The Backroom at Moody’s – Number 31

We’re driving to a restaurant.  Not because we’re feeling lazy and can’t be bothered with the underground or walking, but because The Backroom at Moody’s is in Waltham, a 30 minute drive from downtown Boston.  It’s not putting us off, in fact we decided to opt for an early dinner and make the most of the excursion by first of all going for a walk in nearby Noanet Woodlands.

A slight off putter though, is that it is a delicatessen…with a restaurant out back.  I’m thinking…basic.  

On arrival, we are taken into the back room (it literally is that), and we are rather wowed.  This is a bright airy space with large windows facing the evening sun as it sets.  The décor is calm; wood and metal, high ceilings and a very cool looking bar.  I am already piqued and previous expectations have already been greatly exceeded.

As I am the designated driver (surprise, surprise), I stick to one glass of bubbles at the start of the meal.  Clark opts for a Manhattan, “Would you like the small or large?” our very helpful and chatty waiter asks…if you know Clark, it is not a question that actually needs to be asked. “er, large?”. Captain subtext “why are you asking such a stupid question, duh”. The drinks are brought over along with a bowl of deep fried pasta coated in a cheesy powdery mix (trust me this was amazing).  The Manhattan goes down rather well, especially as there are 3 maraschino cherries at the bottom of the glass doing their darndest to soak up the alcohol at a rate quicker than Clark can drink it.  It makes for a boozy treat at the end (I may have tried one. Hic)

As The Backroom at Moody’s is a delicatessen, we thought we should try some deli stuff.  Cue a plate of bourbon and bacon salami, Bohemian pâté, cheese and pickles.  The rest of the fare was Italian inspired, with flatbreads and pastas featured prominently.  Clark is a huge fan of pizza (his words, “I could eat pizza every day”), so we tried the Margherita flatbread, which was beautifully soft bread and flavoursome toppings.  

We couldn’t resist trying the carbonara as we were assured it was “proper”, i.e. made with eggs and not with cream (there shouldn’t be cream, the Italians would be waving their hands around and ‘mama mia’-ing in disbelief – quite rightly).

We certainly had a great meal, spanning over a couple of hours, helped all the more by the second Manhattan that Clark thought would be ridiculous not to have.  I, on the other hand had to suffice with a cocktail…virgin.  Aah, the life of the designated driver.  Sigh.