While Eat Boutique is not necessarily a site where we discuss the politics of food, this subject matters to any one who cares about what they eat, where that food comes from, and the people that produce that food. In that vein, we thought you all might be interested in learning more about a new documentary about the rising movement of Americans who are seeking to re-invent our food system. The film, called FRESH, celebrates the farmers, purveyors and consumers who are taking matters into their own hands. The documentary also serves as a guide to empower people like us to take action in small and simple ways that can make a big difference.

To celebrate the release of the movie in the greater Boston area, a series of events and farm-to-table dinners have been planned. Last week, a group of local food advocates, including Willow Blish from Slow Food Boston, John Lee from Allandale Farm, J.J Gonson from Cuisine en Locale, and Jeff Morin from City Feed and Supply, served on a panel to discuss their roles in the local food movement.

When the evening was opened up for questions, it was clear that the people in the room last night were frustrated. From discussions covering the state of food served in our schools, to the affordability of farmers’ market produce, to food deserts, there is certainly much to cause anger. However, as John Lee, the owner/farmer of Allandale Farm said last night, five years ago, there never would have been a 100+ crowd gathered to listen and discuss the state of local food. Five years ago, it was almost impossible for Lee to sell produce that wasn’t tightly wrapped in cellophane, with all of the leaves chopped off and no sign that it actually came from the ground. Things are changing for the better, and rather than dismissing this recent interest in our food as a trend, we should continue to educate ourselves and those around us about the food that we eat.

While the problem is extremely multi-faceted, the message was clear: vote with your food purchases. Every time we buy food, we are making a significant choice. As they say, money talks. As much as you can, buy food that has been produced by small-scale farms and within your region. Connect with those farmers, know from where your food comes. Your body will thank you and you can enjoy that food even more, knowing that your farmers have been paid a good, fair wage and that your food hasn’t traveled, un-ripened, from thousands of miles away in an 18-wheeler. If you can’t make it to a farmers’ market frequently, start being that squeaky wheel. Ask for fresh, local produce at your local grocery store. The more consumers that ask for locally grown produce, the more likely that something will happen.

What else can YOU do? For starters, you can learn more about the movement by seeing the movie FRESH, but you’ll have to hurry. In the greater Boston area, you can see the film at the Brattle Theatre in Harvard Square until June 25. While FRESH week’s activities are nearly over, you can visit any of the restaurants that hosted farm-to-table dinners and talks and enjoy quality, local food.

We’d love to open up this discussion to our readers. What simple changes have you made to better connect with the food that you eat?  Do you know an un-sung hero in the local food movement that is doing amazing work? Share with us below!

I needed a break. I’m sure you know the drill. You work, work, work 60 hours each week and forget that, wow, the seasons are changing right before your eyes and, wow, you’re so lucky to live in Massachusetts. But I had forgotten all that and desperately needed a mini-vacation, a moment to reconnect with my husband and appreciate the glorious summer that’s beginning to cloak one of my favorite parts of the world, the New England coastline.

Since a real vacation is not in my immediate future and I was itching for a tiny break, I knew the husband could see an idea in my eye when I returned from lunch with one of my favorite foodie people, Heather Atwood, a wonderful lady, food columnist at the Gloucester Daily Times, and sometimes-writer for this very site. She had just met the team at Market Restaurant in Gloucester, Massachusetts and tasted their delicious menu; I was urged to visit as soon as possible.

Gloucester is about 45 minutes from Boston, but only half that from me, so I made an early reservation and zipped out to the seashore on Saturday evening. As the traffic began to build up (as it’s wont to do near the beach), I worried a bit. I didn’t want a busy beach experience, I simply wanted to spend a quiet evening staring at some bobbing boats and devouring some local food. Good, local food. If the traffic didn’t stress me out enough, the anticipation of visiting a new restaurant that had been open only two days did worry me. The hubby and I really needed a chance to breathe and appreciate life, and a bad meal wasn’t going to aid in our relief.

Market Restaurant isn’t exactly in downtown Gloucester. It’s in the village of Annisquam, out on this little interior harbor called Lobster Cove. It’s the type of village that is, as Heather puts it, quite “pure.” (I wondered what she meant, and totally got it the moment we drove into town.) Annisquam is primarily a residential neighborhood, but it does have one restaurant, one little spot on the dock that was recently occupied by this energetic twosome who have some fabulous resumes, including gigs at Alice Waters legendary Chez Panisse in Berkeley, California.

As we turned the bend toward the restaurant, the skies suddenly opened up, letting loose a steady stream of fat rain drops and a few pounds of thunder. It was beautiful and frustrating at the same time. I believe in signs and a downpour was the distinct sign that something big might happen. Well, it totally did. I had one of the most refreshing and friendliest evenings in a long, long time.

Before I even tasted a morsel, I fell in love with the very modest restaurant decor. This joint is small, with seating for about 30 guests, and many of those guests are served at a long bar. The walls are covered in a mellow yellow and warm almost-periwinkle blue, colors I somehow firmly associate with the seaside. The woods in the room are all blond and the tables are so sweet, each pressed and laminated with maps of the region.

The food was as modest as the decor, but in the best possible way. My husband’s pounded tuna carpaccio was sweet, tart and full of texture, thanks to some crispy-fried shallots. It was so pretty and pure on the plate, tempting me to sneak fork-fulls when he was busy staring out at the harbor. I stared out the window too, and was especially touched when a bride and groom jumped onto their sailboat and proceeded to sail off toward their new life… and their reception around the curve. I had a flash of my own wedding, also held on a cove, and smiled before I dug into my dish.

My first course was as pretty as my hubby’s. Imagine a white cafe-style plate, thick and weighty as if it belongs in a roadside diner, but loaded with barely cooked and lightly seasoned shaved asparagus, radicchio, soft-boiled eggs and a crunchy homemade romesco sauce. The pretty pink radish set it all off beautifully… and reminded me that my spicy gems will be ready for harvest next week.

Our next courses were so special too. My salmon was gently cooked (poached? baked?) with butter and potatoes and fava beans and fresh dill and more butter. I couldn’t have been more pleased with the soft dish, each bite sprinkled with fresh local dill sprigs. The hubby loves potatoes and kept nibbling mine. That was fine. I wasted no time lapping up the herby aioli that accompanied his seafood cakes, lightly fried, full of lobster and scallops and barely anything else. I believe they took the position that when you have seafood this fresh, you don’t need much else.

Market Restaurant is very new, so their liquor license is still in progress. That was no bother to us, because we came prepared with a luscious bottle of Hendry Primitivo from our favorite vineyard in Carneros, a region of Napa Valley. The bottle was a precious souvenir from our honeymoon. We keep a small stash of Hendry wines in the bottom of our wine rack (the special spot, no?) and only grab a bottle when the moment moves us. Every moment at Market Restaurant definitely moved us. We felt lucky to live in a region that was finally getting its due, full of fresh local product, meats and grains that would compel seriously inspired chefs to take on an old lobster shack. More pointedly, chefs who would take something small and make it very big, all the while keeping it small… if you follow my drift.

While the food touched our hearts, we were far more impressed by Market’s gift for delivering gentle hospitality. We were seated fairly immediately. But for those forced to wait a few, they were invited to do so on a beautiful deck. With a glass of wine in hand and that gentle breeze, I would have waited all night.

The moment I sat down, my server Lauren (hello, Lauren!) smiled her sweet smile and pointed out that she recognized me from the prior day. In fact, she was in the very same restaurant where Heather and I had eaten lunch, in the same room when Heather urged me to visit Market Restaurant. I love coincidences. Between the downpour and the familiar woman walking us through our meal, the signs were stacking up in our favor.

Lauren was a delight, but so was every staff person in that small room. Everyone was friendly and almost lit up from within. It seemed I wasn’t the only one who felt lucky; the staff seemed united, happy to be making great experiences for each guest. (You can follow Market’s owners/founders on Twitter here.)

The little signs didn’t stop there. Two other little strokes of genius will keep Market in my memory. First, I always celebrate super salty butter and when a restaurant serves creamy butter loaded with delicate salt, I feel loved with each brush of the good stuff on my crusty bread. Market serves bread from A.J. King in Salem, Massachusetts. A.J. King makes some great bread and the butter only made it shine more.

The next special little sign was the milk served with my coffee. Both the coffee and milk were lovely and local, but better yet, the milk was served in the cutest little glass bottles labeled as though they were from, get this, Normandie. As in, France. As in, where I lived for the early part of this year. As in, it may not mean much to others but for me, it was a gentle reminder of my time over there. It hit a memory in the best possible way, and stuck my entire Market experience into my memory as well, way back there, in the spot where you just don’t forget for a long, long time.

Our dinner at Market was really wonderful, and the entire experience moved me to want to cook. (Don’t you love it when that happens? When a chef or restaurant or experience sparkles enough to make you say, “I want to do that. I bet if I focused, I could do that!”) So I spent today focused on making that herby aioli. As members of the Cape Ann Fresh Catch weekly distribution program, we get piles of amazing fish from just off the coast of Gloucester every week. I knew that herby aioli would go well with any of it, so made a large batch packed with herbs from my garden, local eggs from my farm (a.k.a., my community-supported agriculture program) and lots of olive oil. It wasn’t perfect, but cooking never is. I’ve stashed it away in my fridge for our fish later this week.

So while the food and hospitality and decor were all very lovely, Market restaurant won’t be remembered for all those things individually. I’ll remember the smiles from the staff, the bride and groom on the boat, and the downpour that finally broke for the sun to shine down on this little cove. I’ll remember the vacation vibe radiating from all the guests and from one previously stressed-out husband and wife (us!). I’ll remember and remake that aioli all summer long, and perhaps twist it up and make it mine. And I’m certainly bringing all my summer visitors out to Market Restaurant, so they can make their own little memories.

Not one month ago, my yard was three empty wooden boxes held together by nails and pounds of soil. My pea stone surround was seeing signs of wear with lots of weeds and grass poking through trying to taste the deliciously warm sun. Even my garden bench, a polished-up find from the local dump, was sad. Neither empty raised bed nor worn pea stones nor sad garden bunch could hold me back!

Upon return from Paris, I was gifted a third raised bed as a welcome present from my hubby (he knows me well) and accepted the challenge eagerly, drawing up plans, sketches, lists, visions and recipes for all the delicious produce nature would soon gift me. Though it takes four months to adequately benefit from a juicy heirloom harvest — hello, tomatoes! — I try to plan out my beds such that I’m reaping fairly immediate gratification.

This year’s garden is already showing signs of progress and will soon be overflowing with the following: four different types of lettuces, including red leaf, frisee and arugula; Cocozelle zucchini (a tiny Italian variety); two varieties of tomatillos; lemongrass; chives (that survived last year’s frost); Italian parsley; eggplant (the Hansel and Fairytale varieties, so darling); cabbage; three types of beans (black, purple and snap peas); two precious varieties of radishes; rainbow swiss chard; two hot peppers, including my beloved serano pepper; two types of carrots (Cosmic Purple and Little Fingers); rhubarb; and, four varieties of tomatoes (San Marzano, Hillbilly, Sungold and Zapotec).

I also tossed in some flowers for color, so the beds will be dotted with nasturtiums, marigolds, clematis and snapdragons. And, I couldn’t forget to include a wide variety of herbs like oregano, rosemary, lemon thyme, Italian parsley, sweet marjoram, three types of sage, three types of mint (including chocolate mint for cocktails and baking), and 12 Genovese basil plants (because you can never have too much pesto).

Oh, I almost forgot to mention the melons and squash planted in my side bed! I’m hoping these vegetable vines will take over a fussy bed that fills with bamboo each month. I gently planted two Cinderella-style pumpkins (the best!) and one European-style melon (Charentais). I just adore that moment in October when the pumpkins are ready to be baked with or shown off to neighbors during Halloween festivities.

After all the planning, planting, watering and weeding, I get excited cutting my first lettuces (which I did today) and snipping the first bits of herbs, sans jacket. To the anti-gardener, I suppose my zest for growing stuff seems a bit dramatic. But I am proud to say that I kind of live for this stuff. I also live for the first beautiful day when I can finally share a glass of wine (or two) in the garden with my family and friends.

I don’t know about you, but I feel like the wine goes down smoother, easier, sweeter in a backyard where you work hard to bring things to life, where you know the wine will someday soon be served with produce growing just a few feet away. Speaking of, what will I do with all these veggies? I have a long list of ideas already brewing, thanks to all the amazing food bloggers across the Web. Here are just a sampling:

• There are 45 Things To Do With Fresh Sage
• A delicious recipe for Fresh Tomatillo Salsa
• Pumpkin donuts calling my name
• These pretty Rustic Rhubarb Tarts
• A beautiful Rosemary Olive Oil Cake
• Squash Blossom Pizza, oh wow!
• These delightful Lettuce Wraps with radishes
• Wait… there’s more…!

I may also make many of the following dishes:

• Shrimp, Wild Rice and Spring Vegetable Soup
• Carrot Salad with Harissa, Feta and Mint
• Backyard Garden Tomatoes with Cheese
• Swiss Chard Recipe
• Eggplant Parmesan Lasagna with Swiss Chard
• Acorn Squash Quesadillas with Tomatillo Salsa
• Orange Frosted Pumpkin Muffins

I’m not sure if my dog loves all this gardening madness, but I certainly do. Cheers to you and a season of great veggies and great recipes! By the way, I am torn on what to do with all this lettuce. Any thoughts on recipes I should consider? I’m open to anything, just put them in the comments. Thank you all!

Over the river and through the woods, you might just find the country’s best beer bar. Tucked away in the outskirts of tiny Lovell, Maine, Ebenezer’s Pub is a cozy, unassuming spot that features some of Belgium’s finest brews.

‘Bezer’s, as my dad calls it, is located (relatively) close to the town in Maine where my family spends a lot of our time. We have become increasingly impressed with Ebenezer’s offerings over the years, and paying a visit to the pub each time we are in Maine is now somewhat of a family tradition. However, despite our growing love and appreciation of the place, we were still quite surprised to find out that it had earned the honor of being named #1 Beer Bar in America by the guys from Beer Advocate. In addition, in recent months, Ebenezer’s has been highlighted in both the Maine Sunday Telegram and the Boston Globe. Our little pub-in-the-woods was becoming famous! I wanted to know more about Ebenezer’s and the folks behind its unique success, so I began to dig a bit deeper.

The lovely couple that runs the place, Jen and Chris Lively, were based in Los Angeles when they came upon an old bar in Lovell during a visit to family in the area. Attracted by the prospect (and the price), the Livelys made the leap, moved east, and opened up Ebenezer’s.

When they started, they offered a few quality beers, like Chimay, and built up their renowned collection bit by bit. Today, Ebenezer’s features one of the best collections of Belgian beers in the world. ‘Bezer’s also features some of the best English, Scandinavian, and German beers found anywhere. Their American offerings include special beers from Brooklyn Brewery, Dogfish Head, Russian River, and the local favorite; Portland’s Allagash Brewery. The pub also serves great food that goes well with the beers, such as moules frites and hearty burgers.

Ebenezer’s represents a really interesting cross section of people. Local residents, who used to imbibe here when the only beer offered was Bud and Miller, have continued to visit the place, becoming friendly with the owners and experts in beer brewed by Belgian monks. Vacationers visiting the lakes region and the nearby White Mountains of New Hampshire fill the screened porch during the summer months and cozy up to the bar after a day of skiing in the wintertime. Now, a brand new breed of customers, the beer tourist, have descended on Ebenezer’s, coming from afar to sample their famous line-up of beers. The combination of patrons makes for a really comfortable and somewhat fascinating crowd.

Whether you are looking to sample some of Belgium’s biggest and most famous abbey-brewed beers or curious about trying unfamiliar types of beer like barleywine or sour beer, you may want to plan a trip to Lovell, Maine. Plus, if still you aren’t convinced, they offer all your standby domestic beers too. This pretension-free pub is a fun, relaxed place to enjoy something new.

I moved to the north shores of Massachusetts almost four years ago when my husband took a job at Green Meadows Farm in Hamilton, Massachusetts. I had been living in Somerville, Massachusetts, which I loved, and was a bit anxious about moving to the suburbs.

I was amazed at how quickly we were integrated into a vibrant, creative, albeit rural community. The area has come to feel like home, and as we get ready to move again, I’d like to share some of the spots I’ll be saddest to leave behind. If you find yourself on our splendid North Shore of Massachusetts, do visit these indie spots.

Coffee: Atomic Café

265 Cabot Street, Beverly, Massachusetts

This neighborhood hot spot isn’t just the best coffee on the North Shore; it’s the best I’ve had in all of New England. John hand selects farms to source his beans, roasts the coffee in house, and has cultivated the best baristas around.

Bakery: A&J King

48 Central Street, Salem, Massachusetts

This is my absolute favorite place to be on a Saturday morning. Andy and Jackie are true artisan bakers, and their shop is a beautiful showcase of their craft. Is there anything better than fresh-from-the-oven sourdough bread? Also, try the seasonal fruit tarts with local ricotta – yum!

Farmstand: Green Meadows Farm

656 Asbury Street, South Hamilton, Massachusetts

I must offer full disclosure here: I used to manage this farmstand so I’m a bit I’m biased. But believe me when I say, the produce is beautiful, the meats are amazing, and Diana has a knack for locating the best (and hardest to find) local and organic goods. Also, they brew Atomic Coffee, so that makes them the best place in Hamilton to stop for a cup of java.

Beer: Gulu Gulu Café

247 Essex Street, Salem, Massachusetts

The Gulu is a Czech-inspired bar with a funky Salem vibe. The beer list features local favorites (including selections from Brooklyn and Dogfish Head, my two favorite breweries), as well as some more unusual Belgian and German offerings. During the day, this is also my favorite place to study, as the chairs are comfy, the food is delicious, and the servers don’t discourage lingering.

Brunch: Tryst

282A Cabot Street, Beverly, Massachusetts

Brunch is my favorite meal, and Tryst does it right. Their eggs are sourced-locally and cooked perfectly, and the portions aren’t so huge that you’ll spend the rest of your Sunday recovering. The Bloody Mary’s are also a treat. And, with their newly expanded dining room, it’s easier than ever to get a table.

Today, while reading about Michael Pollan’s new book, Food Rules: An Eater’s Manual, I found myself nodding “yes,” in agreement with his message, which he succinctly summarized in In Defense of Food: “Eat food. Not too much. Mostly plants.” Pollan is preaching to the choir with me, but I did still order the new book — there’s still plenty of room for improvement in my diet!

In fact, I recently acknowledged that most of the changes I’ve made in the last few years — like joining a CSA, planting a garden, and cooking at home — revolve around the “mostly plants” part of my diet. But, as a life-long meat-eater* with no plans to convert to a strictly vegetarian diet, I decided it was time to apply the same standards to my meat choices. Let’s face it: It doesn’t make much sense to be eating organic lettuce and an heirloom tomato on top of a burger that has been injected with antibiotics.

So, about three months ago, I decided that I would a) eat less meat, and b) only eat meat from local sources. My local farm stand, Heron Pond Farm, offers meat from Kellie Brook Farm in Stratham, NH, so this certainly made the challenge easier. And, although the local meat is more expensive than what you pay in a supermarket, the cost was offset by the fact that I was buying less of it.

What I noticed immediately was that local meat looks a little different from “factory-farm” meat; there is more texture and — sorry — more blood. I was momentarily grossed out, but then reminded myself that the whole point was to be aware of where my meat comes from — if I am going to eat it, I should be able to look at it before it’s been turned into a breaded rectangle! (A recent conversation with my four-year-old, in which I realized that she had not made the connection between “a chicken” and “chicken” — despite the clue that it’s the same word — also highlighted this issue.)

I’m also so happy to not be buying the “factory-farm” meat that is contributing to what many cite as the #1 source of global warming (just google “factory-farm meat and global warming” for many sources). And, yes, I know that I am a drop in the ocean (make that a drop in 100,000 oceans), but we can’t NOT do sensible things just because we think our actions alone won’t have an impact.

Admittedly, I have not been totally vigilant. I still often cook with boxed chicken stock. Once, I made for friends a warm beet and bacon salad that turned out to be too delicious to resist. I even forgot my mandate a few times while out socializing. Oops! Mostly, though, I stuck to the plan. I was even able to order meat while dining out, thanks to restaurants like Zampa, in Epping, NH, whose owner buys from local NH farms. I’ve since loosened the reigns a bit to include meat that has been purchased by people whose quality assurance I absolutely trust, like Flatbread Pizza.

Ultimately, I decreased my meat intake by at least half, while increasing its quality. I think Michael Pollan would approve. Just don’t tell him about my dessert habit…I’m a little more resistant to change in that department!

*I recommend watching Food, Inc, or reading Eating Animals if you’re looking for more information. As for whether we should be eating meat in general…that is a whole different discussion!

“Eat local!”

“Eat your view.”

“Consume grass-fed, free-range, small batch, homemade foods.”

These are the battle cries that we have heard in recent years, and many of us have responded by buying produce at farmer’s markets and paying more attention to how or where our food is produced.  Eating locally is equally great for the environment, our regional economies, independent businesses and our bodies.  And these same benefits can be seen by drinking locally.

Massachusetts is awash with a kind of local-brewed, grassroots spirit in companies like Cisco, Rapscallion, and Berkshire Brewing Company, cutting down the distance that our beer travels. But with all this great beer flowing, it’s tough to stand out.  One local company has tried to do just that by having great quality beer paired with outstanding bottle designs and make-you-wonder beer names.

Pretty Things Beer and Ale Project is a small-scale, local company that brews really exceptional beer. Instead of brewing specific styles of beer, brewer Dann Paquette is inspired by “times, places, people, ingredients.” While Paquette and his MIT-scientist-wife Martha live in Cambridge, they currently brew their beer in Westport, Massachusetts.

The couple is also known for their intriguing bottle artwork and beer names, like Jack D’or, St. Botolph’s Town (my personal favorite and a nice reference to the origins of the name “Boston”), and their spring seasonal beer, Baby Tree. You have to smile when a beer company says that inspiration for their spring beer comes from “springtime, lambs, Yorkshire and babies-in-trees.” Their winter seasonal brew, a dark “woodland” stout called Babayaga, is named for an old witch from Russian folklore, and features a bottle adorned with a picture of her forest hut standing on chicken legs straight out of a frightening fairy tale.

Running my own very official beer tasting, I tried this stout on a blustery Boston evening after dinner. With its chocolate-y smooth undertones, the Babayaga succeeded as a stand-in for dessert. I followed beer expert directions and let the bottle’s temperature warm a bit, which allowed the taste to fully develop. In our first sips, we noticed a smoky smell, a nice smooth taste and a surprisingly medium bodied character.  I think that one of the biggest misconceptions about dark beer is that it is heavy and bitter. This was definitely not the case with Babayaga. It is a strong beer at 7% alcohol, and is not something I would want to drink loads of in one sitting, but it was a perfect warming beer for that cold, calm night.

With beer of this caliber and a team of brewers this creative, drinking local beer is one virtuous act that results in positive benefits for all. If you’d like to support Massachusetts-brewed beer, check out this list. Learn more about the environmental impact of drinking non-local beer.

Pete and Jen are on a mission, and this week they’re mission saved my belly, my pork belly.

As sustainable farmers and locavores, they raise chickens, pigs, rabbits and lambs in Concord, Massachusetts pastures where they can enjoy fresh air, grass and acres on which to roam. Their chickens are such highly regarded that the testimonials sound almost cult-like (in a good way, of course).

I was in need of pork lard, and Peter and Jen’s Backyard Birds did not disappoint. Since I’ll be jetting off to Paris soon, I want to leave the hubby with a perfect confit pork belly, a slab of fat cooked in more fat such that it’s preserved for quick indulgent meals over the next several months. Fab friends on Twitter had pointed me to spots in Providence and New Hampshire to get some affordable lard, but a quick search yielded Pete and Jen’s fabulous mini-store tucked away near Verrill Farm in Concord.

They had fresh eggs galore!

And piles and piles of pig parts – both typical (like pork chops) and a little more unique (pork feet, pork heart, pork kidneys)!

I remained focus on my mission, picking up a couple tubs of pork lard and a small ham hock for a soup I plan to cook up for the husband before I depart. You can take a peek at their mini-store live by signing up for their newsletter.

Locavores everywhere are jealous of anyone with a root cellar. A root cellar is an under-earth method of storing homegrown produce to make it all last through the non-growing season. I don’t have one, but a girl can dream. Without one, my squash, pumpkins and gourds sadly just don’t make it past November. Then again, who needs a root cellar when you live near Cambridge, MA?

T. W. Food, the darling boutique restaurant that showcases pure ingredients and old-fashioned hospitality, is hosting a special ‘Winter Local’ dinner to share the delights of their root cellar, including all their gorgeous pickles and preserves. The six-course menu exemplifies 100% local ingredients for $65 per person (not including wine pairings, which costs $39 per person extra).

I’m dreaming of the Vermont suckling pig course, and the carrot and beet parfait with local honey. But you don’t have to dream. Make a bee-line for 377 Walden Street in Cambridge on Wednesday, January 20. Reservations are gladly being accepted at 617-864-4745.

(The photo belongs to T. W. Food. Isn’t it beautiful?!)