Back Street Bistro (www.backstreetbistro.net) is tucked away, so much so that you may not find it without directions. It’s on a tiny back street next to the fire house. You walk down under an awning and into a cottage-y, cabin-like restaurant. Inside a warm glow radiates with candles and low lights. A cast-iron wood stove heats the cozy room. A full bar is to the right, with seating to the left, upstairs and ahead. We were seated in front of the open, loft kitchen in a booth near the stove.
I had checked out the menu online as I always do. The one the server gave us was slightly different. We were told the chefs rotate items on this small, but savvy menu. The beer menu, however, was expansive and impressive! Making a choice between the local micro-brews — Allagash Double, Black Bear Voo Doo Porter and Smuttynose Portsmouth Lager, among others — and one of my favorites, Delirium Nocturnum, was difficult, but I went with the Delirium because I’d never been able to order one in a restaurant before.
To start, we ordered the spice-rubbed beef carpaccio ($8), sliced so thin it melted in our hungry mouths, and the dried cranberry, shaved prosciutto and baby spinach salad ($7). Both were expertly made and chef boyfriend was impressed. The flavors were paired up just right so you tasted a hint of this or that without overpowering your senses.
Our entrées were just as impressive, if not more so. The server offered some off-the-menu items for my daughter, who could make no sense of the menu (9-year-olds don’t know what prosciutto de parma couscous is). I was so relieved when she offered up mac & cheese or a smaller steak. My daughter, however, opted for the almond-encrusted salmon with mashed potatoes.
The chef boyfriend couldn’t pass up the grilled marinated duckling breast ($22) with crispy mushroom risotto cake, shallot white wine sauce and sautéed asparagus. Although I’m not much for blue cheese, I chose the char-grilled New York strip steak with blue cheese gratin ($27), baby spinach sauteed in lemon and garlic, russet mashed potatoes and red wine reduction sauce.
Can I just say — holy crap! These chefs know what they’re doing. And they should. Chef Chris Pillsbury and Chef Robert Magda met at Fore Street and both moved to the Royal River Grillhouse before opening their bistro. If their restaurant were in Portland, rather than Brunswick, it would give Fore Street, Vignola, 555 and Cinque Terre some hefty competition.
Chef boyfriend said dinner was “one of the best meals I’ve had in over a year.” I agreed. My steak, cooked medium/well, was crispy on the edges and moist inside. Perfect. The duck, according to chef boyfriend, was “done simply and correctly. They took proper time to let the meat rest, which makes it tender, and the seasoning was spot on.” Even the ever-so-picky, little one ate all her mashed potatoes and most of the salmon.
I desperately wanted to try a dessert — chilled bittersweet fallen chocolate souffle sounded divine — but there was no way I could fit another bite into my bloated belly. (I almost had to unbutton the pants.) I rapidly fell into that state of glazed-over eyes, mouth agape stare I like to call the food coma. The three of us spaced out, like heroin addicts, heavily drugged on delicious food. At this point, there was no need for words — pointing and grunting was sufficient.
Strung out on dinner, we treaded slowly over the ice rink that was the parking lot. Looking up at the balcony, I fantasized about our dinner there this summer. I’ll be wearing a sundress and sandals, eating giant mouthfuls of horseradish mashed potatoes and that Maine apple and house-made sausage stuffed quail — if it’s back on the menu.
— Amy Martin