Towne Stove and Spirits

Towne is the word on the entire town’s lips. Impossible to ignore, Back Bay’s brand new establishment’s stunning and enormous exterior has had everyone gaping since its soft-opening in late June. But when oh when will the sure-to-be hotspot open itself to the public? The website evades the subject, and the telephone number provided continues to be disconnected. Alas, we must rely on rumors, and word on the street is that the doors will open in the next 10 days.

Featuring 300 seats inside and 80 on the patio, the $9 million, 14,000-square foot restaurant in Hynes Convention Center has two floors, three bar areas, three dining rooms, and outdoor seating on the Prudential plaza. As for the interior, we must again put gossip to use. Chowhound’s “Tatsu,” who attended the soft opening, had this to say: “Quite frankly, it is second to none in terms of curbside and inside appeal, not even the Mandarin, and that is quite the architectural boast.” She also noted, “the bar at the entrance rivals all of those on Boylston,” and “massive plate glass windows in every room” offer stunning views, “easily 150 meters across the entire length of Hynes.” The interior features “charming whimsical touches,” but the expansive cement courtyard is “not so gorgeous.”

But let’s get down to what really matters: the food. Created by renowned Boston chefs Lydia Shire (of Locke-Ober) and Jasper White (of the Summer Shack chain), the menu features a grand total of 15 lobster selections, as well as steak, pasta, and tandoori meat dishes from all over the world. But while one might expect expensive cuisine from such an opulent looking restaurant, most entrees ring in at around $27.

With high hopes that the hearsay is accurate and the restaurant will in fact be open by the end of the month, every girl in town will be on the edge of her seat until that seat is at Towne.

B’s Favorite Hotel Bars

The Liberty Lobby Bar – The Liberty Hotel

With sparkling chandeliers, striking catwalks, and sumptuous floor-to-ceiling windows, this bar’s spectacular 90-foot lobby rotunda is blanketed with velvet and leather sofas, usually occupied by the most fashionable and wealthy of Boston’s straight male thirty-somethings eyeing nearby cliques of tipsy yet trendy twenty-something girls who’ve mastered the art of dancing in heels with brimming martinis in hand.

City Bar – Lenox Hotel

This quiet and intimate atmosphere draws a handful of sophisticates each night. Known for its watermelon mojitos and extra dirty martinis, the bar’s ambiance feels a bit like Grandpa’s parlor, but with modern touches like sleek blue accent lighting, and a much chicer crowd, of course.

Bond – The Langham Hotel

If looks can kill, Bond’s certainly got a license to. With soaring ceilings, low seating, and a DJ spinning four nights a week, this bar’s artsy mirrored backdrop distorts reflections of the jaw-dropping, 10-foot crystal chandeliers. The entire space literally glitters; it is perhaps Boston’s most stunning lounge.

Eastern Standard – Hotel Commonwealth

While the 46-foot marble bar has 22 seats, each is as coveted as ever in this crowded Kenmore Square hotspot. The distinctive, retro cocktail menu offers Boston’s most creative libations, with a lengthy, fascinating story behind the name of each.

M Bar & Lounge – The Mandarin Oriental

Boston’s most luxurious hotel has a bar to match, complete with a custom-designed wine wall with over 300 vintage bottles, an extensive cocktail menu, an illuminated glass bar top, romantic banquettes, and dramatic floor-to-ceiling windows. Hand-carved wood blocks on the back bar wall add a touch of rustic elegance.

It’s Haute Outside: Boston’s Top 5 Outdoor Patios

With temperatures in the mid-eighties every day, Boston’s weather is dependably dreamy, at last! For those who spent their winter months hibernating so as to avoid the soul-destroying conditions, it’s officially safe to step outside. But what good is gorgeous weather without cocktails and calamari? In order soak up every precious ray of sunlight, we suggest completely forgoing indoor dining. Newbury Street is the obvious destination for feasting alfresco, as it practically overflows with charming outdoor patios, but when you’ve exhausted favorites like Sonsie and Stephanie’s, try these hidden hotspots:

1. 1. The Yard (215 Charles Street, Beacon Hill)

Most of us are all too familiar with the Liberty Hotel’s dazzling, ultra-posh lobby bar and its perpetual swarm of Boston’s crème de la crème.  Yard, the bar’s outdoor patio, is a lesser-known gem. Open only for summer months (M-Th 4pm-9pm, Fr-Sa 4pm-10pm, closed Sunday), this urban oasis has low, lounge-like seating and a secluded, peaceful ambiance. Not only can you enjoy oysters, shrimp ceviche, and a cocktail or twelve in the evenings, The Yard also offers complimentary yoga at 10am on Saturdays, and features outdoor screenings of popular films at 7:30pm on Mondays.

1. 2. Casa Romero (30 Gloucester Street, Back Bay)

Tracking down this place is no easy feat; its entrance is simply a door in a dark alley. But this door leads you directly into the heart of Mexico. The buried restaurant’s adorably tiny, sunken patio glimmers with the flickering rhythms of candle flames and white lights, making it the most romantic space in all the city. Wash down authentic Mexican food (the mole dishes are particularly fabulous) with a few icy margaritas, and you’ll never want to step out the door and back into Boston.

1. 3. Trattoria Il Panino (11 Parmenter Street, North End)

Tucked into a tiny North End side street, this surprisingly spacious patio is one of the area’s few dining destinations wherein patrons aren’t crammed in like sardines. The intimate outdoor garden is utterly enchanting, and the earthy Mediterranean cuisine from Italy’s Amalfi Coast is even better. Be it a pro or con for you, the garden also allows guests to enjoy cigarettes and cigars at the table.

1. 4. The Daily Catch (2 Northern Avenue, South Boston)

This Oceanside restaurant offers a total escape from the hustle and bustle of urban life, despite its breathtaking views of the city skyline. Just feet from the cool water of the Boston Harbor, the patio’s ambiance is reminiscent of a Nantucket vacation, and the Sicilian style seafood and pasta is almost as sensational as the atmosphere. Do not be daunted by the bizarre façade of the “Tinta di Calamari,” a homemade pasta drenched in pitch black squid ink; all who try it immediately join its cult-like following.

1. 5. The Beehive (541 Tremont Street, South End)

Rated one of the “Top 100 Jazz Clubs in the World” by Downbeat Magazine and hailed as a must-see venue by Travel & Leisure, Zagat, and the New York Times, the Beehive is an always-buzzing, funky underground Boho eatery and bar featuring nightly live music that includes a mix of Jazz, Blues, R&B, Reggae, Latin, Country, Cabaret, and Burlesque. The distinctive 80-seat patio, called “the BEEch” has an urban picnic theme; gourmet food is served in packages and jars tucked into picnic baskets to share.

Mix It Up @ Nantucket Natural Oils

Most Bostonians associate Hotel Commonwealth (500 Comm Ave) with its popular restaurant Eastern Standard, noted for its lemon-drizzled fried calamari and ice-cold Arnold Palmers. Tania and I enjoy a splash of vodka in the latter, and once tipsily teetered into the hotel after our weekly lunch date. We were anticipating a wad of second-rate souvenir shops, but ended up stumbling (quite literally) into a true Beantown hotspot.

Nantucket Natural Oils felt a bit mystical at first, as we beheld the floor to ceiling shelves dense with tiny glass bottles filled with mysterious-looking potions. We half-expected to discover a witch lurking in the corner, and were taken aback when greeted by a friendly young man from behind the counter. We smiled back, and then began to marvel over each bottle with drunken enthusiasm, not at all restricted by our complete cluelessness. We did not know whether these strange liquids were hair products, medication, or beverages, but we were intrigued nonetheless.

Eventually, the man kindly took it upon himself to explain to our drunk asses where we were: in a specialty fragrance shop, containing the exact scents of every men’s and women’s designer name fragrance. The sole difference is that here, the alcohol (which typically stings our nostrils initially, seeming “too strong,” then quickly fades to “nonexistent”) is replaced with an essential oil, allowing for the purest and longest-lasting scent possible. Ordinarily, aroma lingers on the skin for about three hours, but here, a minuscule dab is guaranteed to last all day. With this in mind, I decided that the price (about $45 per 0.25 OZ) is not terribly atrocious.

It doesn’t end there. Nantucket Natural Oils also encourages custom scent creation, or the mixing of several fragrances to form your signature. It may seem like a complex task, but if Paris Hilton and Britney Spears can do it, so can you!

…and so can a monkey.

…and so can a rock.

Anway, after you’ve whipped up your perfect whiff, why not take it to next level and select a hand-blown bottle ($40-$90) in which to store it? (This is what the salesman asked me with a smirky smile.)

I’ll tell you why not: because $40-$90 is WAY too much to dish out for a perfume bottle, especially considering the additional $150 I’d have to spend to fill it. Plus, I’ll be honest: they aren’t even cute, so I recommend dodging the expense and saving your extra coin to host a party here. Guests enjoy mouthwatering platters of Eastern Standard’s fingerfood while fashioning their fragrance, making for an absolutely perfect girls’ day out.

To sum it up: You need not a witch to create a magic potion.

Fall In Love @ (& with) Tangerino

If Kate Hudson jumped off a bridge, I’d be right behind her…and something tells me I wouldn’t be alone. In fact, I reason that you, too, would at least consider following in the footsteps of the world’s MILFiest MILF, who charmed us to the bone in roles like Penny Lane and Andie Anderson.

Below: Anne Hathaway and Kate Hudson, currently in Boston filming Bride Wars (keep an eye out!)

That being said, when I found out Tangerino was one of Kate’s favorite Boston hotspots, I knew I needed to dine there a-sap. Located at 83 Main St. in Charlestown, it demands a pretty steep cab fare, but the minute you set foot in this divinely seductive, ornately romantic Moroccan restaurant slash Hookah lounge, money matters become a thing of the past; so much so that you might find yourself ordering $100 glasses of wine and $50 appetizers as your host seats you, trickling lavender-scented water on your hands from a fancy silver teakettle.

Awarded one of Boston’s top ten romantic restaurants, Tangerino indulges in every luxury when it comes to decor. Lavish tapestries, pillows, and lanterns fill each room, as do gorgeous antique tables and even belly dancers (7:30pm to 11pm). The vibe is utterly mesmerizing, distinctive in its combination of dark sexiness and fairy-tale allure. My girlfriends and I were captivated.

“I want someone to propose to me here,” I said, a little tipsy after my third glass. A collective “Ohmygod, that would be AMAZING!” followed.
“No, I mean right now!” I said.

So Suez and I darted into one of the nearby, wildly stunning booths, drew the curtains, and fake-proposed to one another. Only truly romantic restaurants like Tangerino possess the capability to create the illusion of love between any two people, even allowing for temporary changes in sexual orientation.

Below: Our table’s belly dancer

The menu offers authentic foods such as spiced lamb and seven vegetable couscous, as well as contemporary dishes like seared duck confit with foie gras and roasted red snapper. My taste palette is quite basic, and I do not often enjoy foreign cuisine; however, I considered my exotic entree not “weird,” but uniquely satisfying. Even Allie, who believes sandwiches are “bizarre,” branched out and ordered lamb, which she absolutely loved (or was she merely beguiled into thinking so by the dazzling ambience?)

Below: The gang and I. Everyone wants to be us.

After dinner, drift into the evocative 18+ hookah lounge for an evening of supreme relaxation. On weekends, you’ll need to come early enough to reserve your own hookah; word is, the lounge fills up FAST. While waiting for a hookah, though, smoking cigarettes and cigars is permitted, and you’ll find it’s well-worth the wait. Smoking beautiful hookahs, surrounded by beautiful people, in a beautiful room, you just might find yourself a bit overwhelmed. Just remember, too much of a good thing is great.

To sum it up: Seductive decor, exotic music, Moroccan masterpieces, and a chill hookah lounge make Tangerino Boston’s hottest date spot.

The Girly Girl’s Guide to Fenway

I’m not a fan of sports.

That’s the understatement of the year. Let’s be serious: I fucking hate sports. Athleticism and I are ancient enemies, and have been ever since the birth of Middle School’s cruel “Skill Tests,” which are clearly designed solely to humiliate the awkward and/or fat kids. Honestly, can you think of anything more demeaning than being forced to climb a rope in front of 60 viciously judgemental tweens?

If you answered yes, you’re what I call a “Skill Test Prodigy,” and are clearly designed solely to further humiliate the awkward and/or fat kids. You should be ashamed of yourself, and your ridiculously high standing long jump score.

For me, the absolute worst was the “Free Throw.” We were each alloted three minutes to score as many baskets as possible, all while our savage and bloodthirsty peers looked on. Brilliant, huh? Not surprisingly when considering the conditions, I scored a perfect ZERO. Everyone was stupefied.

“That was a fluke,” the PE teacher said, masking her snicker with a bogus cough. “I’ll give you another try.”

Did she genuinely believe she was doing me a favor? More likely, she found my astonishing incompetence to be amusing, and simply wanted three more minutes of unsurpassable entertainment.

“I’d rather just take the zero.”

“Well I’d rather not be a gym teacher, but I ain’t whinin’ about it.”

Nine minutes later, I hobbled off the court. I had made 1% of my shots and lost 100% of my dignity. A passionate hatred for everything resembling athletics fermented that day, and has not since dwindled in the slightest.

But when I was offered 10th row tickets to the Red Sox/Yankees game last night, I decided it was time for sports and I to make amends. Watching them is far eaiser than playing them, but still requires a few Know-How’s. I thus present to you The Girly Girl’s Guide to Fenway:

1. Disguise youself as a die-hard fan @ the Yawkey Way Store, the souvenir store across from Fenway. With over 100 sweatshirt designs to choose from, you’re sure to find something cute, but that’s not to say it’ll be cheap; one zip-up sweatshirt and a baseball cap cost me $150. Don’t I look legit, though?

While displaying your fanhood is important indeed, warmth should be your prime concern. For me, staying warm meant wearing two sweatshirts, knee high skiing socks, gloves, a hat, and two very heavy blankets.

2. Get drunk. Every time you polish off a beer, stack a new one inside its empty cup. This is a good idea for three reasons: 1) it makes you look eco-friendly, 2) your hands will stay warmer because of the thick barrier, and 3) you’ll always be aware of how many drinks you’ve had. When your stack of cups becomes too high to handle, it’s probably time to stop drinking anyway.

3. Familiarize yourself with the art of heckling. This step is critical and thus requires its own small series of steps. All examples were heard last night.

• Be brief. Remember that as a heckler, you’re performing for the sections around you. If your planned burn is a 5-sentencer with the punchline at the end, your audience will likely start laughing before you’re through. In said case, they’re laughing AT your drunk ass, not with it.

  Sufficient burn: “Yankees suck!”
  Mere blabber: “Hey Yankees, you’re from New York and everyone thinks you’re a bunch of overpaid prima donnas who haven’t performed in the post season in eight years. Basically, when it comes down to it, you pretty much just suck!”

• Attacks on a professional athlete’s personal life are open season. In fact, some of the greatest hecklers in the world get their material from athletes’ exploits AWAY from the field.

  Sufficient Personal Burn 1: “Hey Clemens, Canseco’s having another bash. B.Y.O.’Roids. Can I get a ride?”
  Sufficient Personal Burn 2:
  Vendor1: “POPCORN heah!”
  Vendor2 “Cotton Candy heah!”
  Heckler: “Hey A-Rod: Steroids heah!”
  

• Of course, uncertainties about an athlete’s personal life can be equally effective.

  Sufficient Personal Burn 1: “Gaaaaaaaay-Rod!”
  Sufficient Personal Burn 2 (Team Attack):
  Heckler1: “Jeter, you suck!”
  Heckler2: “Yeah! And A-Rod, you swallow!”

• *Bonus: Throw in a Boston accent for added effect.
  
• *Also note: The drunker you are, the wittier you are. Even if this isn’t actually the case, you’ll be drunk enough to believe it is.
  
• *Also note: Remember to harass not only the opposing team, but also any fans who may be in attendence.

4. Eventually, you’ll get a bad case of the drunk munchies. Stick to the basics with a Fenway Frank. Or, if you can muster up the nerve required to order something entitled “Fried Dough,” I’ve heard it tastes exactly like heaven. As far as Italian Sausages go, you’re better off buying one from the sausage vendor on Lansdowne St.

All in all, Fenway park is most certainly a hotspot. Red Sox players are sexy, and so are many of their drunk fans. Plus, it’s actually quite an entertaining game. Just be sure to dress warm, heckle wisely, and watch out for balls flying at your nose (“there goes your social life!”).

Catfight @ The Cactus Club

I tend to get extremely competitive when sharing either of two things: 1) chocolate or 2) scorpion bowls. So, when my group suggested ordering nachos with the Blue Mayan bowl, I secretly celebrated, hoping they’d be distracted enough by the food not to notice that I was downing the equivalent of 10 margaritas in one very long sip through a straw…and much to my enjoyment, they were. Retrospect won’t stop whining about this.

Anyway, the girls and I were sufficiently smashed (me especially) when a group of boys pulled up chairs to join our table. I introduce myself to the boy next to me:

“Hi, I’m Brittany.”
“Hi. How do I explain this…well, my last girlfriend went to Harvard.”
“Ooh, good for her! But how is that relevant?”
“You have blond hair.”
“True.”
“Blond-haired girls aren’t smart. That’s why I like her. She seems smart.” (gestures towards Suez, the only brunette at the table, who happens to be a natural blonde.)
“Is English your first language?”
“No.”
“OOH! You must be mixed up. You just told me that I’m not smart because I have blond hair, and that she is because she has brown hair.”
“Exactly!”
“Wow.”
“So…I just don’t think we should talk. We wouldn’t see eye-to-eye.”

I head to the bathroom to recover from the overwhelming ignorance I’d just witnessed. Suez comes along, and I angrily explain the story.

“I can’t believe anyone would be dumb enough to think that, let alone say it to my face. He straight-up REFUSED to talk to me because I’m blond!”
“Brittany! Just because you decide someone is stupid doesn’t mean you’re better than them!” Suez snapped.
“Shouldn’t you be directing this comment at the boy?!”
“No, Brit! You need to chill out and stop judging everyone!”

I storm over to my friend Allie, who has been flirting with Patriot’s player Steve Neal.

“I’m leaving,” I say.
“But you’re wearing my shoes.”
“Here, take them,” I say as I kick them off.
“But you’re wearing my shirt too.”
I manage to slide it off under my coat in what I imagined to be a discrete manner.
“And my bra.”
“Allie, are you serious?!”
“It’s my only strapless!”

I fling it at her, whipping her in the face. We now have the attention of every male in the bar. I’m just praying Steve Neal doesn’t get involved. I devise a plan of attack just in case he does, though: bite him and scratch him simultaneously (my only hope of getting out alive).

“Oh God…I’m sorry Al, I didn’t mean for that to hit you.” I look over at Suez, who appears to be eating up every word Bastard McBlondeHater is saying. (“Last year, I made over $100,000, and my brother drives a Ferrari.” How he managed to slide that into the conversation is still beyond me. Maybe if I dyed my hair brown I’d understand.)

“What do you people put in your nachos?!” I demand. One of my friends is flirting with a 350 pounder, and the other with a horse’s ass. (Admittedly, I might not have hated him so much if I was brunette at the time. But still.)

I suddenly feel something swipe my face. I look at Allie – she’s giggling. I look at the ground – her bra is lying at my feet. I impulsively chuck it back at her, and she chucks it back at me. We then stopped throwing it and start simply whipping each other in the face with it. Our once light-hearted play fight morphed into a full on, rage-filled catfight. Suez tries to break it up, and I push her away yelling something about this being a blondes-only fight. Furious, she dives in.

The next morning, we all admitted the brawl was alcohol’s fault. Maybe I misunderstood the boy; afterall, he did have an accent, and I am blond (and thus not smart enough to comprehend one). Maybe Suez misunderstood my recount; afterall, I was probably slurring like a crazed monster. Who the hell knows.

Catfights aside, the Cactus Club is a great bar that boasts Boston’s Best Margarita and some pretty decent tex mex. But PLEASE beware the three B’s (blue mayan bowls, bastard mcblondehaters, and bras). Combining them is a very dangerous decision. Instead, I recommend an exclusively girl’s night out. The caramel apple martinis are absolutely fabulous, and let’s face it: the male species is highly overrated.