#48 - Dinner at No.9 Park

I added dinner at No.9 Park near the end of my still very much a work in progress Working Life List. Having lived in this city for over ten years, I've been fortunate enough to have made it to a lot of restaurants. Sure, some have turned over faster than I can blink (though I always imagine those that don't last were never really that good to begin with) and there are certainly plenty of restaurants that are out of my normal price range. Still, I've set foot in most of the ones I've been dying to get to - even if was just to have a cocktail with friends because none of us could afford an entire meal.

It used to be that Mistral in the South End was at the top of my "must dine at" list. Then my mother graciously took us there for my 28th birthday. After that feast, it became time for a new "must get to" spot to climb to the top of my mental list. While I have hopped among a few fancy-pants eateries, on a few fancy-pants occasions, I'd never made it to the exclusive, swanky, No. 9 Park, a restaurant nestled underneath the shadow of the capitol building, across from Commons, on Beacon Hill.

Twice a year, Boston eateries host Restaurant Week. The idea is for the restaurant to create an affordable prix-fixe menu so that people with an -ahem- budget can get into spots they might not normally be able to afford. (Of course, it also helps that Restaurant Weeks are always planned for March and August, two notoriously slow months in the food biz.)

When Restaurant Week was announced this year, two co-workers and I immediately began emailing. Our correspondence went a bit like this:
"Where should we go?"
"Let's try for No. 9 Park this year."
"You have to call months in advance to get into that place."
"But how fabulous! I literally just wrote that down on my 'to-do in my lifetime goal list!'
"I love that you have a to-do in your life list."
"Thanks."
"Well, they open at 10am. I am setting a reminder in my Outlook calendar to call at 10:01am every morning until we get in."
"Go big or go home, guys. Let's do this."

And then? Three weeks later of phone calls every morning Monday through Friday? My friend did it. Dinner reservations for 4 at 8:30pm, March 23rd. No.9 Park.
Hurrah!

No matter how excited you are about trying a new tres chic restaurant, it can be hard to motivate on a Tuesday night. (Mostly because we all know Wednesday morning will sneak up faster than we'd like.) Decadent nights call for decadent measures. In this case? A big, baubled necklace. And bright, red lipstick.

I don't mess around with this kind of stuff, you know.

Just to prove all that lipstick didn't go to my head, I did don the Hunter boots to get me there. After all, it was pouring rain. You know what they say. You can put the girl in the city, but you can't shake that New England practicality. Or something like that.


Now! The dinner!

I met my girlfriend at the bar (after both she and the valet witnessed me taking those outdoor shots. Whoops. Way to blow the cool kid cover, Kel.) She gave me a hug and immediately launched into one of our fears of the night. "Kel, there are wines on this list that I don't even know how to pronounce. I've never even heard of some of these."

Before she and I could worry too much about looking like we had no business being in this fancy establishment (a heads up! I just threw in some fore-shadowing!) our other two friends arrived. The hostess came over to tell us the gentleman from our party were here and she'd be seating us immediately. The four of us followed her into the tiny, exclusive dining room. As we were seated I noted instantly that a) it was surprisingly packed for a random rainy Tuesday b) we were easily the youngest people in the room and c) the dining room was well, stuffy. (And I don't mean that it was hot.)


Our waiter came over, handing off cocktail and wine and dinner menus. One of my friends shared a quick story that all made us laugh and then we opened our menus. Inside there is no restaurant week prix fixe menu. Nope, none. There is a menu filled with all sorts of delicious sounding entrees, starting at the low, low price of $40 a pop. And that's just for the vegetarian pasta dish.

Gulp.

Tom looked across the table at Kimmy. "You don't have a prix fixe menu either?"
She shook her head.
"Ok," he says. "I'll take one for the team. I'll ask."
When our waiter returned, Tom explained that we were looking for the prix-fix menu.
"Oh." replied the waiter. "We actually have a policy that we don't serve the restaurant week menu in the dining room."
The four of us stared at him.
"Well," explained Tom graciously, "when we called to make the reservation they didn't mention that policy."
"Let me go get my manager."

Ten minutes into our dinner and we're having to speak to the manager.

And so, feeling like kids that have suddenly found themselves out on a date at a restaurant they can't afford (Ha! Because that's what was going on!) we sat for a moment, slightly dumbfounded, slightly embarrassed, and mostly confused. If its such a big deal that we not eat in your special dining room why wouldn't you clarify something like that, eh?

Things have a way of working out for the best though, don't they? Once the hostess came over to our table and explained if we wanted the prix-fixe menu we had to eat on the bar side of the restaurant (well, pardon moi!) we got up and moved from our table. Slightly pretentious? You bet. Embarrassing? Not so much, really. Hilarious? Indeed.


My friends and I ended up eating right at the bar, since it was now 9pm, we were starved, in desperate need of a drink, and had no desire to wait for a "bar table" to open up. This ended up being an excellent decision. Rick was our bartender, server, and new best friend. I haven't laughed that hard in a long time and he took good care of us. On top of our tasty meal, Rick made sure random food and alcoholic treats appeared out of the blue as we whiled away the night. As soon as we sat down he concocted a sort of rum aperitif without a moments hesitation - on the house. He took our orders with a smile and brought our bottle of pinot noir instantly. He also suggested other complementary wine pairings as we ate and when I (somewhat forgetting that whole we have to go to work early tomorrow thing) suggested we all get champagne to go with our deserts, he happily obliged, quickly suggesting the cheapest bottle of champagne on the menu. (God love him.)

This is us - bartender included - at the end of the night. My lipstick is worn off, we're all stuffed to the brim with good food, too much wine and champagne. And it's almost midnight. On a Tuesday.

My dinner at No.9 Park was nothing like what I'd anticipated it would be. And yet, in a way, it was better. I laughed harder than I ever have at any place that fancy, my friends and I had a terrific time, and I like to think we gave that stuffy ol' dining room a run for its money. Something tells me we had more fun dining at the bar than any of those folks who didn't rely on the prix-fixe menu to get in the door.

I just hope they could hear our bubbly laughter one room over.