O and I went to Cuchi-Cuchi, a decision which was driven largely by O’s desire to get a good drink. On the drive, I saw the sublime (a view of Boston from the Route 2/Park Avenue intersection) and the ridiculous (a yutz stripped to his warm-up pants, walking on the Charles River near River St. in Cambridge – not advisable after a day of above-freezing temperatures).
Cuchi-Cuchi’s menu devotes about two thirds of its space to drinks; I had a sidecar while O opted for “Getting Layered,” which looked more like a smoothy (albeit an exquisite one) than a cocktail. In true theatrical fashion, our waiter was a variation on this year’s beautiful boy, wearing a black polyester shirt unbuttoned to the fourth notch and sporting a rhinestone choker as well. Work for that tip, baby ! Cuchi-Cuchi’s fare is an eclectic variation on the tapas theme (it has connections to the locally famous Dalí), and our selections were yummy, perhaps better now than they were at the beginning of the restaurants lifetime, which I hope is long and fruitful. In these days of Ickiness At Large, a fun, rococo refuge like Cuchi-Cuchi is a welcome refuge indeed.