Boston Bohemia at The Beehive.

On a Monday night in January, I found myself exhausted at a rail platform in Back Bay Station. I’d stepped off the Orange Line with only one thing on my mind: dinner.

During my stay in Boston, I’d received advice from several people, who saw me as a bit of a Bohemian chick. Each of them implored me to try out a Bohemian restaurant. Before this trip, I didn’t know there was such a thing. Never occurred to me that Bohemians had their own cuisine as well as culture. But what the heck.

So this night, after a week in Boston and a day of work that had started at 5:45am EST for me, I was headed for The Beehive, a restaurant I needed to see.

I left Back Bay Station on foot and headed down Carleton -- which was an open plaza. I carefully arranged my bags on my shoulder -- camera bag and press kit bag -- and headed down the bricked path. The night was crisp yet clear, and there was still a little light in the sky.

I wasn’t really sure what to expect, just darting a look at my Boston area map and trying to follow along. When I looked up, I saw something I’d been waiting to see for eight days.

Brownstones.

Seriously -- after spending my time in Waltham and in the North End, I wasn’t sure that the Boston I’d seen on TV actually existed. Where were the brownstones, with their imposing staircases? I’d seen red bricked versions along Newbury Street on my way to the Trident Bookstore, but nothing brown.

Until now.

I gazed down a city block at two rows of neat homes, each with its entrance and its own bit of cast iron railing. In the twilight, it looked like a dream.

I pulled out my camera and started to snap away, first at the brownstones themselves, then at the skyscrapers peeking out over the top of the tree line along the plaza.

It seemed ethereal.

I looked at my watch and noticed it was after 6 p.m. I had reservations. I needed to hurry.

Several blocks and a direction change later (a left on Canton, crossing Columbus, and down to Tremont), I was greeted by three valet men, escorting people into a theater from the icy roadbed. Sunday’s snow would have been enough to make the way treacherous if it had been in Arkansas. Here, it was nothing more than a bit of crunch underfoot.

I started to proceed further, then thought I might ask the location of
said restaurant. I was pointed to another entrance of the same building -- a door under an archway; subtle, yet inviting.

Stepping in, I was greeted warmly by a young lady at the front desk. I gave her my name, and she smiled at me. She checked where to put me while I looked around at a bar and a small dining room. The restaurant was certainly less roomy than I anticipated.

Or so I thought.

Turning to me, my hostess grinned again and lead me down a stairwell, into a cavernous room. A stage graced the far end, and intimate tables dotted the way. She led me through a doorway into a bar area, and pointed me at a small table near a railing. From here, I had a full view of the stage and the bar. There was even a hook for my coat.

As I took off my coat, I heard a small gasp behind me. The young lady who was to be my waitress for the night had glimpsed the tie dye. Even I know the tie dye is impressive, but for her it was also unexpected. I just turned and smiled and took off my ankle length undercoat to reveal the rest of my colorful ensemble.

Indeed. My attire was appreciated.

I was provided with a menu, and carefully perused the selections. There were so many unusual items contained within -- including Mini Beef Wellingtons ($6) that drew my eye. Other offerings included a Smokey Clam Dip with Veggie Crudités ($7), Tuna Tartare ($12), Three Cheese Fondue with Fresh Fruit and Brioche ($11), Fried Calamari Fra Diablo, Lemon Rouille ($12), and a Gyro Salad with Iceberg Lettuce, Shaved Lamb, and Feta Yogurt Dressing ($11).

So this is how Bohemians eat. I had no idea.

I was tempted by the Bohemian Platter (pates, salads, nibbles and tasty bites for $23), my gut told me I should try something more substantial. After all, my entire consumption for the day had been a cannoli and a couple of authentic Parker House rolls, and I had two lines on the T and a bus to catch on my return to Waltham. Better get my strength up.

I asked my waitress what she recommended. She suggested the Delmonico Steak with Wild Mushrooms, Bread Pudding, and Porcini Butter ($34) or the Roasted Sole in Tomato Sauce with Lentil Rice Pilaf. Well, I was feeling adventurous, so I went for the sole. I also ordered a Rasputin Martini -- a combination of hard apple cider, Calvados, and cinnamon syrup. It was an evening for experimentation.

My waitress asked if I’d like to sample some of the other items on the menu, and I agreed -- pointing out my allergy to pork. This sparked an interesting conversation over antibiotics and organic animals, and then she was gone to place my order.

The Beehive has a large variety of unusual drinks -- things I’d never seen before. Cocktails run ten dollars and include the Aviation (gin, fresh lemon, and maraschino liquor) and the Beehive Julep (rum, liquor Creole, and lime). They also offer a selection of champagne cocktails for $10.50 that include the Violette (violette candy), La Vie en Rose (Lychee-infused cognac), and the Beehive Royale (pear liquor, Angostura’s, and Grand Marnier). Though sampling them was tempting, I decided to limit myself to one drink. After all, I needed to remember the order of subways, trains, and buses I needed to take to get back.

My waitress brought me my drink, and I was surprised… it was light and refreshing, not the slightest bit cloying. She also brought me good sourdough bread and butter, which tasted strongly of an ancient and wonderful fermented starter. I relaxed and looked around.

The restaurant itself is very eclectic and warm, with red lighting in places and lots of exposed beams and bricks. There are works of art from Boston College of the Arts on the walls, in a variety of styles and themes. That’s fitting, since The Beehive is an outgrowth of the College and part of the school’s BCA complex in the South End. It’s a former boiler room converted into this neighborhood café for artists. In fact, it’s modeled after La Ruche, a three story bar and bistro in France that got its name (La Ruche is French for Beehive) because it looked better able to accommodate the honey bearing insects than humans.

The stage had a couple of padded stools and microphones. I asked if there was live entertainment, and was told that jazz and cabaret were the usual order of business, every night around nine or ten.

My waitress brought out a stainless steel bowl and a plate. I peered inside and was surprised and delighted to see mussels. Steamed Mussels with lager, Old Bay seasoning and Tomato ($12) come a dozen at a time. I’m not a big mussel fan, but these were tender and savory, not chewy as I’d come to expect from one of the local chain restaurants I frequent in Little Rock. I was pleased with the lightness, and happy to try these offerings.

A few minutes later, I was presented with a ceramic dish called Poutine ($10). Now, when I reviewed the Big Foot Lodge in Memphis, I’d seen the listing for Poutine -- but I hadn’t tried it. This was a surprise to me, and one that I’d like to see again. The dish consists of plank fries that are thick and long in one direction but also thin as homemade chips. They’re baked in a veal gravy and topped with cheese -- quite decadent. I asked about the dish, and was told it’s a French Canadian thing that’s making its way into America. The savory gravy went well with the starchy
fries, and the cheese? Well, I still have yet to meet a cheese I didn’t like.

This repast was enough in itself to satisfy me, but I held back. I knew I had an entrée coming, and I didn’t want to spoil my appetite too much.

The restaurant was starting to fill up. There
was a group of people who’d come in around the same time as I did, who were making themselves home at the bar with good conversation and bar snacks.

A couple was seated not far from me in the stage section of the restaurant. I listened to conversations murmured over the cool jazz piped in through the stereo system.

My waitress then presented me with the sole -- fish that had been roasted rather than deep fried, in a soft red sauce. I was surprised by how light this offering was. The fish itself was very delicate, on the lightly cooked side. It was buttery but not salty and it didn’t have a scent of fish to it. In fact, I seemed to only smell a light tomato perfume. I tried one of the tomatoes cooked with the dish, and was startled by the
sudden sweetness in my mouth. An intriguing dish.

But what made it even more intriguing was the rice pilaf. I had expected a slightly greasy pile of rice and peas, much like I’d seen at restaurant franchises that throw peanuts on the floor. Instead, I was greeted with light, fluffy rice and surprising sweetness. I had to ask -- this dish in itself could be a meal. The sweetness is provided by white grapes cooked in with the rice. There was also a bite of black peppercorns and seasoning. A dollup of Greek yogurt and a bit of lemon completed the dish.

I found myself being lulled into a food coma, relaxed with the comfort of the night and the warm atmosphere. The chatter was friendly and the wait staff seemed to be enjoying themselves.

My waitress came to check on me, and asked what sort of dessert I would be having. I protested -- after all, I still had to walk back to Back Bay Station, several blocks away. I asked if a wheelbarrow was available, and received a giggle. I suppose the idea is a Southern construct. Who knows?

She offered me coffee, which I gratefully accepted, and pressed on desserts again. I was going to pass, until she mentioned Chocolate Fondue. Well, I’d never had THAT offered in a restaurant before. What the heck.

I sipped on my coffee as my dish was prepared. And a few minutes later, a very hot oblong ramekin filled with piping hot chocolate was brought to my table, along with a selection of graham crackers, Oreos, marshmallows and strawberries. I wished for a dining companion to share with.

I took a tentative stab at a marshmallow with one of the provided skewers, and gently rolled it in the chocolate. My surprise at the darkness of the nearly bitter chocolate may have been apparent to other diners. I was pleased. This was a dessert not too sweet to enjoy -- a guilty pleasure with a little of the guilt taken out.

Of course, I couldn’t do it justice, but my waitress took away my half-finished fondue and packaged it for me to take with me for a late night snack.

I started to gather up my things, and a young man came up to me to admire my hat. Turns out, he was one of the managers. He asked after my service and my food, and gave me directions on the most direct route to Back Bay. My waitress and my hostess both came over and thanked me for the evening… and gifted me with wan smiles.

As I headed out into the cold January night, I felt a warmth deep within, a warmth of heated chocolate and coffee and a meal well received. I took my time on my walk back to the station, and handled my switches from one station to another and one means of transportation to another with comfort and ease. A good meal always puts a bright note on a long day.

The Beehive is a lovely spot, some place I’d love to share with my husband. It’s open seven days a week from five in the afternoon to 2 a.m. It also serves a Saturday and Sunday brunch from 10:30 a.m. to 3 p.m. You’ll find the Beehive at 541 Tremont Street in Boston’s South End, in the historic Cyclorama building. If you’d like more information, call The Beehive at (617) 423-0069. Or check out the restaurant’s website.

An Intimate Experience With Friends at The Tuscan Grill in Waltham, Massachusetts.

This restaurant has closed.

There are very few places you hear about these days from 1600 miles away, places friends tell you that you must detour for, things they say are worth a trip in themselves.

The Tuscan Grill is such a place.

Alcenia's Home Cooking is Better Than A Lot of Memphis Barbecue.

This little soul food cafe called Alcenia's is a truly comforting restaurant that brings tasty vittles to the table. Stop in when you're in Memphis.

When you tell someone you're going to Memphis -- with no other added information -- they're probably going to assume one of two things: that you're going to visit Graceland, or that you're going for the barbeque.

Jefferson, Texas Has The Last Laugh.

Maybe not deep in the heart of Texas, but not too far from Shreveport and Texarkana, you'll find the tiny burg of Jefferson.

Tiny, today, but not always such a small part of East Texas. Because this used to be a place where commerce was King.

Jefferson was a busy riverport town. It was the jewel of the Big Cypress River, the "Riverport to the Southwest." It boomed, and boomed big, back in the heyday of the riverboat. From 1845, when Big Cypress Bayou was cleared for boats -- to 1873, when the Red River Raft was destroyed by the Army Corps of Engineers, Jefferson was the place to be. But some say the town was cursed, and is just now waking from a 125 year slumber.

Thousands flocked here to take advantage of the trade during the boom times. Cotton was being sent downriver, home furnishings upriver, and people were coming and going left and right. Tens of thousands of people came to Jefferson and made it their home for a while. Hotels cropped up for people to have a place to stay. Restaurants fed folks. And other businesses got started here.

One of those places is the historic Excelsior House Hotel.

This two story white hotel on West Austin has been in constant operation since the 1850s. Its historic register includes entries from guests such as Rutherford B. Hayes, Ulysses S. Grant, and Lady Bird Johnson. It also counts among its previous guests one Roscoe Conklin, a grand orator, and the author Oscar Wilde. It is yet another entry into that register, though, that the curse is attributed.

Back in 1874, railroad magnate Jay Gould made the city of Jefferson an offer -- he wanted to put a hub for his new railroad empire right in town. He wanted to run a rail line down the town's busiest street, but Jefferson was having none of that. Gould was incensed, and declared that grass would grow in the streets and bats would roost in the belfries. He took his idea to another town, and departed. In the register for the Excelsior House, Gould reportedly wrote "The end of Jefferson!" Whether or not it's his mark is a subject for debate -- but the decline in water levels in Big Cypress ended the steamboat boom, and the ensuing ebb of population out of town made Gould's curse seem plausible.

That town Gould went to? A little burg named Dallas. I guess you can say that was a mixed bag.

But Jefferson may have the last laugh on Jay Gould -- for many reasons.

In 1953, the Jessie Allen Wise Garden Club purchased a 1888 railcar manufactured by the AmericanCar &a mp; Foundry Company of St Charles, Missouri. Jay Gould had utilized it as his own private car until his death in 1892 (it would have been weird if he'd continued to use it after that date). It was then used by his son, George Jay Gould (President of the Texas and Pacific Railroad), and his wife, actress Edith Kingston. It stayed in the family until the 1930s, when it was converted to a private residence.

The car was brought to Jefferson in 1954, and a careful restoration of the Atalanta began. The posh car has two observation rooms (one at each end), four staterooms, two baths, a butler's pantry, a kitchen, a dining room, and an office. The railcar is resplendent in maple and mahogany woodwork, in crystal light fixtures and silver accents.

Today, you can tour Jay Gould's Atalanta by going to the Excelsior House Hotel. Tours run several times a day, a dollar for adults and half a buck for kids. For more information, call (903)665-2513.

Gould's offer, refusal, and prognostication weren't the only big news of the 1870s in Jefferson. Another incident shaped the face of the town and the legal world as well.

In January of 1877, a "Mr. & Mrs. A. Moore" of Cleveland, OH checked in to the Excelsior. Over two days, they were seen about town, eating and walking and arguing. He called her Bessie (among other things too awful to print) and the locals made note of her diamonds and jewels. Diamond Bessie quickly became the talk of the town.

The two were last seen crossing a bridge together, picnic basket in hand, on January 21st of that year. The man returned later by himself.

His name was Abraham Rothschild. He was the son of jewelers and the black sheep of the family. He kept company with women of less than eminent stature, and ended up with Bessie after a sojourn in Hot Springs, Arkansas.

Rothschild was seen about town for a few days, and some say he was wearing some of Bessie's diamonds. He swore she'd gone to visit relatives -- and then left town with all of their luggage on an eastbound train.

On February 5th, a young woman ran into town to report a well-dressed corpse amidst the remnants of a picnic. Diamond Bessie was found with a gunshot wound to the head and no diamonds to be found.

A search ensued. A hotel clerk in Marshall reported that a similar couple had registered under the Rothschild name, and a warrant was issued. Shortly before Rothschild was apprehended in Cincinnati, he attempted suicide, but was only successful in putting out his right eye. He was brought back to Jefferson for trial.

And what a trial. The Rothschild family, eager to keep the family name clear, hired ten attorneys to defend their black sheep. They sought a change of venue for their client, noting that the townspeople had so rallied to the cause celebre that they'd even allegedly paid the way for the town's sheriff to travel north to arrest Rothschild.

The case went to trial in December 1878 in Marshall. Rothschild shared a cell there with Jim Currie, a railroad employee who had shot two actors, killing one. The wounded victim was actor Maurice Barrymore.

The trial ended in a conviction -- in a rage of emotion so strong that the jury foreman reportedly drew a noose on the wall and hollered "that's my verdict!" But an appeals court threw the verdict out.

Again justice was sought, and Rothschild went on trial again, this time in Jefferson in December 1880. He never took the stand, and his attorneys shredded prosecution witnesses. After the second lengthy trial, he was acquitted, and faded into obscurity.

The Diamond Bessie Murder Trial is performed each year at the Jefferson Playhouse. And the procedural defense of double jeopardy would have prevented a second trial in later years.

Much of the Diamond Bessie trial is covered at the Excelsior House. There's a parlor with all sorts of framed clippings and photographs of ages past. In fact, much of the history of Jefferson is encapsulated here.

Much of the grandeur, too, as evidenced by the hotel's grand ballroom and dining room. Each room is decorated in fine French chandeliers and gorgeous Oriental rugs. These rooms have hosted some of Jefferson's most hoity-toity goings-on over the past 160 or so years, and they are still in fine condition.

Receptions, galas, and special dinners are held here throughout the year. And each morning, a Plantation breakfast is served up to guests. It's a gorgeous place to dine.

But in better weather, the courtyard has its own allure.

The bricked courtyard with its ebony fountains and lush growths of vegetation lay somewhere close to Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, yet the fine exposure to the sun is warming and welcome. Large goldfish and koi fight for the attention of passers by who might fleck them a morsel.

Of course, there's no better way to get to know the Excelsior House than to stay in one of its many rooms. For instance, the Grant Presidential Room, with its two double beds. A picture of Grant and his family was reportedly once traded for a night's lodging here.

Or the Hayes Presidential Room, with its full tester bed made of tiger mahogany and bearing four Cloverleaf posters. And then there's the bridal suite, named after Diamond Bessie.

A long porch on the second floor overlooks the courtyard. You can easily imagine the peace and tranquility within its bricked walls.

You can still stay at the Excelsior House Hotel in Jefferson. It's going strong. And the community Jay Gould once said was doomed has come back to make the town a historic destination in East Texas. The town's population stands around 2200, and there are more than 60 lodging choices for visitors. There are several museums, neat places to shop like the Jefferson General Store and Old Fashion Soda Fountain, a good

number of really good restaurants, the Historic Jefferson Railway, and much more. It's a great place for a romantic weekend. Just be sure to give yourself plenty of time to check out downtown.

You can check out the Excelsior House Hotel by calling (800) 490-7270 or checking out the hotel's website.

UPDATE 9-13-17. The Excelsior House is still in operation, and you can still visit Jay Gould's railroad car. Visit the Jefferson, Texas website for more of what to do in this great little town.

Tour the House of the Seasons.
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Quck Curry - Comfort Food in My House.

Everyone has a comfort food. For some, it's macaroni and cheese. For others, meatloaf. Whether it be mashed potatoes and gravy, kettle corn, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, chicken and dumplings or pot pie, everyone has a comfort food they turn to when they're needing, well, comfort.

Me? Well, in the Robinson household, it's Indian Honey Chicken.

A Little Advice About Visiting Boston.

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Village in the Snow - Several Hours in Brattleboro, Vermont.

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Food for the Belly and Soul at Trident Bookstore and Cafe in Boston.

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