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At first glance, Urban Hearth is a modest, unassuming restaurant. Settled in the outskirts of Porter Square, the cozy, living room-like space offers a homey respite from the brisk spring streets of Cambridge. Inside, diners are greeted with an intimate vibe created by the warm, dim lighting, a bluish-gray color palette, and various tones of wood. Windows sparkle with white curtains of fairy lights, and the colorful labels of artistically arranged wine bottles draw diners’ eyes.

The restaurant’s core farm-to-table values are present in its minimalist and elegant atmosphere. Urban Hearth practices an open kitchen concept, so diners can easily watch the two young chefs tend to the sizzling pans on the stove. The space is easygoing, almost as if diners are attending a dinner party at someone’s apartment. It’s not lavish or intense. Amid a quiet buzz of conversation, time seems to pass slowly.

But like many things in life, slowing down comes at a price — and Urban Hearth is no different. While the ingredients are high-quality, the price of dining at Urban Hearth certainly reminds you that organic is a luxury — and not necessarily one worth indulging in. The ingredients’ freshness felt like an excuse for a relative lack of complexity in flavor, and the dishes, while satisfactory, were nothing special or adventurous.

The food, like the restaurant itself, exudes a sense of elevation. While the ingredients’ quality gives each dish an incredibly fresh taste, the flavors lacked a certain creative depth and complexity. First up were the “smackerals” — Urban Hearth’s lingo for appetizers — which arrived in a timely fashion, starting with oysters nestled on a setting of smooth stones. The dish’s freshness and minimalism emphasized the delectable simplicity of nature, reminding diners of what even a few ingredients and bare presentation connected to the earth can achieve amid an age of ultra-processed foods. A buttermilk biscuit was the next entrant, arriving to the table on a sea-blue plate with a dash of smoked maple miso butter. While warm and comforting, the biscuit was quite dense, and the butter lacked enough maple to counterbalance the miso’s saltiness. At its price point — nearly twice the average price of pastries and baked goods in local bakeries — the biscuit is not as satisfying as its counterparts, such as Russell House Tavern’s own version of a buttermilk biscuit.

Moving on to the main course, the parsnip and cacio e pepe rigatoni was a conflicting dish in terms of both artistry and flavor. The dish arrived with its components clumped atop one another in a way that toed a confusing middle ground between the intentional and the haphazard, forming a crescent shape with an odd, empty spot in the shallow bowl. Mustard seeds were clustered on top of the rigatoni, broccolini, and wild mushrooms, but these clusters resulted in a condensed flavor. Overall, the dish’s flavors were too sharp and specific to individual ingredients, which — while admirable for the mission of a farm-to-table restaurant in highlighting the strengths of particular vegetables — resulted in a disjointed and ultimately disappointing tasting experience.

Although the mushrooms’ aesthetics were impressive due to their sear, they exhibited an intense, sour flavor that became overpowering. The cacio e pepe flavor in the pasta was too weak, and the pasta itself was tough and starchy. The broccolini, however, was the highlight of the dish, roasted to a satisfying crunch and balancing out the sharper flavors nicely. The parmesan cheese was also a stunner, serving a perfect nutty hint. This dish could be a captivating way for even meat lovers to better appreciate the potential of specific vegetables, but overwhelming and unbalanced flavors ultimately hindered its reception.

Lastly, the Basque cheesecake was a visually striking dish — highly artistic, with a balance of white and orange colors. Surprisingly, the highlight of the dish was not the pillowy cheesecake in the center itself, but the crunchy creations framing its sides: miso pumpkin tuile and a delightful meringue, polished off like chips. The cheesecake’s flavor lay in its neighboring constituents of a grapefruit and rosemary marmalade and whole pumpkin seeds, which paired nicely and created a delicate symphony of flavors in each bite. The marmalade was especially refreshing, and this dish was easily the favorite of the courses, its beautiful display lasting in one’s mind even long after the final bite was scraped clean.

Urban Hearth upholds its farm-to-table promise, yet for a restaurant of such a high price point, freshness should be the baseline. The luxury cultivated by the atmosphere and presentation ultimately fell flat in comparison to the food’s flavor, which failed to deliver a similarly spectacular palate. While there are lessons to be learned from taking the time to savor the possibilities of fresh and local produce, the expense required to do so at this restaurant is not redeemed by its culinary execution.