No Name Restaurant   

Everything you need to know about No Name can be discerned from its location, which lies a fly cast away from the fishing boats that supply its scrod, sole, smelts and shellfish. Sticklers for freshness could ostensibly follow their entrees from pier to plate -- a transition that unfolds in a fraction of the time it takes to find parking near upscale seafood houses like Kingfish Hall and Turner Fisheries. Partisans of fusion-based sauces and tuna tartare will find little satisfaction at No Name, where the kitchen's bag of tricks is limited to broiling, frying, sauteing and boiling. This lack of pretense is a refreshing reminder of the restaurant's beginnings back in 1917, when it was little more than an 11-seat oasis for exhausted fishermen. In its current incarnation, it occupies two spacious floors on the verge of the harbor, accommodating regulars and Zagats-clutching tourists in dining rooms adorned with captain's wheels and life preservers. Those lucky enough to secure seats by the window will enjoy one of the city's most stunning views of the water -- a tableau that doubles as explanation for why the fried clams and seafood chowder have that briny, fresh-from-the-net flavor.