Think there's no place like home? Think again.
Two minutes after walking through Sofra’s doors for the first time, I found myself straightening the Turkish kilim rugs that line the wooden benches as if I owned the place. As I plopped my bag on a bench and bellied up to the service counter, I was instantly at home. I squinted at the lunch specials and read all the tiny notes that indicated which meze were based on chickpeas and tomatoes, which on whipped feta. I marveled at the idea of a salad with kohlrabi and pickled green tomatoes, and then I contemplated the cookies and stuffed flatbreads. Which sins were worth it today? The cheese borek? The earthquake cookies? The coconut macaroons? Already a regular — at least in my own mind — I warmed up with a bowl of velvety butternut squash soup and a small bowl of something red-pepper-ish and pleasantly spicy. I was so comfortable that when I went to pay, I realized I hadn’t even brought my wallet to the cash register.
By now, Sofra was starting to fill up with its true lunch regulars. I could tell because they also started moving the furniture around, dragging this table here, that stool there. I didn’t care who cozied up next to the space I’d claimed for my own. They all looked like potential friends, though I didn’t recognize a soul. I swore I must’ve known at least one of the four lean-jawed women, uncannily matched in yoga pants and raggedy sweatshirts, huddled over salads and shawarmas. Were they sisters? A clutch of yoga teachers on break from the local studio? And that group of business-casual youngish guys with laptop bags — how did I know them?
It got me thinking about the places to which we gravitate that feel like our own private clubs, commercial versions of the college cafeteria, where even though the seating isn’t ideal and the acoustics are lousy, we know we’re safe, welcome, and among friends.
Maybe it started with Starbucks. Not all Starbucks, of course — only the smart ones with those overstuffed leather armchairs and room enough for tables that invite side-by-side novel-writing on laptops. Starbucks originated that trend near college campuses as a way to entice students to think of cramming for tests over a tall latte. We all came to love these environments, with their free-form seating and unpretentious interiors — places where you could swipe your neighbor’s sports page with a smile and a gesture when he’s done with it. Places where you might grab a cappuccino or a sandwich, eat and drink, hang out alone or with friends, take-out or eat-in.
Sofra is one of those places. So are Flour Bakery and Mike’s City Diner in the South End, Hi-Rise Bread Company in Cambridge, and Sound Bites Café in Somerville. There are many others. I won’t know most of them because they’re identified by a feeling of personal ownership that outsiders can’t always appreciate. (I’d love to hear from readers about the comfort zones in your neighborhoods.)
Of course, the comfortzone concept doesn’t rule out dinner — or alcohol. I feel equally at home at many of these places at night, especially on those evenings when I’ too harried or lazy to cook, or unwilling to dress up. As I write this, I’m thinking of Frank’s Steak House in North Cambridge, a perennial success despite its mediocre-to-terrible food, weak drinks, and booths in dire need of re-upholstery. Somehow we still end up there a lot, and so do a lot of other people I know — nice people, coolpeople, even important people. We all go because Frank’s feels like an extension of home: not exactly a night out, not exactly staying in. And good food or bad, we always come home feeling happy to have been there. When I was growing up, there were Chinese restaurants that felt like homes away from home for my family. There was a Central Square deli where the Greek salads were great and the steaks were tough; an Italian place, kind of like Carlo’s Cucina Italiana in Allston (although the food at Carlo’s is 10 times better), where the veal parmigiana was lousy, wonderfully greasy, and seemed interchangeable with my mother’s home cooking. We were in good spirits whenever we went there — on our way in and on our way out. And if a restaurant, café, deli, or bar can send me home happy and feeling like a sort of honorary owner, that’s the highest form of hospitality.
The food at Sofra is excellent, by the way: special flavors, with all the magic of Turkey, Syria, Armenia, and Morocco. Other than the less welcoming ethnic grocers down the street in Watertown, no one else competes with Ana Sortun’s spices and savory palate and Maura Kilpatrick’s sweets. I can’t wait to go back for the Turkish breakfast: soft-boiled egg, cucumber, tomato, olive, feta, fig, and thick yogurt with a dollop of organic honey ($8). But it isn’t just the food that makes Sofra a worthy hangout. The entire menu could be offered, with just as delicious results, in a shiny white-tiled cubicle. But there’s something marvelous and comforting about finding sustenance in surroundings that feel personal, weathered, clean but slightly askew. Like my living room or kitchen at home.
Sofra Bakery and Café | One Belmont Street, Cambridge | 617.661.3161 | www.sofrabakery.com
Louisa Kasdon can be reached at food@stuffatnight.com.
