This semester, I took a class called “Cities and Food” as part of my Nutrition minor. An anthropological class at heart, one of our assignments was to write field notes on a food provisioning experience. Luckily, I had a reservation at one of my favorite restaurants (possibly ever). Enjoy!
A friend’s birthday called for a special celebration – and ethnographic adventure – at the restaurant Sarma. I was going to be not just a consumer, but a diligent observer of the dynamics and atmosphere of what is considered to be one of Boston’s hottest restaurants. Again, the line between Boston and Somerville is rather fuzzy. The first thing that hits you about Sarma is the juxtaposition of its unassuming location and bustling indoor nature; “Despite the fact that Sarma is hidden behind Somerville High School in a nondescript part of Winter Hill, the colorful dining room is packed every night and perpetually booked a week or two in advance,” The Infatuation writes in a review. In fact, my friend Sam’s first remark is: “It’s behind Somerville high school?”. Sarma’s location lends itself to have an under-the-radar, uptown-goes-downtown quality. In fact, due to limited parking, most people seem to have Uber’ed or Lyft’ed there, as recommended by the restaurant’s push notifications. The mere location is an example of urbanization and globalization: behind a high school of a town that used to be known as “Slumville” by locals, exists a high-end restaurant that cooks Middle Eastern inspired dishes. It sounds contradictory. Eater magazine also reveals the Somerville area’s urbanization, stating: “The Oleana [restaurant] empire has expanded to Somerville’s Winter Hill.” As for cuisine, the restaurant’s website highlights how the Head Chef, Cassie Piuma, wanted to cook her version of modern Middle Eastern mezze in a casual, upbeat, neighborhood setting. Sarma does not claim to be explicitly Middle Eastern, as the menu’s complexity (including Italian, Japanese, and Greek ingredients) reveals. Furthermore, while this layered international cuisine is being brought to an unlikely location, it is essentially only for the elite to experience. Despite “casual” being one of the restaurant’s aspirations, the menu’s pricing ends up resembling those of a steakhouse.
The restaurant is packed, even thought it’s 7:45PM on a weekday. The average Sarma-goer is a middle aged professional accompanied by either their significant other or group of friends; Sam and I are certainly the youngest, but everyone is so entranced by the menu and food, so we don’t stick out. While Sarma is a rather expensive restaurant, most people are dressed casually, with men sporting zip up sweatshirts, and women wearing jeans and a simple blouse. Donning jeans, a satin shirt, and a velour blazer, I feel a bit overdressed. Pre-pandemic, certain restaurants would outline a dress code, and I wonder if Sarma ever had one; at the same time, Boston, in comparison to other cities, is more cerebral. After all, millionaire Mark Zuckerberg’s trademark zip up sweatshirt look was debuted in Cambridge. This is quiet wealth, I suppose.
Mask mandates have perhaps replaced a “dress code”. While the restaurant has a sign requesting for masks to be worn inside, essentially everyone has their masks off, except for the people seated next to us, who wear heavy-duty respirators. I overhear them say, “We should keep our masks on even when we order, and then we’ll just take them off when we’re eating.” At this stage of the pandemic (post-pandemic?), everyone has different levels of comfort, and although this restaurant does not social distance the tables, its employees seem to strike a public health compromise by diligently wearing their masks.
When our waitress comes, she hands us the menu and gives us a spiel about Sarma, what it means (“wrapped”), and how to navigate the menu. In this way, our waitress not only delivers us the food, but is a sort of GPS and translator of Sarma-ian culture. With the suggestion to share 2-3 plates each, the menu resembles a roll call of a dance recital; each dish is listed along with all the participants (ingredients) and the song they dance to (e.g. schmear, meyhane snacks, ekmek). Don’t recognize those words? Not to fear! The menu includes a glossary so you too can be fluent in the Sarma-ian language. My friend’s eyes widen at the sight of the menu (and prices, which ranged from $10-29 per plate); he ultimately asks the waiter what she recommends and orders just that. Since this is my second time here, I feel a sense of fluidity in steering what I wanted, which I suppose is an ease gained by frequentation. For the sake of detail, this is what we order:
- AVOCADO MUHUMMARA stracciatella, pistachio crisp 15
- GYRO BREAD za’atar 4
- BLACK SEA CORNBREAD wildflower honey, feta, toasted sesame 15
- GREEN PEA FALAFEL Turkish spoon salad, ricotta haydari, mint 16
- MAITAKE MUSHROOMS black truffle tarator, artichokes, salsa verde 20
On the subject of the glossary, there is a level of mindfulness and transparency presented in the restaurant. For one, the kitchen is partially visible, so one can see the chefs finishing off the plates. When I ask the waitress about how they source their ingredients, she mentions that Sarma is partnered with Siena Farms of Sudbury, which is an organic, CSA family farm in its 17th year; the mere fact that she knows of this connection indicates a level of education amongst the restaurants’ employees. I also ask her if the restaurant offers her dinner, and she mentions that the chefs often give out tastings on developing dishes. The bottom of the menu also specifies that a 5% kitchen appreciation fee will be added to the bill; I wonder at what stage they enacted this, and how many patrons take note of this added cost, or whether they blindly sign the receipt without batting an eye.
While waiting for our dishes, one can note the hierarchy of the workers at Sarma. The Maitre D’ is serious and calculated, checking eaters in and guiding them to their table. Buzzing around the center of the restaurant are the bartenders, who are the most lively and talkative out of the bunch, as the 20 seated bar patrons swirl their alcoholic beverages and lean into the counter while pointing to a food on the menu, likely for a recommendation of a “pairing”. Because as fine diners know, certain foods go with certain wines, beers, and cocktails – that is a whole other language on its own, interlaced with that of the Sarma. Then, interestingly, there are different tiers of aproned waiters; there are the head waiters who guide people through the menu and take their orders, there is another tier of waiters who trott around the chef’s special, and yet another tier of waiters who come in like a SWAT team to pour water and clean up used tables. The latter group essentially disappears into the background, as they are “supposed” to. So while the restaurant is closely connected to the ingredient sourcing, there is a socio-spatial organization even just among the waiters, that in a way mimics the divisions of global cities; the rich are the most prominent voices, while the lower class workers contribute to the functioning of the entire zone. An interesting note about the middle tier of waiters – when one of them came with the chef’s special on a silver platter, I had mistakenly thought it was for sampling, not for purchase. I was kindly corrected, but it did not spare me from embarrassment. Emulating the neighborhood restaurants (meyhane) of Istanbul, Sarma partakes in a bazaar-like experience, with constant swirls of small plates circulating in and out of sight and periphery. The ornate ceramics on the wall also give way to such an impression. Like the restaurants of New Orleans, there is a theatrical component to dining out, especially at a place like Sarma. In other words, this isn’t where you get your Friday-night pizza slice. Since a “hefty bit” of the crowd is usually from city Boston (according to our waitress), the clientele could be likened to tourists, especially when considering the international cuisine presented. No lobstah rolls here.
The food appears at a timed cadence, as the waiters keep a subtle eye on our consumption rate. After digesting my experience, this attention by the waiters parallels the attention and privilege higher class members get simply for being part of a class. Higher class individuals can occupy certain spaces, gentrify them, and appropriate the original culture, and it is widely accepted or marketed as “cool”. Top entrepreneurs get asked about their work ethic, as if our local janitor does not understand such a concept … I’m on a tangent now, but it was interesting to see this interplay between power and attention, in the simple cadence of dishes.
My friend was speechless after every dish, which gave me all the more opportunity to observe this restaurant from a different lens than a self-prescribed food critic! Future areas of inquiry include studying the empire of restaurants, beyond that of a franchise like McDonalds; does this “Oleana” empire (which includes Oleana, Sofra, and Sarma) convive a sense of belonging amongst its patrons? Is it even possible to have an independently owned restaurant these days? Considering Sarma’s complex, layered cuisinal inspirations, another area of exploration could be the Boston consumers’ palate changes; how did Boston widen its palate beyond the standard American cuisine? Who is it leaving behind in the process? And of course, who benefits?