Armed with a cryptic name (<>) and a street address, my friend and I entered Hudson on a weeknight during a pouring rainstorm. It had been years since I’d visited the center of Hudson and, under better conditions, would have taken more time to appreciate the Mayberry-like charm of its small town center.

Instead, our challenge was to park the car in some off-street parking lot and run through the deluge, hopefully, in the direction of 28 Main St. That landed us, strangely enough, in a Willy Wonka-like emporium of refrigerated display cases filled with all things creamy, buttery and fresh-baked. We wandered around the New City Microcreamery, partly in awe, mostly in wondrous confusion.

I’d lacked some critical information. Specifically that Less Than Greater Than is the creamery’s semi-secret speakeasy lounge. To gain entrance, you press a button that summoned someone on the “inside” to a set of little doors. She popped them open, gave us a visual once-over and, reluctantly, buzzed us in.

The creamery-to-speakeasy transition was profound.

In just a few steps, we left behind a blissed-out Good Humor man’s fever dream and entered into a dimly lit lounge – half-round leather banquettes on one side, a long bar on the other. Overhead, a coffered ceiling painted deep red and a retro lounge Latin-jazz soundtrack set the mood. The long, narrow space is anchored on one end by a compact prep area for the chef and, down in front, heavy curtains that keep the outside world at bay.

Our waiter explained that the bar was set up tiki-style and recommended a menu of libations that listed many of the standards from decades long-passed, such as the Painkiller, Zombie Punch and El Diablo. Each seemed to have been re-tooled for modern tastes and served in whimsical glassware. The woman across from me sipped from a cup shaped like a panda bear.

Alas! No fancy glass for me, for I avoid sweet or spicy mixed drinks that interfere with the experience of food courses. Wine and beer are, I daresay, more likely to enhance the food experience. This evening, I enthusiastically ordered a bottle of Founder’s Porter. I love its smooth, smoky coffee and chocolate flavors and creamy texture.

After reading the description of the evening’s Cheese Plate, we decided that the variety looked too good to pass up. A creamy-soft goat cheese from Westfield Farm, of Hubbardston, was fresh and mild and especially enjoyable with the drizzling of honey over which it was served. From there, we moved to the tastier manchego from Campo De Montelban. This is a sheep’s milk cheese with a slightly nutty flavor. It paired up nicely with soft candied orange rind so fragile I’m going to credit it as house made. Maybe not.

The richest of the three was the stilton blue from England. Crumbly and ultra-rich, I enjoyed it with sticky-sweet walnut brittle and sips of porter. Seasonal fruit took the form of quartered strawberries and deep-blue flower petals. I don’t usually eat flowers; these were strangely delicious and non-hallucinogenic.

Entrée offerings lean toward Asian fusion; its influence is found in <>’s tacos, sandwiches and noodle bowls. I continued my meal with the Banh Mi Sandwich. A half-loaf of moist bread had been split open and layered with shredded carrot, bits of jalapeño pepper and chewy chunks of roasted duck (avocado or pork were also available). Closer to the surfaces were colorful sprouts, mild cilantro and water kimchi, a variety much lighter and less spicy than traditional kimchi.

Critical to any sandwich is, of course, the bread. This loaf was a standout – chewy, moist and rich-flavored with a glossy deep-brown crust. When I asked about it, the server simply told me it was made on premises.

My friend’s bowl of Ramen was visually attractive, with thick fresh noodles in what <> calls 18-hour surf and turf broth and topped with halves of a poached egg (the yolk was soft and gooey). Clustered around the egg were bits of braised short rib, chopped green onion, kimchi and strands of black nori seaweed.

My sample spoonfuls of broth proved buttery-smooth and refined; it was absolutely delicious with the soft, flat noodles.

It’s rare that I end a meal with dessert, but just the thought of New City Creamery on the other side of the wall and the memory of those tubs of ice-cream and fantasy confections made it imperative. So I ordered one of <>’s Spirits and Cream selections – the Tequila Café.

Into a Kitchen Aid the chef tossed a big blob of vanilla ice-cream, coffee syrup and a glass of tequila. Yeah, a full glass. Then he set it on whip and walked away. When he returned, he scooped the concoction into a tall glass swirled on the inside with fudge sauce.

Creamy, smooth-flavored and no brain freeze! Based upon this experience alone, I have no doubt I’ll be making trips to Hudson for Microcreamery relief from the heat this summer.

Bernie Whitmore