Don't Tell Aunty is worth talking about
: Don't Tell Aunty is the latest from the Flying Lion hospitality group, which runs Seaport restaurants such as Madras Dosa Co. and Nowon. This is in a quieter area, occupying a sleepy corner of Boylston Street where many hungry symphony-goers have lamented a lack of dining options.
Don't Tell Aunty offers Indian small plates.
David L. Ryan/Globe Staff
'We fell in love with the location. We thought the neighborhood could use something like this. The building is owned by Berklee College of Music, so we have a live music element. We love how we can integrate the community into the space, and give students an opportunity to have a stage and practice their craft,' says co-owner Sruthi Chowdary, who operates the restaurant with Babu Koganti.
But what's with the name?
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'Aunty is a very fun play on how we were raised back home. There's a funny thing, or a sarcastic thing, that aunties are always on the watch,' says Chowdary, who grew up in Vijayawada, in southeastern India. 'Everyone is so into each other's business, but also in an endearing way.'
Masala fries at Don't Tell Aunty.
David L. Ryan/Globe Staff
What to eat
: Fusion cuisine with a southern Indian lilt.
'A lot of Indian food on the Western side of the world is from the northern part of India. We never found food that felt like home for us, and that's what brought us into this industry —sharing what Indian food means to us. It's not always chicken tikka masala,' Chowdary says.
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Instead, it's croquettes stuffed with butter chicken in chili oil; saucy tater tots with mint, tamarind, yogurt, and onion sauces; nacho-style kale fritters, similarly sauced; paratha bread coated in a spicy Bolognese sauce — all exceedingly grazable, designed for sharing (and perhaps overordering) after a few drinks as the music reverberates and the lights get lower.
The bar at Don't Tell Aunty.
David L. Ryan/Globe Staff
The runaway hit, though, is something simpler: avakaya hummus, made with spicy pickled mango: an exemplary fusion treat.
'Aunts and grandmothers sit together and make huge jars every summer, when the fruit is in season, and it lasts throughout the year. It's a yearly ritual at home for us. And everyone loves hummus in America,' she says.
Prices are affordable, with most offerings under $20, befitting the college-adjacent locale.
The Bollywood Swingin' cocktail.
David L. Ryan/Globe Staff
What to drink
: The backlit bar has Miami vibes, all pink and palm trees; cocktails ($15 and up) are playful but potent: a Spicy Lil' Auntie is their twist on a margarita, with mango and jalapeno; Curry Tales is a martini, sort of, with vodka, vermouth, and curry brine. Take it slow.
The takeaway
: A spicy mix of nightlife and creative small plates, worth telling your aunties — or at least your college roommates — about.
1080 Boylston St., Boston, 617-982-6152,
The lamb ghee roast dish at Don't Tell Aunty.
David L. Ryan/Globe Staff
Kara Baskin can be reached at
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Chicago Tribune
a day ago
- Chicago Tribune
Review: A delicious weekend at Ravinia brings together music and fine dining
'A good program,' chief conductor Marin Alsop told a crowd in Ravinia's Tree Top Lounge, 'is like a meal.' She wasn't just reaching for a fanciful metaphor. Each year, Breaking Barriers, the festival-within-a-festival she devised around gender equity at Ravinia, spotlights a different profession. This year's focus on the culinary arts invited women chefs to devise dishes inspired by Alsop's Chicago Symphony programs. Alsop picked the music, while her co-curator, 'Food Network' star Molly Yeh, matchmade the pieces with specific chefs. At this ticketed, add-on event in the Tree Top Lounge, a Ravinia audience sampled the results. The chefs themselves assembled and handed out the hors d'oeuvres at a long table: 'Chopped' judge Maneet Chauhan, New York City baker Jacqueline Eng, Florida chef Mika Leon, and Monteverde and Pastificio chef/co-owner Sarah Grueneberg. For some of the chefs, thinking deeply about music is already second nature. Yeh is the daughter of CSO clarinetist John Bruce Yeh and a Juilliard-trained percussionist; she designed a bite and performed at Saturday's chamber concert. And Eng is also a percussionist with a Juilliard credential. (Those department dinner parties must have been elite.) Despite the crush of more than 250 attendees — about the most Tree Top can fit comfortably — the preconcert tasting went off smoothly. When the line got long, a quick-thinking Chauhan started offering her dish to those waiting, scoopable from a Fritos bag. I'm a pale excuse for a food critic. But after sampling the bites first, then attending the concert in the Pavilion, I found that the chefs' dishes uncannily forecasted the performance to come. Here's how this musical feast went on Friday: Accompanying Reena Esmail's 'Re|Member' By seeking an Indian spin on Midwestern comfort food, Chauhan set a challenge for herself. Any Frito pie, even a cheffed-up one, has to contend with the overwhelming saltiness of the chips themselves. Chauhan might not have been able to surmount that totally, but I can't imagine it being done much better. Her answer was to introduce several tastes: fruity pops of pomegranate seed and mango koochumbar, sweet-and-sour tamarind chutney and briny-creamy queso fresco. In a clever stroke, Chauhan made the vindaloo with ground lamb, rather than the usual hunks, to nod to the more traditional chili topping. Your aunt in Cedar Rapids would surely approve. The Midwest/Indian mashup was apropos for Esmail, who was born in Chicago. In her 'Re|Member,' premiered in 2021, an oboist prerecords their solo, to be shown on a video screen at the top of the piece. Later, the video returns, with the same oboist duetting with their past self live onstage. Of all the pandemic-era commissions out there, Esmail's 'Re|Member' stands out for its poignancy — and I loved that Chauhan, by riffing on a familiar, lovable dish, managed to nod to that nostalgia. So, I was extra disappointed that Ravinia opted to go a different direction for this performance. Instead of the video duet, CSO oboists Lora and Will Welter played a spatialized duet— Schaefer playing in the Pavilion aisle, Welter onstage. Even with its profundity curbed, this was a fine, stirring performance. That's a credit to guest conductor Alexandra Arrieche, a participant in Alsop's fellowship program for female conductors. Accompanying Tim Corpus's 'Great Lake Concerto,' Movement III When you think 'percussion,' you probably think big, bold, maybe a little aggro. It's no surprise Eng's perspective as a former percussionist led her to temper those stereotypes. Instead of going for the obvious associations, she focused on that other, unseen aspect of being a musician: long sessions in the practice room. As she explained in the introductory video played in the Pavilion, she selected rye for its resilience in many different climates. (That grain selection had the added benefit of a slightly sour edge, brightening the dish.) And the bean-and-vegetable it rested upon had the rich, layered flavor one can only achieve by stewing high-quality ingredients patiently for hours on end. Decadent, a little cheesy, and oh-so-umami, it was the most flavor-packed bite of the evening. With its focus on Lakes-region vegetables and grains, Eng also drew inspiration from the piece's title. Corpus, a Chicago-based composer, composed the work specifically for CSO percussionist Vadim Karpinos and Lyric percussionist Ed Harrison; it was premiered by Roosevelt University's student orchestra last year. The third movement, marked 'Explosive,' throws us into a fast-paced repartee between Karpinos and Harrison from opposite sides of the stage — Karpinos on xylophone, Harrison on tom-toms. Corpus's writing is consistently inventive: It's never quite clear whether the soloists are teasing one another or casually trying to one-up each other, and you'll never hear a xylophone sound more mournful than it does at the middle of the movement. I's always a high endorsement, to both performer and composer, when people start hooting in the middle of a classical music piece like they're at a stadium show. Harrison's moment was his minute-long maraca solo (yes, really), and Karpinos' his stunt of tossing, then catching, a shekere 10 feet in the air during a cadenza. I'll be thinking about that performance for a long time—just like those beans. Accompanying George Gershwin's 'Cuban Overture' Of the four, León's dish was the most conventional, which is no slight. The texture of the ropa vieja was just right — not too soupy, but also not getting caught in your teeth for perpetuity, like some ropier ropas viejas. I could see a world in which the tostón weighs down the dish. Instead, it was just dense enough to support the generous mound of meat on top. I might have wanted some more acidity to brighten the dish. Then again, at this point in the meal, some unabashed heartiness was welcome. Without León's dish, I don't know that I would have left the Tree Top Lounge fully satiated. Alsop and the CSO's 'Cuban Overture' stuck to one's ribs, too. Maybe a little too much, actually — the overall spirit seemed transplanted from Gershwin's blustery, big-city tone poems, like 'American in Paris' or 'Rhapsody in Blue.' For a work that references son and rumba so deeply over its short duration, this overture didn't dance much as possible, I tried to isolate each dish's composite parts before taking them in together. The lamb vindaloo in the Frito pie. The cultured butter off Eng's rye toast. Even the tostón, alone, in León's creation. When I did the same for this 'pasta tale' — a chilled orzo, with a tomato saffron sauce pooling at its side — I admit, I was skeptical. Between the freshness of the lump crab and its vegetal crunch, the orzo had all the makings of a great summer pasta salad, if on the mild-mannered side. Meanwhile, the sauce was not at all what I expected, leading with the tomato's acidity. The saffron, for all its potency, arrives only on the back end of the bite, albeit mild enough to be overpowered by the taste of Ravinia's wooden utensils. I swapped to plastic before mixing it all together and digging in. Then: total magic. It's as though Grueneberg had carefully plotted a run-of-show for each bite. First, the salinity of the crab, now amplified. Then, that tomato zing, rounded off pleasantly to become more mere aroma than star. The fresh veggies complete the garden, but no longer dominate. And then: the saffron, asserting itself more bravely than before. If this ends up on Monteverde's menu, catch me there tomorrow, a Road-Runner puff of dust pluming behind. What kismet that the most nuanced dish got the most nuanced performance. If programs are like meals, 'Scheherazade' would be the equivalent of a weekly special at Chez Ravinia: Like Copland's Clarinet Concerto, appearing later in the weekend, Alsop conducted the work earlier in her Ravinia tenure, in 2022. But the flavor profile of this meeting between CSO, Alsop and associate concertmaster Stephanie Jeong — who, then and now, played the expansive solos representing Scheherazade — has only deepened in those three years. Conducting scoreless, as is her wont in big repertoire works, Alsop had a specific and inspiring vision for the piece: an end-to-end lyricism, episodes that elicited delicious contrasts, slowdowns that were just right. But don't mistake specificity for micromanagement. Just as exhilarating was the sheer freedom and creativity the CSO seized in their solos. Stephen Williamson's runs in the third movement slowed at their peak, like the suspended, heartstopping moment before a roller coaster's big drop. Keith Buncke's bassoon solo was punctuated by pauses, a sage carefully choosing his words. And Jeong — where to begin? It was really her Scheherazade, a masterclass in taking time and, when called for, freezing it altogether. I can't think of a better 'Scheherazade' I've heard live, anywhere, even including Grant Park's noble account last summer. If only we could come back for seconds. The Breaking Barriers Festival continues 5 p.m. Sunday with Felix Mendelssohn's Symphony No. 4, 'Italian,' and Chicago Symphony clarinetist Stephen Williamson playing Aaron Copland's Clarinet Concerto. Tickets $35–$95 Pavilion, $15 lawn. More information at
Time Magazine
a day ago
- Time Magazine
We Are Drinking So Much Matcha That Supplies Are Running Out
Matcha tea, a powdered Japanese green tea, has become a cultural phenomenon in the West, so much so that its popularity has resulted in a global supply problem. Western consumers have thirsted for the health option in recent years, a trend skyrocketed by social media—especially through Tik Tok. At the same time, Japan has experienced a mass tourism rise in the post-pandemic years—in 2024, Japan welcomed a record-breaking 36.9 million international visitors, surpassing the previous record of 31.9 million in 2019 — leading to many mass tea companies and local vendors to report shortages of supply. Back in October 2024, two well-known matcha companies—Ippodo and Marukyu Koyamaen—limited and/or stopped selling certain kinds of matcha, citing short supplies. 'Dear customers, We have been receiving an unexpected high volume of orders during the past few months. Taking production scale and capacity into consideration, we regrettably announce that availability for all Matcha products, regardless size and packaging type, will be limited from now on,' Marukyu Koyamaen's website still reads. Matcha comes from the same plant that many different teas come from— the camellia sinensis. The camella sinensis leaves can be made into green tea, oolong tea, and black tea. Though matcha originates from China, it has become closely associated and rooted in Japanese culture. Matcha is a type of green tea, but the processing, form and taste differs significantly, and is made specifically from tencha, a shaded green leaf tea. Matcha also only makes up a small amount of Japanese tea production—just 6%—according to the Global Japanese Tea Association. Yet, the demand has skyrocketed. And as a result, prices have also soared. According to Forbes, the matcha market is expected to hit about $5 billion by 2028, an expected growth of more than 10% since 2023. Further, the Japanese agriculture ministry has reported that the 2024 tencha output was over 2.5 times higher than 2014. The question is whether increased demand, small farmers trying to meet this demand, and a crop that is heavily dependent on weather patterns can keep up, even as the spring matcha harvest attempts to make up for the shortages of the past year. This year, though, the Kyoto region of Japan, which accounts for a large percentage of tencha harvest, was hit with a hot and dry harvest season, say farmers in the area. In 2025, Zach Mangan, founder of Kettl Tea, a Brooklyn-based company specializing in high-quality teas imported directly from farms in Japan, called this year's harvest a 'high-quality but lower-yielding harvest' in a blog post in May of this year—the kind of harvest that will boost demand and lower availability, potentially raising prices even further. Read More: The Surprising Reason Your Groceries Are More Expensive According to the Global Japanese Tea Association, the average price for tencha in late April reached 8,235 yen per kilogram, which is 1.7 times higher than last year's average. And according to producers, that can only be expected to continue. 'Over the past year, demand for matcha has grown beyond all expectations,' Ippodo updates customers on July 18. 'Unfortunately, supply constraints are likely to continue.'
a day ago
Ziad Rahbani, Lebanese composer and son of icon Fayrouz, dies at 69
BEIRUT -- Ziad Rahbani, a visionary Lebanese composer, playwright, pianist and political provocateur, died on Saturday, at the age of 69, according to the state-run National News Agency. The death was confirmed by a person close to Rahbani who spoke on condition of anonymity. The cause of death was not immediately clear. Born in 1956 in Antelias, near Beirut, Ziad was the eldest son of legendary Lebanese singer Fayrouz and late composer Assi Rahbani, one half of the famed Rahbani Brothers. From a young age, he showed signs of prodigious talent, composing his first musical work at just 17 years old. Raised among artistic royalty, his world was steeped in music, theater, and political consciousness — a combination that would define his life's work. His mother, considered to be the most famous and esteemed performer in the Arab world, performed some of his compositions at her sellout concerts, blending Lebanese folklore with Western syncopation and phrasing. Lebanese President Joseph Aoun mourned Rahbani's death as a national loss, describing him as 'not just an artist, but a complete intellectual and cultural phenomenon.' In a statement, Aoun praised Rahbani as 'a living conscience, a rebellious voice against injustice, and an honest mirror reflecting the suffering and marginalized.' He highlighted how Rahbani's fusion of classical, jazz and Oriental music 'opened new windows for Lebanese cultural expression' and elevated it to global levels. 'Ziad was a natural extension of the Rahbani family, which gave Lebanon much beauty and dignity,' the president added. While his parents helped construct a golden era of Lebanese musical theater steeped in idealism and nostalgia, Rahbani charged onto the scene with irreverent satire, unflinching political critique and jazz-inflected scores that mirrored the chaos and contradictions of a Lebanon at war with itself. 'I admire the music of composers like Charlie Parker, Stan Getz and Dizzy Gillespie,' he once said. 'But my music is not Western, it's Lebanese, with a different way of expression.' Rahbani's music reflected the hybrid heritage of Lebanon, which until the civil war erupted in 1975 was a cultural melting pot where East met West. But it was also deeply rooted in the traumatic events of the sectarian strife, the bloody street battles between rival militias and three years of violent Israeli occupation after the 1982 invasion. His breakout play, Nazl el-Sourour (Happiness Hotel), premiered in 1974 when he was only 17 and portrayed a society disfigured by class inequality and repression. The tragicomic narrative follows a group of workers who hijack a restaurant to demand their rights, only to be dismissed by the political elite. With this bold debut, Rahbani revealed his enduring theme: that Lebanese society was fractured not only by war but by entrenched power. A leftist Greek Orthodox, Rahbani also wrote plays and satirical radio shows centered on his violent environment that mock the sectarian divisions of his country. Rahbani's subsequent plays solidified his reputation as the voice of the disenchanted. In Bennesbeh Labokra Chou? (What About Tomorrow?), he plays a jaded bar pianist in post-civil war Beirut who drifts through a surreal landscape of broken dreams, corruption and absurdity. The work features some of Rahbani's most poignant music and biting commentary, including the famous line, 'They say tomorrow will be better, but what about today?' Prime Minister Nawaf Salam also mourned Rahbani's loss, describing him as 'an exceptional and creative artist—a free voice who remained true to the values of justice and dignity.' More than just a playwright, Rahbani was a composer of staggering range. He infused traditional Arabic melodies with jazz, funk and classical influences, creating a hybrid sound that became instantly recognizable. His live performances were legendary, whether playing piano in smoky clubs in Hamra, one of Beirut's major commercial districts that harbors a multifaceted identity, or orchestrating large-scale productions. His collaborations with Fayrouz, especially during the late 1970s and 1980s, ushered in a darker, more politically charged phase in her career. Songs like Ouverture 83, Bala Wala Chi (Without Anything), and Kifak Inta (How Are You) reflected Ziad's brooding compositions and lyrical introspection. Rahbani came under fire from Arab traditionalists for his pioneering efforts to bridge the gap between Arab and Western culture with music. In recent years, Ziad appeared less in the public eye, yet his influence never waned. Younger generations rediscovered his plays online and sampled his music in protest movements. He continued to compose and write, speaking often of his frustration with Lebanon's political stagnation and decaying public life. Rahbani is survived by his mother, Fayrouz, now 90, his sister Reema and brother Hali.
