown Shoes and Jack’s Abby are the local draft selections.

The bottled selection is a little broader, but sticks to craft beer theme. My first choice was Full Sail Session Lager, a great beer that looks like it recycled some old Red Stripe bottles and slapped a new label on them.

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Sails full, I switched to a High and Mighty Beer of the Gods. I find it hard to resist ordering this whenever I’m in a bar, mainly because I like saying “I’ll have the High and Mighty Beer of the Gods!” in the best Zeus-like tone I can muster. Thankfully, it’s a pretty good beer, too.

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Mario, meanwhile, was completely impressed with a Spanish wine he ordered. Before we left, the awesome and friendly bartender (Myra?) was kind enough to jot down for him the name of the wine, the vineyard, and the year. As we were leaving, two of the six tables were being rearranged to accommodate a “gypsy jazz” band that would be playing later that night. Live music in a space this small would appear to make little sense. But like everything else at Tres Gatos, I have a feeling it works just fine.

Last Call

I don’t go out for tapas often, so I’m not really in a position to say how Tres Gatos’s food measures up to that of other restaurants, nor can I judge its authenticity. (Maybe at some point I’ll have the opportunity to share with you the tale of the most horrid tapas I ever had, the experience of which constitutes one movement of the epic tragicomedy known as “The Worst Vacation I Ever Took.” Another time, perhaps.) What I can say is that the food was fresh and delicious, and I enjoyed every dish we ordered.

But what truly distinguishes Tres Gatos, of course, is that it offers something broader than just drinks and tapas. It may seem strange to have a section of your restaurant devoted to selling books and music; what’s stranger, though, is that none of it feels out of place. Instead, everything here seems to spring from a singular source – a celebration of good taste, in whatever form it appears.

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There’s also a certain consistency to it all. You could describe the food menu the same way you’d describe the beer list and the book and music selection: small, but eclectic; unusual, but not unfamiliar; conceived and executed with great care and a sense of artistry.

Some people, when I’ve told them that the whole books/music thing, say “Oh good idea; they get you drunk, and then you’re more apt to buy something.” Not really. To me, nothing here feels gimmicky or contrived. Just like the experience of sharing interesting dishes with good friends, an evening at Tres Gatos feels like being a guest in the home of a worldly acquaintance who is only too happy to share their passions with you.

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Address: 470 Centre Street, Jamaica Plain

Website:http://tresgatosjp.com/