Boston Magazine
March 2003
Review by Corby Kummer

Square Meals

UpStairs on the Square wants you to look at it, and look at it you will. The 1906 building was originally a Harvard finals club and theater, although most everyone remembers it as the forever site of Grendel’s Den (now in the cellar). It turns out to have a lot in common with the building from which Harvard evicted UpStairs at the Pudding after a protracted Cambridge cause célèbre. The Hasty Pudding was also built as a finals club and theater, and had plenty of dark woodwork and big, drafty spaces. The current building was thoroughly restored during its brief interlude post-Grendel’s as the Market Theater. But it somehow retained its air of shabby grandeur—the je ne sais quoi of Harvarddom.

Clockwise from left, Susan Regis, Mary-Catherine Deibel, Amanda Lydon, and Deborah Hughes.

This was before Deborah Hughes started mixing colors and shopping for sconces. Hughes, you will recall, is one of the two ladies (she of the trademark over-sized sunglasses) who made UpStairs at the Pudding such a long-running success—the place you naturally thought of for occasions both business and personal, a wedding site par excellence. Hughes prides herself on her design sense. Once she and Mary-Catherine Deibel (with the million-dollar smile that always makes you feel better about the world and yourself) ended a long and frustrating search for a replacement site, and secured what looks like mighty generous financing, Hughes was unrestrained.

The animal-print carpeting—zebra on the main floor and leopard on the top floor—is just the beginning. It’s the colors and the hand-painted designs on the walls and ceiling you can’t stop looking at. The Soirée Room, which is to say the fancy dinner-only room on the top floor, is the most unexpected. The low ceiling; the big, mullioned porthole windows; and the sweep of the wide room are, in themselves, arresting. The color might be called pervasive pink. And there’s gold everywhere—real gold. The amount of gold leaf on the walls, in stripes and plaid and polka-dot designs, evidently kept local art-supply stores (if, perhaps, not budget planners) very happy. There are gold-painted wooden chairs of the kind you used to see at Paris couture shows. And did I mention the mirror-tiled ceiling? Parisian boudoir, Viennese café, Nordic bordello—the possible influences are many.

The floor below has the dark woodwork, imposing fireplaces at opposite walls (gas, but the flames are nice), and high ceilings that identify this as a formal club and theater. There’s a bar you can eat at, cozy tables, and a lovely sunroom with ringside views of the square. This floor is called the Monday Club Bar, and the menu is more casual and all-hours. The chandeliers and wall sconces look like underwater life forms that have been evolving since the late 1950s.

The place is so comfortable, the servers so nice, and the owners so ebullient, that after the initial staring, you forget about needing to decide what you think. You’ll have years to ponder: UpStairs is a Harvard Square institution.

To remake this institution, the owners—themselves local landmarks—have assembled an MGM cast of more stars than there are in heaven… Readers of this column know of my great admiration and affection for Amanda Lydon, who has marvelous instincts for simplicity and flavor. She’s the upstairs dinner chef, which means her mandate is to go for out-right luxury. The Soirée Room menu shows classic French influence and also the Italian vocabulary Hughes drew on at the Pudding.

When I called Lydon to as about some of the dishes I’d tried, she said, “It was Susan’s first day as downstairs chef, and we’re having so much fun cooking with each other.” That was Susan Regis, long-time Lydia Shire alter ego, who, as executive chef of Biba, became a star in her own right. Lydon assured me that there could “never” be too many cooks, let alone food-scene celebs, and that no broths were being spoiled. The division of labor appears to be Lydon upstairs and Regis downstairs….But everyone works and kibitzes with everyone else.

Preliminary meals show the kitchen still finding its way, with the upstairs menu better jelled. Here you’ll find solid, good, uninnovative food that’s not very different from what is served at other top, top-priced restaurants. The difference: a rare stamp of freshness and care with most every part of every dish.

	Rack of Colorado lamb with potato gratin and creamed spinach

Two luxury ingredients, squab and rack of lamb, prove the kitchen can deliver the goods for the high prices. The squab ($28) had a perfectly crisped skin and rosy, pleasantly chewy meat bursting with flavor and the stuffing that came with it was a rich confusion of flavors, so I wasn’t unhappy when Lydon said she was planning to change it. The Colorado lamb was both the most expensive ($35) and most successful dish, the meat as tender and full-flavored as anyone could ask, the potato gratin and creamed spinach served with it the essence of luxury yet not excessive. No other dishes came together this perfectly, but the golden beets and beet greens with swordfish that had been marinated with Meyer lemon zest and herbs ($26) were memorable. And where else but the middle of Harvard Square would the (Harvard grad) chef say about the piece of fish: “We debated the ethics but did some research and decided we could do it”?

The Monday Club Bar menu served downstairs is aptly named. That is, it’s club food with bar food thrown in but, so far, mostly club food: simple, undemanding, and comforting without going crazy with the carbs. The nicest dish I tried was the homey chicken fricassee ($13), a simple chicken and vegetable stew with a freshly baked buttermilk biscuit. The only trouble is that these snacks are expensive, if substantial. The salade niçoise is fine but unremarkable, especially for $14; perhaps canned tuna would be better than the confit of tuna belly, which has much less flavor though more fat, and was tough besides. Then again, what could be more comforting or clubby than a crust-off grilled cheese of the day ($7)? Sometimes the bread is brioche.

A chocolate hazelnut confection

I remember liking UpStairs at the Pudding desserts, but not with the same gusto I did downstairs—especially the just-right butterscotch pudding with a good pecan-shortbread cookie covered in homemade caramel ($7). The two chocolate dishes I tried—one upstairs, where the desserts are a bit too fancy and unfocused, and one downstairs—seemed rich and a bit stodgy. But the apple-almond crumble downstairs was just perfect, with a not-too-sweet, subtly seasoned, firm sliced-apple filling and an absolutely fresh, crunchy oat streusel topping ($8).

The wine list, which I explored only upstairs, shows the exceptional strength in France he (Lorenzo Savona) developed at Les Zyg, and I’ve made encouraging forays into Italy, his original field. The prices are moderate to high, but with guidance you can find good value.

Regis will change the downstairs menu, I hope respecting the democratic (in all but price) instincts and not going wild with her famous creativity. There will be that menu to watch develop. There’s also an old-fashioned wooden cheese trolley upstairs with Vincent Sapochetti, the ex-Formaggio Kitchen cheese wiz picking peak rounds and logs from his former employer, and a tucked-away upstairs Champagne bar with bubbles painted on the green walls (in gold leaf, of course). I look forward to long consultation with Savona on some Italian regions I don’t know well enough. I always look forward to Deibel’s smile. That’s a sure thing, and so is the good news that UpStairs is back.

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