The Restaurant That Replaced My Childhood Favorite Spot Is Now My Adult Favorite Spot

This is Highly Recommend, a column dedicated to our very opinionated editors’ favorite things to eat, drink, and buy.

I have been going to the corner spot currently occupied by Buttonwood in Newton, Massachusetts, for most of my life. As a kid, I knew it as Cantin’ Abruzzi, a temple to red-sauce cooking with Dom (or was it his brother Mario?) singing in the kitchen and serving pasta mountains topped with saucy peaks. The short walk from my parents’ house felt like an odyssey, but no matter how much I complained during the trip, I am certain I never made a peep once we got there. That’s because I was too busy stuffing myself with chicken parm that hung over the edges of already huge plates, pastas with “gravy” that we never even came close to finishing, and golden chunks of chicken Scarpariello that still haunt me with its glorious combination of white wine, butter, and lemon.

Here, my dad, the firstborn and loudest of four very loud boys, held court and made the rounds in the dining room, greeting friends like he owned the place. It was like his childhood home, three generations stacked in a Worcester triple-decker, all coming together for Sunday suppers and epic holiday feasts, with the volume and drama to match. I just watched and always ended my meal with chocolate mousse that came in an edible chocolate cup and topped with a single chocolate-coated espresso bean. It was heaven.

But eventually Cantin’ Abruzzi closed as the neighborhood got more affluent and Mario (okay, it was definitely Mario) wanted to get out of the restaurant business. A series of restaurants came and went in the space as tastes evolved in Newton, until Buttonwood came and stayed, even after a devastating fire threatened to close the space for good.

When my family went over the summer, it was my own kids’ turn to complain about the walk, along with my father who no longer gets around as easily as he did. At Buttonwood, he still gets treated like royalty, though, and seems to know everybody’s name, despite the fact that Buttonwood couldn’t be more different than Cantin’ Abruzzi. Where chianti once ruled, rosé is now on tap along with Partida Creus natural wines. Instead of peperoncino, chef David Punch showers Aleppo pepper over sticky ribs and serves pork schnitzel alongside a chunky “Israeli” salad and za’atar yogurt. Punch doesn’t overlook the simple stuff either. The fries are textbook crispy on the outside and creamy inside, while the griddled rich cornbread is elevated by Tabasco-spiked butter. It’s all so good, making Buttonwood somehow the perfect neighborhood restaurant in a neighborhood that has changed so much since I was a kid.

The dining room feels fresh and tasteful without veering into stuffy fanciness, laid-back enough for a drink on the way home, but classy enough to be a special-occasion destination. The menu reflects how much food has evolved since the days of the Cantin’ Abruzzi, and how comfort food can pull from a global pantry.

I don’t know how much longer my parents will be in their house or how many more times we will take that walk together. I don’t know if regulars realize the vibrant sambal all over the charred striped bass collar is made in-house, but I do know one thing: It’s more than just nostalgia that keeps me coming back to 51 Lincoln Street.

Go there: Buttonwood

Originally Appeared on Bon Appétit