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Hours: Lunch: Mon.-Fri. 11:30 a.m.-2:30 p.m. Dinner: Mon.-Thurs. 5-10 p.m., Friday 5-11 p.m.; Sat. noon-11 p.m.; Sun. noon-9:30 p.m. Reservations accepted for parties of six or more; call-ahead seating. No smoking.
Good Choices: Oliver's pizza; artichoke and crab ragu (Chestnut Hill only); spicy shrimp pizza; Tuscan meatloaf; wild mushroom risotto with duck confit and figs; white chocolate challah bread pudding.
Prices: Appetizers $5.95-$9.75; pizza, pasta $9.95-$18.50; entrees $13.25-$24.50; desserts $5.95-$6.25.
Credit cards: MasterCard, Visa, American Express, Diners.
Access: Fully accessible.
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FIGS
1208 Boylston St.,
Chestnut Hill, Brookline
617-738-9992
92 Central St.,
Wellesley
781-237-5788
Restaurant reviewed 03/25/99 by Alison Arnett
Why review more Figs? one might ask. After all, when Todd and Olivia English began to expand their pizza and pasta idea beyond their original little Charlestown restaurant to Beacon Hill, it was a modest proposal. That great thin-crusted pizza, some pasta dishes, and a few entrees filled the menu at the Charles Street Figs, a stylishly appointed room the size of a handkerchief.
The Englishes' plan to spin off more Figs soon produced one in Wellesley and then later in Chestnut Hill, affluent suburbs that were perfect magnets for Todd English's star name and the casual but upscale food. Along the way, the daily specials got more ambitious with prices to match, to almost $25 for some.
The unspoken assumption, of course, is that one is getting the flair of Todd English's cooking at his big Charlestown restaurant, Olives, or at least his training and inspiration, when eating there. Well, is that the case?
A Friday night at the Chestnut Hill Figs: We were a large party with teens, sitting near the kitchen. As the night progressed, the scene was a little frantic and certainly noisy, but the waiter was efficient and cheerful, matching our festive mood.
Most of the appetizers kept that up. Each Figs chef develops daily specials; David Cassidy, the chef here who worked for several years at, Olives, captured the signature over-the-top feel of that kitchen in an artichoke and crab ragu over mascarpone polenta. It was rich, much too rich to eat more than a few bites, but, boy, was it good. The slight piquancy of the artichoke balanced the creaminess of the cheese-infused polenta just enough to give the dish a bounce.
We devoured an Oliver's pizza - ignoring the youngest diner's plea to save it all for himself - thrilled with the thin crust and the perfectly classic tomato and mozzarella topping. A special pizza of spicy calamari and pea tendrils, however, seemed a mishmash. The tomato sauce was very spicy but the calamari was fried, doughy, and tasteless. And the pea tendrils looked like they'd wandered onto the wrong dish.
Figs' menus have a core of homey dishes, intriguing because they sound so retro. Tuscan meatloaf, definitely not what your mom made, was a slab composed of beef, pork, and veal covered with mushroom ragu and served over sweet potato polenta. Hearty doesn't quite do it justice as a description, but it was, deeply satisfying,sort of a really great ragu solidified. A special entree, pan-seared skate wing, was definitely in the Olives' mode, described as "on a spill of lemony risotto with a light braise of black trumpet mushrooms and Taylor Bay scallops." The skate was moist and delicious, although care was needed to avoid swallowing tiny bones. The risotto showed mastery of this tricky dish, the grains firm and separate, the lemony flavor subtle enough; the mushrooms and the delightful scallops in their shells gave the dish an extra dimension of tastes. I thought I'd dropped into Olives without the wait.
A weeknight at the Wellesley Figs: There's something frayed and frenzied about this one, the tables jammed too close, the blaring music blurring conversation. Our waitress seemed annoyed from the start - was it us? We were meek customers, actually, but a few moments of indecision in ordering brought a disdainful "I'll come back" as she turned and marched away. After that, every glass was delivered with a thump on the table; requests were met with stony-faced denials, and as she angrily rushed to and fro, she dripped water down the neck of one diner. She left midservice without a goodbye, and another waitress finally took pity on us and finished the dessert orders and coffee.
Maybe just a bad day, or at least a really rude one. One might have overlooked the service if the food had been up to par. Except for a couple of dishes, it wasn't.
Sloppiness characterized several. Roasted green bean salad tossed with bacon and balsamic vinaigrette with a goat cheese inside a crust of farro was a bland tangle of lots of forgettable ingredients. Tortelli with a beef short rib braise seemed to have been plopped on the plate in great haste. It didn't resemble any tortelli I've ever seen, being flat sheets of pappardelle-like pasta, slippery and flabby. And the shortrib braise was chewy and short on seasoning.
Salmon with bulgur was completely without seasoning; as the companion who ordered said, after a few bites one wondered just what the fish was. And the macaroni Simone, described as containing cheddar, fontina, mozzarella, and Parmesan, didn't taste like anything at all. Overcooked orzo in cream sauce, the menu should have read; even a 2-year-old would have turned up her nose.
There were bright spots. Spicy shrimp pizza (the waitress practically made us sign releases before she'd let us order it) was nicely bright on the tongue but certainly not too hot; the shrimp were firm and flavorful; the crust was its usual Figs marvel of crispness. A roasted squash soup with garlic-thyme cream and shrimp was lovely. A wild-mushroom risotto with duck confit and figs was also beautifully made and deeply flavored.
Roland Roy, chef of this Figs, did a fine special of veal breast with oven-dried tomatoes under pappardelle. The slow braising of the veal gave the lean meat enough depth to match the caramelized onion sauce, and a sprinkle of caramelized leeks on top added a bit of crunch.
Inconsistencies stretched right into dessert. Tiramisu looked pretty but that was as far as it went; we left it untouched after a bite or so. But white chocolate challah bread pudding was marvelous, voluptuously eggy and rich, just sweet enough, and worth every decadent calorie.
A dessert like this could make you think you'd dropped into Olives.
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