I met my good friend Maria Sharapova for lunch yesterday. (No, not that one. Maria Sharapova is my friend’s blog code name; I call her this because she is a) sick at tennis and b) super hot.) Maria and I decided to check out The Back Bay Social Club, on Boylston, for food. I’m not sure if this place is cool or not, or the best decision for my first entry on Beantown food spots; essentially, my decision to try it out was based on it looking vaguely French inside, and the fact that there wasn’t grey ice-slush piled up by the booths. In February, those are pretty much my standards. For anything.
I’ve known Maria Sharapova since I was fifteen, so lunch was going to be enjoyable no matter what; lots of old stories to re-hash and stupid stuff to gossip about. And despite the raging head cold I’ve got going on—it sort of feels like that creepy monkey from Toy Story 3 is playing the cymbals in my nasal passages 24/7—we had a great time. Back Bay Social Club has a wonderful vibe to it: it’s huge and well-lit, and if you’re into the brassiere eco-food rustic thing, which I am an admitted sucker for, it’s pretty much heaven. Unfortunately, my food wasn’t that great. Fortunately, for anyone that likes this place and/or wants to try it out, this was probably my fault.
You see, I love BLT’s. I LOVE THEM. They’re my go-to order choice in any dining situation, whether fancy or low-key, and I often have erotic dreams about them. But for some reason when I ordered at BBSC, I decided to betray myself. I by-passed what looked like their very delicious version of the American classic, and instead went with their slow-cooked pork sandwich, and the soup of the day. The soup of the day was very yummy (split pea), though not hot enough if we’re going to be super honest—whaaaat I can’t like my soup hot??? Sorrrrry—but the sandwich….um….I’m sure it was a great slow-cooked pork sandwich, but turns out, I don’t really like slow-cooked pork. At all. I hate it. Somehow in my deranged state I must have thought for a second I was at a BBQ joint in Memphis and ordering a pulled-pork sandwich in BBQ sauce (which I LURVE), but, alas, this was not the case, and my taste buds suffered. The pork in my sandwich reminded me of the steak in philly cheese steak sandwiches, and that ‘ish grosses me out. I freakin’ love steak, but that kind of “steak” is so smelly and greasy and odd-looking…I mean, no wonder Flyers fans are so mean. Wah wah wah; I’m an bad-ordering idiot, and I was totally lusting over Maria’s Ham melt the whole time. (Which she thoroughly enjoyed, I will add.) That being said, the bread my sandwich came on was de-lish, as were the adorable and scrumptious FRIES IN A BOX that it came with. Good fries in ketchup solve all the world’s problems.
So even though my food was sub-par and smelly, I would totally go back again. It seems like the perfect place to wear black tights and maybe shoes that hurt your feet a little, and order a cocktail, or a beer and their burger and pretend their isn’t a Dunkin Donuts right near-by. I’m such a sucker for red leather booths and black and white floors and big mirrors with specials written on them. Chocolate Raspberry Martini, YES PLEASE!
Hugs and kisses,