SAUCE
Nearing perfection in Newton

By James Reed, Globe Staff | March 16, 2007

51 Lincoln, a stylish newcomer to Newton's restaurant scene, is the kind of place that can change your mind. It'll make you rethink food you never liked and dishes that don't sound particularly complementary (chorizo paired with lemoncello?). It happened to each of us as we passed our plates around a few weeks ago.

"I really don't care for salmon," one of us sniffs, "but this is so moist, and it's not fishy at all."

"Those are capers? I don't even like capers," someone else remarks as he loads up a forkful.

And perhaps the biggest feat is getting one of us to scoop up cheesy grits, something she had previously disliked. The verdict? "Those aren't bad at all"; granted, enough cheese and butter will make a fan of anyone.

For all its worthy buzz, 51 Lincoln is surprisingly thinned out when we drop by on a recent blustery week night. Two of us have arrived late, and our companions greet us with an immediate rave about the scallops appetizer they've already packed away. It's so good, they urge us to order it again. "You know, so you can try it, but maybe we'll have a bite, too."

We see why they're so happy. With browned tops, the scallops arrive on a bed of stacked arepas (that polenta-like staple of Venezuelan cuisine), with light cheese and mango butter on the side. Then we feast our eyes on the slab (and that's truly the best word for it) of thick bacon that could count as your daily cholesterol intake for the next two months.

Meanwhile, al dente noodles with generous chunks of lobster in a creamy champagne sauce are exactly how we want to start the meal: something hearty and warm to combat the cold.

Some of the more intriguing appetizers are the food-and-liquor pairings, offered with or without the booze. For $9, a little shot glass of hibiscus liquor comes with braised short rib, and we consider getting a second order when the first one is wiped out in minutes.

In addition to its meat, poultry, and pasta dishes, 51 Lincoln does seafood well, from the crispy skate wing that's the overwhelming hit of the evening to the pan-seared salmon over jasmine rice that could use a pinch less salt.

The cauliflower gratin accompanying the skate is another one of those foods we swore off since our days as a finicky kid raised on meatloaf. But these stalks are meltingly tender, again with a liberal dose of cheese and butter. "There are 350 calories in that one bite," someone quips.

Perhaps the only sour note in our entrees is the cold, pickled vegetable medley that comes with the shrimp and grits. Its tangy sharpness is an odd contrast to the warm jumbo shrimp coated in a spicy dark sauce that tastes almost like a Jamaican-jerk seasoning with hints of tamarind and maybe Worcestershire sauce.

After a string of restaurants with fair to mediocre service, 51 Lincoln is like a mirage. When our waitress, who's been on the job a few weeks, brings us our bottle of white wine (a rather crisp Viognier from California), she wants to know if it's cold enough. It isn't, and she promptly disappears and brings back one that's ice cold.

Amid the romantic ambience -- the dark wood floors, the curvature of the space -- we soon realize 51 Lincoln is still finding its niche. We've counted at least four different cuisines (Venezuelan, French, Italian, New American), and the decor is equally indeterminate. Chef-owner Jeffrey Fournier's modern-art paintings loom like set pieces in a hotel lobby, while thick panes of suspended glass seem to be decorated with Asian-like characters. Dessert is courtesy of the American South by way of Mexico: pecan pie and pumpkin flan. Where are we?

It doesn't matter, though, because it's all done so well. Even the coffee with dessert is good; it could be Folgers for all we know.

As we're leaving, I'm incredulous that everything was nearly perfect. With reporter pad lurking under the table, we're here to critique, after all. A-ha! I find something on our way out: The upstairs bathroom is extremely cold, as in see-your-breath frigid.

Lame, I know, but hey, that's all I got.


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