The whole point of being an aristocratic Brahmin is that outsiders can't just join up, which is sort of B.S. considering you spent a summer bar-backing at Nantucket's Chicken Box and live in the nicest part of Framingham, but whatever, they're lame anyway. ...Or are they, now that they'll accept you for dinner, at The Brahmin.
Time-traveling via traditional small plates and crafty throwback cocktails, The Brahmin hosts low-key DJs 'n dinner in a turn-of-the-century-brownstone-ish supper spot decked with copper-topped bars, a fireplace surrounded by dark leather banquettes, and a crystal chandelier'd staircase leading to a downstairs VIP -- hopefully not just Joey McIntyre in the basement, again. Farm/sea shareables include short ribs w/ a cauliflower parsnip puree & pickled shallots; jalapeno-oiled salmon crudo w/ crisp cucumber paper; and beef tartare w/ capers, quail egg, and "toast points", which should mainly be "keep it short enough so that you don't actually need separate points". Should shared plates not be your thing, you're going to have to just get over being an only child at some point there's all-for-you entrees like a steak and potato flatbread finished w/ grilled onions and a blue cheese aioli; and a grilled sesame gingered tuna dressed w/ roasted tomato and smashed avocado.
And lest your mouth be as dry as your blue-blooded witticisms, they're stocking suds from Goose Island (Honkers, Matilda), and serving summery signatures named after historic Brahmins, like the Cabot's Cocktail (Citron, Grand Marnier & pomegranate) or a rum, apple, and muddled strawberry number named Adam's Favorite -- which is also the only plausible reason they let him in over you, despite your impeccable credentials. The Chicken Box!
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