In a world of viral pastries and social-media-tailored pizzas that have people lined up around the block, is there room for locally minded restaurants that have dug their roots into a community?
As a transplant to Massachusetts, I’ve long valued the local classics I never had in my childhood, from lobster rolls and whoopie pies to split-top buns and Hoodsies. But the restaurants that specialize in these regional foods are often overlooked by newcomers and city-dwellers distracted by the new big thing.
To be sure, the most iconic of these mainstays are beloved and broadly known by even the weekend vacationer. No one needs to be reminded to try the pizza at Galleria Umberto or the banh mi at Ba Le. People who have never set foot in New England have probably heard tales of the fried clams of Ipswich, and they might even know that Boston is home to the oldest continuously operating restaurant in America, the Union Oyster House.
But most of the restaurants that have defined the Commonwealth over the past century remain known mostly at a regional level, even within the state. The reason for that is in part the same reason why the landscape is so rich with varying styles, traditions, and perennial favorites. The density of population and microcultures within such a small state means you could spend a lifetime exploring your own little corner.
The North Shore beefs at spots like Londi’s and Bella’s might get all the press, but the area is also home to beach pizza from Tripoli’s and Christy’s and steak tips at Newport and Champions.
Central Mass is rich with hot dogs from local icons like George’s Coney Island, Art Bradish Snack Bar, and Lee’s, but you can get fish and chips on Fridays from Foley and Sons and Egg Roll Lady and classic sandwiches in a pub setting at Breen’s and Vincent’s.
The Berkshires has hot dogs, too, but of the mini variety at Teo’s and Hot Dog Ranch, plus a tasty fish fry sandwich at Pedrin’s, both borrowed from across the New York border in the Albany area.
These regional essentials have what approach a millennia of combined history, yet they only scrape the surface of what Massachusetts has to offer. Ask a native of any town across the Commonwealth and they likely have a beloved seasonal stand for hot dogs and ice cream they grew up with in the warmer months and a cosy local pub they frequented for fried seafood or steak tips when it got cold.
Stepping into one of these restaurants conjures up the past as surely as anything on the Liberty Trail. Many of them are staffed with people who have worked there for decades (or with teenagers who return decades later to eat with their families). The most exciting, like many mentioned above, have largely untouched interiors with beautifully weathered wood carvings, cosy booths and counter stools, and occasionally unique regional flourishes on their menus that have mysterious origins that take on mythological status.
It’s not just individual restaurants that retain this lost diversity and unassuming quality, though. Local food styles dot the map across all regions of Massachusetts. South shore bar pizza and north shore roast beef sandwiches are now widely documented (and debated), with terms like “laced” and “three-way” having entered the vocabulary of restaurantgoers throughout eastern Massachusetts. But lesser-known items – such as the chicken barb, chop suey sandwich, fish fry, and Springfield-style pizza, rumored to have been brought over from Bracigliano, Italy, and cut in squares from a giant round or oval pie – can be just as storied and satisfying.
Regional foods come from immigrants beyond Italy, too: Cambodian food fans know to go to Lowell, while Portuguese in New Bedford and Haitian in Brockton cannot be beat. You can get a satisfying vegetarian Indian meal on the weekends at a Hindu temple in Groton or Afro-Caribbean bbq tucked away off Route 9 in Southborough, both representative of booming immigrant communities in their respective areas. These locations mostly lack the longevity of the classics mentioned above, but their organic development reflects the nature of the towns in which they were opened.
The sense of place in these restaurants and dishes has too often been sanded down by the all-knowing proximity of everywhere that the internet has delivered. They are rooted in their communities because they come from a time when each town was distinct or because of a need for people to feel at home rather than unmoored. In turn, they have given this distinct character back to their towns in the era of monoculture. What would Randolph be without the Lynwood Cafe serving up bar pizza? Can anyone imagine East Boston without Santarpio’s? Does anyone want to?
The wave of culinary diversity and gourmet-driven creativity that has spread throughout American cities, including Boston, in the new century is no doubt something to celebrate. The individuality and ingenuity of these offerings are a welcome push against the continued homogenization of American cities, where chains have spread to such an extent that it’s difficult to isolate the individual character of a place. But it’s also the case that many of these pop-ups and hip storefronts could be in any city. Many of them seem to belong to the internet more than they do to a specific neighborhood or local food tradition.
The beauty of our expanding culinary scene is that there is room for both. Just as the James Beard Awards honor the best in fine dining while elevating local and roadside gems in their America’s Classics category, taking a trip to a new corner of the Commonwealth to enjoy a mini dog or a bar pizza can be easily slotted into the regular rotation of Japanese/Italian fusion and wood-fired bagels. Where you end up might not be on the Heat Map, but the sense of discovery that comes from something well-loved and comfortable, as natural to a community as an old oak in the town square, can be equally thrilling.