It's six o'clock. Traffic is intense for no Red Sox game and the Grateful Dead boys several weeks gone. Every street is on hold as we split to Central Square's Mass Avenue and voilà: it's Rendezvous. We opt for the bar as we're greeted and seated in no time. This is some room: it's all skylights with yellow brickwork and the ceiling's a warm orange. Why is it looking familiar? Oh, now I remember. When they opened eight years ago, they took over a space that used to be . . . a Burger King. Pretty gutsy, Steve Johnson, creating fine dining where there was once less fine dining, with all due respect.
Here's a bar basket with lemons, limes and oranges that are missing peel. When he's making your cocktail, the bartender carves a fresh piece, just for you. Watching him assemble mojitos and martinis is affecting - he never stops shaking and measuring. As we watch, he puts together a Mamie Taylor, a tall drink with Scotch, ginger beer and lime. It's too hot to think about wine, let alone Scotch. What's wrong with us, I think, is too much yard time earlier. Cocktails galore yet I see him pour no beer or wine though he must have.
Each night there is a line. I ask a young woman from Orlando, why? She says, "They're good." And what else? She points to the window sign: "They're on TV." They are on TV, on TLC: "All new episode! NY vs. Boston." Not baseball, cupcakes. The newly opened Newbury Street location of 
It's 100 degrees. There's Dead concert traffic choking the five o'clock crawl. We cross five lanes from Faneuil Hall to the North End to find a bad, as in not good, DJ holding forth at the Hanover Street fountain. Oh, for some peace and wow-ing.
I resisted checking out the Liberty Hotel when it opened last year in
Boston’s former Charles Street Jail, despite rave reviews of its design
and the hip scenes at its first restaurant, Clink, and the Alibi bar.
I get more excited about a meal at O Ya, Boston’s spectacular little
Japanese restaurant, than just about any restaurant I have ever visited
– which is rare for me, because as much as I love food, I usually save
most of my emotion, as well as the bulk of my appetite, for dessert. O
Ya loosely translates to mean “gee whiz,” a Japanese expression of
curiosity. It is also the expression heard over and over on a given
evening as diners search, but fail, to find just the right words to
describe what is happening in their mouths when they taste chef-owner
Tim Cushman’s beautifully inventive flavor pairings.
