Growing up in Chicago in the 50's, whenever I could afford it, armed with my older brother's ID, I would take dates (a term which my college-aged son says hopelessly dates me) to a garish Polynesian restaurant named Shangri-la. The rum drinks at the Shang, as we so cooly called the place, were large, fruity, and disguised their potency in a way that I then appreciated enormously. Although the food was not the primary thing on my mind when I took a date to the Shang, now, in my dotage, I find myself from time to time daydreaming about the fabulous pressed duck that I would always order there. Many years later, I tried to recapture my youthful pressed duck experience at Tour D'Argent in Paris but went away terribly disappointed with almost everything except sharing the view and the evening with my wife. All of this is a long-winded way of asking if anyone in Chowhound-land knows of any place in Boston (or, for that matter, New York) that serves up a great pressed duck.