Food Philadelphia Weekly

Fond

Tue, 10 Nov 2009 16:44:58 PST

If Fond, one of the newest shoots to pop out of the fertile soil on East Passyunk’s burgeoning restaurant row, were applying for a job, its resume would certainly earn it an interview.

Le Bec Fin, sous chef. Lacroix, sous chef. Le Bec Fin, executive pastry chef. Lacroix, captain. Culinary Institute of America. That’s a sampling of the qualifications shared by partners Lee Styer, executive chef; Jessie Prawlucki, pastry chef and Tory Keomanivong, in the front of the house. It’s enough fine dining experience to not only sauce several brace of quail, but to ensure it’s done with impeccable panache.

Fond 

1617 E. Passyunk Ave. 215.551.5000. fondphilly.com

Cuisine: New American. 

Hours: Mon.-Sat., 5:30-10pm. 

Prices: $9-$26. 

Atmosphere: Warm, inviting, neighborhood BYOB. 

Service: Confident and unobtrusive. 

Food: Near-flawless execution, pleasing to eye and palate. 

But South Philly isn’t Rittenhouse Square or Walnut Street. Might this venture be, as they say in the world of HR, a tad overqualified? 

Refreshingly, the answer is no. Instead, Fond is another impressive demonstration (see: Bibou) of how Center City talent can flourish in the neighborhood BYOB format.

The setting emphasizes an informal camaraderie, a far cry from George Perrier’s gilded palace. Photos of the three partners, hanging out, cooking food, culled from their scrapbooks and laptops, line the room’s warm yellow walls.

Regardless of the principals’ experience in Perrier’s domain, the concise menu at Fond reads broadly American. With the bulk of the entrees clustered just above the $20 mark, there’s no ground for sticker shock here. Plus, what it promised flowed out of the kitchen with near flawless execution.

A trio of appetizers showcased an eye for attractive presentation and a nose for deft flavor combinations. A punchy cinnamon gastrique enlivened three crispy yet tender veal sweetbreads, while a slaw of Asian pears delivered a hint of crunch. The richness from a sculpted mound of chicken liver mousse was nicely balanced by the acidity of crisp house-made refrigerator pickles.

Entrees were just as impressive. In a technique borrowed from Perrier at Le Bec Fin, Styer cooks his chicken breast in the oven on the bone, with the whole carcass. After the breast cooks through 80 percent of the way, he debones it then tosses it in a pan with butter to crisp up the skin. This execution, applied to an air-cooled bird from Canada’s Geanone Farm, ensured a tender breast and a soundly brittle exterior. The piperade of green pepper and onion added the welcome snap, both in texture and in flavor, that was becoming a pleasant routine.

Grilled asparagus was a step short from firm when served under a soft-cooked egg as an appetizer. (Blame the fall asparagus and check back next spring.) But the sins of the asparagus were less evident when sitting atop a beef strip loin, perfectly cooked to medium rare. Combined with Bordelaise sauce and gorgonzola cheese, this plate delivered a richness appropriate for the most expensive item on the menu (at $26). The only misstep was an oddly flaky charred red onion, denuded of any flavor. Where this touch was supposed to fit in the picture, I’m still not sure.

In these pig-crazy times, the New American menu without pork belly is a rare one. Luckily for Fond, theirs—cured, braised overnight, then seared—was one of the better renditions I’ve tasted, hitting the right balance between crisp skin and toothsome interior. Okinawan sweet potatoes, grown in Hawaii, added a sweetness that was not cloying, but filled with unexpected depth. 

All the while, attentive yet unobtrusive service, well-versed in the intricacies of the menu, kept our meal moving at a relaxing pace through the final course. 

Too often, desserts are the weak link in Philly BYOBs. With a pastry chef in the ownership group, that’s not an issue here. Asked to choose her favorite child, Prawlucki pointed us toward her pineapple and quince crumble. Topped with a sweet yet lactic vanilla bean crème fraiche, it hit the mark. But it paled in comparison to the passionfruit crepes, the most visually striking plate to land on our table. The ripe fruit folded into a velvety crepe was a good start. The carmelized bananas upped the ante. Rounded out with a large spoonful of coconut sorbet and a few dabs of dark chocolate ganache, the combined effect had us questioning Prawlucki’s loyalties. 

Mistaken attachments aside, Prawlucki and crew aced the interview. Fond got the job. And I’m looking forward to sitting in on the one-year review. ■

snackbar

Tue, 03 Nov 2009 19:16:13 PST

“The one thing more valuable than money that a customer can spend in your restaurant is time.”

Coming from a restaurateur as young and carefully coiffed as 29-year-old Jonathan Makar, insight like that could easily come across the wrong way. Kiehl’s-slicked lip service. Hollow  as a jack-o-lantern. But the native Virginian—his grandparents owned a restaurant in Charlottesville for 35 years—is following the example set by his grandfather, a restaurateur to whom hospitality was paramount.  

I wouldn’t bother with the backstory  if Makar, who owns the crimson,  capitalization-eschewing snackbar, didn’t  embrace his pop’s ethos so completely. I wouldn’t mention it if the cocktail napkins weren’t linen, or if the server’s mustache wasn’t so carefully waxed into a Monopoly Man handlebar. I wouldn’t mention it if the unisex bathroom didn’t bear the intoxicating perfume of a  dozen promiscuous lilies. 

Yeah, okay, such trappings can come off pretentious—who needs fresh flowers when the glaciers are melting? goes the argument—and doubly so on this Rittenhouse stage, as nattily attired as Makar himself. But seen in the context of a grandfather’s wisdom, the details are deft little surprises, ones I thought about long after dinner was over. 

253 S. 20th St. 215.545.5655.snackbarltd.com

Cuisine: New American. 

Hours: Daily, 5pm-2am. Kitchen till 1am. 

Prices: $6-$24. 

Atmosphere: Snug, chic, red room with a floating fireplace, velvet bar and butcher block tables. 

Service: Professional. 

Food: Very snack-able.

The Rittenhouse regulars picked up the scent when Makar opened snackbar three years ago. Through three chefs and three concepts, they’ve continued to patronize, unwavering in their loyalty. Many regulars visit three to five times a week, Makar estimates. I hope their cats are okay. 

On what was likely the last night warm enough to dine outside, I watched the well-heeled clientele attempt to rub elbows on the sidewalk. (Arthritis.) They pulled up chairs. They drank martinis with fat green olives. I might’ve thought one pair was Phyllis and Edward if snackbar’s smashing Breakfast Burger wasn’t served on Metropolitan brioche.  

But, oh, what a burger it is. Chef John Taus, who came to snackbar in January, slayed me with this sandwich of morning staples: bacon smoked in-house over cherrywood, white cheddar, a butter-fried dippy egg that popped like a water balloon on the juicy patty. My plate looked like abstract art, swirls of yolky gold, blood pink and Heinz 57 red as I drug the square-edged skinless French fries through the various “paints.” It wasn’t nearly as pretty as it was delicious. 

As a former sous chef at Zahav, 27-year-old Taus brings a clear culinary focus that has eluded snackbar. The menu feels very American, very loose and likeable, with a collection of plates that are neither small nor large. Taus’ food is suited to grazing, but fortunately the servers don’t get all mathematical about your order. Start slow and order more when you get hungry again, seems to be the practice here, echoed by Makar, who says he actually encourages staff not to turn tables. 

Indeed, no one will rush you through dinner at snackbar, and cocktails and dinner arrive at their own leisurely pace. Fortunately, the food was all worth the wait, from the bowl of stove-popped popcorn cleverly tossed in nutty brown butter to the house-cured lomo that only recently appeared on the menu. Curing tenderloins in smoked paprika, garlic and red chili and hanging them to age for five months was one of Taus’ first orders of business when he arrived at snackbar. The planning paid off with thin, pliable slices arranged like petals on the plate. Some bread or chutney might have been nice, but if Taus’ goal was to showcase the meat unadulterated, then I get it. 

There was real personality in the scallop crudo bejeweled with tart, crunchy pomegranate seeds, finished with mint and cool Champagne grape granita, and I loved Taus’ pork trotter roulade stuffed with delicate sautéed chanterelles, breaded in baguette crumbs and fried. Even better was what hid underneath: dreamy grits mined with house-pickled jalapeños and enriched with white cheddar. 

I was similarly stuck, though not in a good way, on the mini chicken pot pie, whose flaky pastry crust—the secret is chicken fat—couldn’t rescue the pasty interior. The cocktails I wasn’t crazy about either, particularly the Shiso Thirsty, whose star ingredients, shiso and lemongrass, were bullied into submission by boozy Cachaca. I’ll forget about it after a while, but I’ll remember the linen napkin upon which the cocktail was set, one in a series of lovely little details that together form a trail of breadcrumbs that leads directly back to snackbar. ■

PW's Guide to Philly Cupcakes

Tue, 03 Nov 2009 19:04:56 PST

Famed curmudgeonly chefs Anthony Bourdain and David Chang recently sat down at a roundtable to call bullshit on some current culinary trends. At one point David Chang stated, “I hate fuckin’ cupcakes.” To be clear, Chef Chang wasn’t talking about making love to this confectionery; if American Pie taught us anything it’s that the physical act of love with any baked good is pure hedonistic pleasure. Chang was, however, bemoaning the recent rise in the dessert’s popularity. Despite his feelings, you may have noticed that some of us food writers are quite obsessed with this trend, and for good reason: Cupcakes are playful, cute and downright tasty. As for David Chang, he’s talented but saltier than soy sauce on a salt lick.  

If You’re Mobile 

We’ve all had run-ins with incompetence and the Buttercream Cupcake Lady (twitter.com/buttercreamphl 267.505.7486) and her famed cupcake truck is just like the rest of us. After a gas station attendant filled the truck with regular instead of diesel a few weeks back, the Johnny Appleseed of cupcakes was out of commission. But with the help of some prayers and a bit of elbow grease, the lady and the truck are back on the road making at least five weekly stops—find out where on Twitter—to dole out a rotating cast of flavors like Vanilla Vanilla and Chocolate Peanut Butter made with Ghiradelli cocoa. D S $ M 

If Monkey is the Only Way to Fly 

Reading Terminal Market’s Flying Monkey Patisserie (12th and Arch sts. 215.928.0340) has outgrown the confines of its stall among Amish pickle vendors and fishmongers and opened Deuce (1112 Locust St.), a freestanding location in Washington Square West. Here, you can get high-quality cupcakes like their signature Flying Monkey, made with chocolate cake, both vanilla and chocolate buttercream and banana chunks, without being trampled by tourists in search of Oprah’s favorite mac ’n’ cheese. I S M 

If You’re Straight Philly 

O Other pastries, too 

D Delivery 

I Inventive flavors

M Multiple locations

S Sweet staff 

$ Under $2 

We’d like to see David Chang talk mess to Top Chef contestant Jennifer Carroll and her pastry chef Monica Glass at 10 Arts (10 S. Broad St. 215.523.8273 ). They’ve got Le Bernadin pedigree and Jen’s got the Northeast attitude necessary to pull off a mini-cupcake trio for dessert during lunch or dinner for $10, and make it look tough as well as delicious. O I S

If It’s Easy Like Sunday Morning 

Graduate Hospital’s Betty’s Speakeasy (2241 Grays Ferry Ave. 215.735.9060) is this year’s winner of Philadelphia Magazine’s Best of Philly award for cupcakes. Even though most winners are usually from outside Philly, the magazine ventured into the actual depths of the city to crown the undisputed queen of cupcakes. Betty bangs out an ever-changing cast of cake characters—like the Black Magic chocolate cupcake—or specialty items like wheat beer-spiked pear and ginger cakes. O I S $  

If It’s a Family Affair 

The lovely ladies of Brown Betty Petite (269 S. 20th St. 215.545.0444), the sister site to Brown Betty Dessert Boutique in Northern Liberties, have a strong sense of family and a knack for baked goods. At Petite, they are decidedly cupcake-focused and their flavors—including strawberry pound, carrot and chocolate red velvet—are sure to please at any family reunion. O S M 

If You’re Whipped 

The new kid on the cupcake block, Whipped Bakeshop (636 Belgrade St. 215.598.5449), claims to be “cupcake heaven.” Their beautifully designed cupcakes makes us believe the phrase “God is in the details.” Take a gander at their chocolate “scribble” cupcakes with butter cream and a mohawk of chocolate, and try not to fall to your knees in thanks. O D I S ■

Tiffin Etc.

Tue, 27 Oct 2009 18:50:11 PDT

In a lifetime of eating, there are seminal moments. My first is clear as consommé:  veal parm from the old Palumbo’s, whose ballrooms my party planner parents often decorated before the building burned down in ’94. After-hours at the ghostly-quiet bar, my brother and I would suck down syrupy fountain sodas and decapitate flowers. We’d eat so many maraschino cherries our fingers would be red, antsy for the ’rents to finish their grown-up business so we could dine in the restaurant downstairs. The order was always the same: veal parm. In my 6-year-old mind, that was as exotic as food got, a dish that existed only in restaurants.  

That is my first real food memory, and they pile up from there: in Venice, spaghettini tossed with wet, briny squid ink black as Grecian Formula; the orgy of tropical fruit I made love to in Thailand; my first sip of Hoegaarden, when I realized all beer doesn’t taste like ass. 

Then, closer to home, there’s Tiffin’s revelatory vindaloo. That first bite, as I recall, felt like I’d just taken a shotgun from a dragon. That moment is seared to my cortex, but I also remember the third bite, the tenth, the twenty-fifth, and how as my inner thermostat recalibrated for the curry, the individual spices began to materialize, benevolent specters named cumin, cinnamon, cardamom and clove.  

Tiffin Etc.

712 W. Girard Ave. 215.922.1297. tiffin.com

Cuisine: Indian

Hours: Daily, 11:30am-9:30 pm. 

Prices: $3-$8.95. 

Atmosphere: Bright, spice-colored kitchen.  

Service: Wham bam. 

Food: Etcetera, etcetera.

Tiffin traffics in these kinds of epiphanies, so I guess I was expecting seconds at Tiffin Etc., the latest venture from mastermind owner Munish Narula. Located adjacent to the original tandoor-to-door operation, Etc. specializes in Indian-inspired pizzas, stuffed versions of the whole-wheat flatbread paratha and the egg-and-flatbread kati rolls. The saffron-hued dining room is a complex carbohydrate, and I shoveled like a runner fueling up before a marathon. But afterward, I felt neither uplifted nor inspired. I just felt full.  

It wasn’t that the food was bad. Quite the contrary; I loved the breakfasty masala aloo kati, for instance, a wax paper-wrapped potato-and-egg bundle I could see having magic hangover-banishing properties. It was just that in a heartbeat I would have traded all the Etc. for one heaping bowl of vindaloo. Or any of the other Tiffin’s captivating mains. 

But “everyone loves a good pizza,” right? That’s what Narula says about his decision to go the dough-throwing route. “Indian pizza is our attempt to make Indian food more accessible to people who have never tried it and eventually to gain more mainstream acceptance for Indian cuisine.” 

I can respect appetite outreach programs. But I wonder if it isn’t better to charm virgins with introductory-level dishes like murg makhani, rather than recasting the recipes in an adulterated form. On one pie, the butter chicken—Tiffin does it  extraordinarily well—mingled with mozzarella and subcontinent-spiced tomato sauce shining with ghee. On another, cilantro-mint pesto was a green lawn for gingery minced lamb interspersed with more mozzarella and peas. The ingredients worked, and the crust was fine if a bit oily, but with each slice it became more evident: Pizza just isn’t the best vehicle for these flavors.  

The crust repels the spices like a waxed car repels rain. The tops and bottoms don’t gel, won’t gel, and it’s no wonder why; these bold, vivacious flavors are built for basmati. Fluffy, steaming, aromatic basmati, vindaloo sauce running down like blood on snow. My neighbors at the table across had lots of rice—as well as Tiffin’s tasty condiments my hasty server neglected to provide. Sorry, neighbors, for the death glares I was likely throwing you. 

At least the pizzas benefit from Tiffin’s competitive pricing at $4.95 for a small and $8.95 for a large. It’s laughably inexpensive to eat here, a balm for execution ticks like the overcooked lamb in the shammi kebab kati and the tasty but too-greasy herb-flecked parathas laced with onions and paneer.  

But here’s the silver lining: Since Tiffin and Tiffin Etc. adjoin, you can mix-and-match from both menus, unlike my editorially-bound self. I’d do a masala aloo kati again, as well as the Thandai, a bewitching almond milkshake perfumed with rose, cardamom and fennel. As for the rest of the Etc., it’s just that: etcetera. Call me old-fashioned, but I prefer the traditional Tiffin, where forkfuls you can lose yourself in are always on the menu. ■

Miga

Tue, 20 Oct 2009 18:41:54 PDT

Hiss, went the thick-cut pork belly on the black-top barbecue. Hissssss. Like cat-eyed Mac in The Nightman Cometh . The snakey sound grew louder as the waitress draped another slice over the tabletop grill with red plastic Fisher-Price tongs. Louder and louder till it mercifully eclipsed the Korean Michael Bolton ballads floating over the dining room.

I remember once upon a time, vivacious Latin beats filled this 15th Street space. When Pasión lived here, the dining room looked like the Cuban drug lord’s villa in Bad Boys II , a transporting hacienda of wrought-iron lanterns, louvered shutters and billowing canopied ceilings. At this building’s new resident, Korean barbecue Miga, the canopied ceilings still exist, but dragon rolls have extinguished the firecracker ceviches, OB lager has usurped the pisco sour. Putting aside my still very raw bereavement over the demise of Pasión, I’m grateful to Miga’s owners, Sam and Jackie Cho. They’ve rescued one of Philadelphia’s prettiest restaurant spaces, one whose bongo drum barstools had been collecting dust since 2007. 

CONTENT GOES HERE

Miga 

211 S. 15th St. 215.732.1616. migarestaurant.com 

Cuisine: Korean. 

Hours: Mon.-Thurs., 11am-10pm; Fri., 11am-11pm; Sat., noon-11pm; Sun., noon-10 pm. 

Prices: $3-$22. 

Atmosphere: Serene red-on-black rooms with sleek sushi and booze bars. 

Service: Demure. 

Food: Seoul-ful barbecue.

The Chos, who came to Philly from Seoul in the 1970s, took over the lease in March and opened in June. Today, the dining room is as black and tan and red as a Tampa Bay Buc, with a bit more explosiveness thanks to the hanji paper window screens, red lacquer latticework and Oriental antiques from the Chos personal collection. But the centerpieces  of the restaurant are the sleek, seamless   Jetsons- esque barbecues imported from Korea and hard-wired into about half the tables. The infrared Cookman ’cues emit a Martian red glow as they heat. No smoke, no fire. My clothes still needed to be doused in Febreeze afterward, but it wasn’t the usual whorebath most Asian barbecues necessitate. 

As mouths go, mine isn’t usually the watering type, but as the pork belly hissed away on the grill with white onions and button mushrooms, I could’ve spit like a camel. I think it was the anticipation more than anything. I stared down the pork belly like a telekinetic, mentally willing its edges to caramel quicker as my server sheared each strip into squares gently as a florist dethorning a rose. I’d have gladly jeopardized her fingers if it meant I’d have eaten sooner. 

Fortunately, the banchan arrived soon after, a spectrum of vividly colored condiments surrounding the black grill like a Lite-Brite board. These pickles, salads and fermented treats are complimentary at most Korean restaurants and delicious at only the best. A dozen or so crowded the table in neat white dishes, the best of which included umami bomb mushrooms, sweet matchstick pickles I couldn’t stop eating, pillow-soft potatoes, peppery watercress and bitter turnip tops laced with chili. 

Praise be the banchan, because dinner had been middling up until that point. Sure, there were some highs, like the ultratender calamari ceviche and teacup Kumamoto oysters splashed with heady house-brewed ponzu, but I was underwhelmed by the standard- issue edamame and the stringy seaweed  salad. Sesame oil was the overwhelming flavor in the tofu japchae, a mix of pleasantly chewy sweet potato-starched cellophane noodles and awkwardly shaped veggies seemingly cut with a plastic butter knife. 

Those disappointments disappeared after I took a bite of Mrs. Cho’s kimchi, the final part of the banchan parade to arrive. These great swaths of fermented cabbage, bloody with chili paste, retained such serious crunch and packed a fiery funk I loved. I speared leaves between bites of my dinner guest’s dolsot bibimbop, a mountain of white rice, vegetables, beef and egg. The fortifying deal of a meal ($12!) sizzled in its stone bowl, which I promptly excavated for treasure: crunchy bits of rice that crisps on the hot bottom, paella-style. The smoking bowl crackled and sputtered in protest. At Miga, the food isn’t shy about sharing its opinions. 

Speaking of which, the pork finally quieted down, and the server switched off the barbecue. The menu describes belly as “unseasoned,” which you should read as “bland.” But it’s okay, really, as the salt-and-peppered sesame oil and intensely savory Korean bean paste take care of that. You’re meant to dip each piece of pork before bundling them in frilly red leaf lettuce cups with sliced garlic and chilies. Dip, wrap. Dip, wrap. United, the ingredients in this leafy Korean burrito brought real balance. Fresh and rich flavors, working in tandem, totally worth the wait. ■

PW's Guide to Bloody Marys

Wed, 21 Oct 2009 07:27:18 PDT

In the mid-1500s, Queen Mary I of England, the only daughter of Henry VIII and Katherine of Aragon, ascended to the throne bringing with her a healthy hate for Protestants and the bloodthirst of an anemic great white shark. Hellbent on restoring Catholicism as the official religion of her newly acquired kingdom, she earned the nickname Bloody Mary by burning nearly 300 dissenters at the stake. We now honor Mary Tudor on Sunday mornings as we drag our hung-over half-dead bodies to our favorite brunch spot and hoist a glass of her eponymous cocktail.

B    Brunch
S    Seafood specialty
O    Garnished with olives
H    Have a few here
C    Other cocktails are also good

If You’re Taking Your Son Out
Wash down the Padre e Hijo (crispy duck confit, tinto hash, fried duck egg and catalán escarole) with a Pamplona at Tinto’s (116 S. 20th St. 215.665.9150) $25 four-course Sunday brunch. The drink, with celery-infused vodka, spiced tomato, savory consommé, and chunky chorizo garnished with a guindilla pepper, is a nice complement to the Iberian breakfast but for 10 bucks it should really be served in a pint glass (or a bota bag). B O

If You Miss the Old Country
The Piazza at Schmidts is just like Italy: the al fresco dining, the double murders and the British Isle style watering hole Swift Half Pub (1001 N. 2nd St. 215.923.4600) give the new space in Northern Liberties an air of authenticity. Despite the lack of old world charm, the Piazza is pretty cool and Swift Half is a nice place to have a drink. Try their oddly awesome, inverted green tomato bloody. It’s like the spiced up essence of tomato with olives and a bit of kick. O H C

If You Want to Test Yourself
The build-your-own Bloody Mary bar at National Mechanics (22 S. Third St. 215.701.4883) can bring out the best and the worst in a person. They hand over a pint glass with vodka, celery, ice and a pic of some colorful Philadelphian emblazoned on it, and then they leave you to your own devises. The bar is filled with tiered accoutrements of anything one might want in their morning Mary. Hot sauces and pickled items are a fave. Some become Mary masters knowing that less is actually more, while others can’t control their creativity and piece together Frankenstein-like monstrosities. B O H C

If You’re a Canuck
One of Canada’s favorite cocktails is on the menu at Oyster House (1516 Sansom St. 215.567.7683) but oddly, the Bloody Caesar isn’t made with anchovies like one might assume but rather clam juice along with Sobieski vodka, spicy tomato juice, chunky horseradish and a plump olive garnish. S O H C

If You Like Them Healthy
The Bloody Mary at Royal Tavern (937 E. Passyunk Ave.215.389.6694) is so tasty it made our top 50 Must-Eats list.The meal-like drink made with chunky horseradish and suspended in a tomato, vodka and Worcestershire emulsion is tasty, filling and thicker than Beyonce’s backside. B O H C

If It’s Hair of the Dog You’re Looking For
Brunch doesn’t get any better than the huevos rancheros at the Sidecar Bar and Grille (2201 Christian St. 215.732.3429). Made with sunny side up eggs on corn tortillas with fresh salsa, cheddar cheese and refried black beans, it’s simply stupendous. Pair that belly-filling breakfast with one of their Bloodys, made from tomato juice, two kinds of steak sauce, Louisiana hot sauce, horse radish, Old Bay and your choice of vodka (we prefer Absolut Peppar), and it’ll chase your hangover away. B O H C

Paris Chocolate in Philly

Fri, 16 Oct 2009 09:58:50 PDT

Some children dream about becoming astronauts when they grow up. Others dream about becoming firefighters. For Antoine Amrani, as a young boy in Paris, the dream was about making chocolate. And after nine years in the kitchen at Le Bec Fin, most recently as head pastry chef, he appears to have realized that dream, having just opened up his own chocolate factory in East Norriton, just outside of Norristown.

The soft-spoken Amrani, a boyish looking 41, attributes his passion for chocolate to his experience as one of seven children. When his mother would bring home chocolates, there was no way for each child, Antoine included, to have one of each. Luckily the siblings got along well enough and rather than horde their individual candies, they’d trade bits of one for tastes of another.

By opening a factory of his own back in May, Amrani seems to have found another strategy for ensuring he gets all the chocolate he wants: just make it himself.

According to business partner Fred Potok, who befriended him through the course of many trips to Le Bec Fin, Amrani is fanatical about the conditions in the over 7,000-square foot space. "We run it like a hospital," says Potok. "Any dampness, any humidity will cause a serious problem in the chocolate-making process."

The site itself—consisting primarily of a kitchen, enrobing room, and special, "off-limits" space for crystallization—is spacious and pristine, but otherwise unremarkable, once you get past the small retail and tasting area in the front room. No matter; the serious attention to design appears to have been saved for the chocolates themselves, in addition to their packaging.

The custom chocolate molds, which impart a distinguishing pattern upon each Bon Bon, were designed specifically for Amrani by Smith Design, then manufactured in Italy. And these interlocking swirls are certainly striking. But the real test for any chocolate maker isn't the impression his efforts make on the eyes, but rather how they hit the palate.

Evaluated through this metric, Amrani is indeed a star. One characteristic unites the six types of Bon Bons and six types of Paletes he produces: a layered intensity that seems in no hurry to go anywhere. You could have a mouth the size of Mick Jagger's, and the slowly releasing flavors in these chocolates would expand to fill it.

Standouts include the intense creaminess of the Pistachio Bon Bons, and the exceptional smoothness of the Cinnamon Honey Paletes, made with honey sourced from a Montgomery County beekeeper just down the road. Indeed, Amrani aims to get his ingredients from small farms and local producers whenever possible: Philadelphia's esteemed La Colombe coffee goes into two chocolates: the Coffee Sour Cherry and rich, intense Duo Cafe, made with two different roasts.

The commitment to local extends to the attractive carbon-neutral packaging for the chocolates. "Rather than rely on China" says Amrani, "We have a place right here in Philadelphia—Northern Liberties—who provides it."

Now the chocolates are becoming increasingly available in the region as well. In addition to the factory, they can be found at DiBruno Brothers in Center City and they'll be on the shelves on Green Aisle Grocery in South Philly as soon as it opens up. Landing in Dean & Deluca in New York and Washington didn't hurt either.

Talking with Amrani, one quality becomes especially clear: his delight to be where in the position he's in. There's a sense that the years of training and hard work, first in school at the Ritz Escoffier in Paris, then Le Bec Fin, working for the legendarily demanding George Perrier, have finally paid off. "I work long hours here," says Amrani, "but it's for myself."

Antoine Amrani Chocolates: 550 Foundry Rd., East Norriton. 877.AMRANI.4. aachocolates.com

Meritage

Tue, 13 Oct 2009 18:28:04 PDT

Go-go-Gadget-neck, went the head of the secretarial blonde craning to see out the windows of the womb-like wine bar where she and I sat, separately. Across the street, a hip crowd curled out the front door of Pub & Kitchen onto the table-and-tree-lined sidewalk like the tail of a relaxed leopard.

“What’s that place,” she asked in the way a character might intone, “who’s that guy?” in a straight-to-DVD Bring It On sequel. I felt annoyed for the bartender, a cool, capable chick that must suffer that question a thousand times a night. Here on the corner of 20th and Lombard, there’s Pub & Kitchen and that other restaurant with the name no one is ever quite sure how to pronounce. 

So meet Meritage, which rhymes with heritage. Fresh off an August facelift that coincided with the arrival of new chef Anne Coll, this is the first time in the restaurant’s five years that it’s on the lips of more than just neighborhood regulars. 

The lounge and dining room now sport Dijon-yellow walls and butcher block tables, while Coll sports a resume with “Executive Chef, Susanna Foo” as the latest entry. Her collection of tidy house-made dumplings and gingered snacks has Foo written all over it, sure as the tingly floral overtones of hua jiao yan, the roasted Szechuan peppercorn salt that finds its way into everything here. But there are also flavors inspired by the Southeast Asian dudes that worked on Coll’s line during her six-year term on Walnut Street, like Thai kaffir lime in the mussels and tradewinds of Vietnamese star anise drifting through the spiced tomato chutney she serves with creamy panko-crusted local goat cheese.  

Meritage

500 S. 20th St. 215.985.1922. meritagephiladelphia.com

Cuisine: Asian-inspired small plates.

Hours: Tues.-Thurs., 5pm-10pm; Fri.-Sat., 5pm-11pm.

Prices: $3-$21, $39 four-course tasting 

Atmosphere: Tight, romantically lit rooms with fresh paint and fresh buzz. 

Service: Casual but capable. 

Food: Taut and elegant, inexpensive and unabashedly booze-friendly. 

Show me someone who doesn’t love fried cheese, and I’ll show you a liar. Coll’s interpretation of mozzarella sticks with marinara charmed, both for its execution (perfectly crispy outside and gooey inside) and subtle, smart hints of the Orient. Clearly this is fusion, but it’s done so well I don’t even want to cheapen it with that label.  

This is also damn good drankin’ food, certainly not by accident considering Meritage is, and always has been, about wine. (The name references a controlled designation for American blends.) Since owners, life and business partners Michele DiPietro and Irene Landy, took over in 2006, Meritage’s wine program has become more approachable and affordable, with 14 by the glass (all $8), fun flights and 50 bottles under $50. 

So bring on the alcohol sponges, fair bartender! Fat, tempura-fried jalapenos, like addictive poppers filled with hoisin-kissed house-ground pork and cellophane noodles in a ginger-soy glaze. Tight, pan-fried Hudson Valley foie gras dumplings tossed in butter browned with Burgundy truffles, cilantro and scallion. Silky Lancaster chicken liver pâté crowned with black plums macerated in brandy and five spice. All $6 or less, all tasty. 

After “Snacks,” the menu progresses with “Small Plates,” an ironic heading for the giant U10 Cape May scallops seared med-rare and posed over an autumnal apple-cauliflower puree and vivid Thai basil-lemongrass emulsion. I loved the cute-as-a-Mini Cooper pulled pork sliders too; after a five spice massage and eight hours in the oven, Coll shreds the succulent pig butts and coats them in snappy ginger beer barbecue sauce. I dream of the five spice-dusted frites that might one day accompany, a perfect marriage of France and China if there ever was and one preferable to the crunchy (but clichéd) Asian cabbage slaw in overwhelming sesame vinaigrette. 

Nothing clichéd about the desserts, though, not even the flourless chocolate cake. Coll boosted the dark ganache batter with pureed bananas, crowned the cake with roasted sliced ones arrayed like the petals of an exotic Asian flower, to elegant, scrumptious results. Made with robust Rome apples and Le Bus brioche soaked in coconut milk custard, her bread pudding had one foot in Thailand and another in the American heartland. This was the first of many bread puddings I’ll eat this fall, so good luck to everyone else trying to best Coll’s tender pouf topped with vanilla ice cream and apple-cinnamon bubbles. 

Know where else you can get insanely good bread pudding? Look out the window. But rest assured, with Coll in Meritage’s kitchen, the Pub & Kitchen crowd is lookin’ right back atcha, wondering what’s going on across the street. ■

Brauhaus Schmitz

Tue, 06 Oct 2009 16:52:54 PDT

There was no mistaking it; caraway buried in Brauhaus Schmitz’s bratwurst like little savory anise landmines. Ginger, mace and clove also pervaded the pork sausage, but the caraway dominated, sure and confident as hell. The spice is traditional, and tradition is the unbendable backbone of this Prussian-blue beer hall.

Brauhaus is the brainchild of German-born, Upper Darby-bred Doug Hager and Jersey girl Kelly Schmitz, who met in 2002 while Hager was waiting tables at Ludwig’s. After marrying and moving to Cologne for two years, the couple returned to Philly and transformed a dilapidated furniture store—the mezzanine sold them on the offbeat property and South Street location—into a grand Teutonic taproom replete with salvaged church pew booths, soaring ceilings and cedar arches. 

From waitresses’ dirndl costumes to the continent-sized schnitzels, Brauhaus Schmitz is an authentic recreation, but for executive chef Jeremy Nolen, late of Coquette, being beholden to tradition is both a blessing and curse. 

The ridiculous portions exemplify the latter. You know the brontosaurus rack they prop on Fred’s driver-side window in the Flintstone’s intro? That was the schweinshaxe, a mustard-rubbed rotisserie Berkshire pork shank. Crispy schnitzel extended over my plate like an awning, shading errant crumbs on the handsome tables Hager built with his brother and designer Brian Leahy. “It’s German,” seems to be the default explanation for the monstrous portions. So is Heidi Klum, and she’s looking pretty trim. 

I’m sure certain customers appreciate the largesse. My grandparents, for instance, would pop their stents for portions this big. But the value is an illusion, because even with two sides, $20 is a lot to spend for what is essentially pounded pork and breadcrumbs. Give me half the portion, at half the price. 

I probably only ate $8 worth of the jägerschnitzel, the “hunter’s-style” cutlet smothered in wild mushroom and onion sauce. This was partly because of size, partly because of the nasty gravy. Loose, lumpy and tobacco-brown, it tasted burned and looked better suited to a restaurant called Brauhaus Shits. But my server was so nervously nice, I doggy-bagged the remainder out of politeness. Fortunately, a bum who looked like Rickety Cricket took it off my hands. Thanks, South Street. 

Blandness is another German cuisine stereotype Brauhaus Schmitz enforced on occasion. The pork shank, schnitzel and dense potato dumpling all so severely lacked salt, I found it hard to reconcile them with Nolen’s other, wonderfully flavored items like the extraordinary bratwurst and sweet-and-sour cabbage that got its dynamic twang (and vivid magenta hue) from red wine vinegar and red currant preserves. A slice of brat, cabbage draped about it like garish pink garland, a smack of the hot German mustard from the quaint ceramic pots on each table … I don’t know a more perfect bite. Nolen knows his way around these classics, having cooked at Reading’s utmost private German clubs. 

With the exception of the bratwurst, Nolen imports all the sausages from Reiker’s Meats, a German butcher in Fox Chase. I would encourage him to make more in-house if Reiker’s weren’t so good. Their delicate, ivory veal-and-pork weisswurst offered hints of mace, parsley and lemon zest, a bright equalizer for the springy, nutmeg-dusted spaetzle tossed in melted butter. I washed it down with Leipziger Gose, an exhilarating, unfiltered, hazy yellow chameleon with pilsner crispness, witbier effervescence and the lip-puckering finish of a great Belgian Geuze. “We are the first in Philadelphia to offer this beer on draught,” touts Brauhaus’ menu, and for that I am grateful. 

Hager has assembled 19 other draughts—80 bottles too—on three systems, including one tower whose blue-and-white calico, Slovenian porcelain base had been collecting dust in Schmitz’s father’s attic for years. Despite Pennsylvania’s German heritage, many of the beers at Brauhaus are uncommon in these parts, so drink up. 

To complement, there’s a menu of cheap bar snacks. The excellent salt-crusted Bavarian pretzel, baked by Nolen’s wife Jessica, was one such treat, exhaling yeasty steam as I pulled the warm twist apart. She also does desserts, including fine sachertorte. The dark chocolate puck laced with apricot jam is—gasp!—actually Austrian in origin. Maybe that German backbone isn’t so unbendable after all. ■

Brauhaus Schmitz 

718 South St. 267.909.8814.  brauhausschmitz.com 

Cuisine: German. 

Hours: Sun.-Thurs., 11:30am-10:30pm; Fri.-Sat., 5pm-11pm. Late-night menu till midnight. Bar till 2am. 

Prices: $3-$28. 

Atmosphere: Sky-blue walls and sky-high ceilings framing a bierhall furnished with warm wood, exposed brick and thirsty patrons. 

Service: Friendly, if a bit unsteady. 

Food: Transportingly delicious, or enormous and underseasoned.

PW's Guide to Beer Bars

Tue, 06 Oct 2009 17:40:44 PDT

Even if you’ve still got the detox shakes and self-loathing that comes from a full-tilt celebration of Oktoberfest, don’t run off to rehab just yet. Feed your inner booze hound and try out some of these well-respected Philadelphia beer halls. We are, don’t forget, the best beer-drinking city in America and you wouldn’t want to be responsible for ruining our reputation.

6    Half a dozen or more drafts
12    Dozen or more drafts
D    Dive bar atmosphere
C    Cook with beer
K    Knowledgeable staff
L    Locally focused

If You Still Haven’t Been There
Hailed at the top of Foobooz’ recent best bar list is Standard Tap (901 N. Second St. 215.238.0630)—and for good reason. A stalwart of the Northern Liberties beer scene, serving great regional drafts like Stoudt’s Oktoberfest and Troeg’s Dreamweaver Wheat, the Tap is so much more than just a great beer bar. Their unpretentious chalkboard menu is constantly evolving with gastronomic selections like a duck liver mousse that’s sweet, rich and creamy. Served with a salad of gherkins, red onion and whole grain mustard, it’s a dish definitely worth Tweeting about. 12 C K L

If It’s Not Wine Time
We’ve always gone to Tria (1137 Spruce St. 215.629.9200) to scratch our eclectic wine itch but we’ve recently started going when we get jonesin’ for good beer. With drafts like the high gravity Weyerbacher Double Simcoe IPA and the malty, Bavarian-style Thomas Hooker Oktoberfest on offer as well as close to 20 bottled beers from breweries as far away as Japan and as close as Delaware Ave, this Gayborhood café will make even the most hardcore beer addict happy. 6 K

If You’ve Heard the Rumors
We’ve read some complaints about the service, but when we bellied up to the bar at Varga Bar (941 Spruce St. 215.627.6200.) the hospitality poured from their bartender as freely as the craft beer poured from the taps. They helped us pair our mussels and cockles (some of the best we’ve ever had) with an Ommegang Rare Vos, a fruity but spicy Belgian style beer that went perfectly with the broth we slurped from our bowl. 12 C K

If You’re Polite Company
It’s nearly impossible to stay sober at the German beer hall Brauhaus Schmitz (718 South St. 267.909.8814). It’s kind of a cultural thing, like wearing your shoes in a Japanese home or not recognizing the societal superiority of the British. It’s just not done. But you’ll find following cultural norms here as easy as Heidi Klum after a couple of Jagermeisters. These guys serve up what look like milk jug-sized steins of their house brew, Stoudt’s Gold Lager, “widely recognized as finest German-style beers brewed in America,” alongside Spaten’s malty Oktoberfest. Don’t forget to pair it with some house-fermented sauerkraut. Prost! 12 K

If You Rise From the Ashes
The newest kid to the beer bar block is Resurrection Ale House (2425 Gray’s Ferry Ave. 215.735.2202). Opened by the ambitious crew behind Memphis Taproom and Local 44, this locale is decidedly food-focused. With hoisin ribs, twice-fried chicken and white anchovies on egg salad, the menu is tasty if not a bit schizophrenic. The choices are focused and beer freak friendly with local heroes like the Yards Brawler pouring next to California’s Port Brewing Panzer Pils. 12 K L

If You’re in the Neighborhood
Memphis Taproom (2331 E. Cumberland St. 215.425.4460) not only pours exciting beers like the roasted coffee/chocolatey Duck Rabbit Schwarzbier, they serve out-of-the-ordinary food like the Welsh-inspired beef and onion pasties made with short ribs and horseradish. They also host interesting events including Saturday’s Great American Bake Sale benefiting Share Our Strength, an organization focused on feeding American children. Stop by to have a brew, chomp a pasty and enjoy some baked goods. 6 C K L

Philadelphia Distilling: More Than Bluecoat

Fri, 02 Oct 2009 06:47:13 PDT

The barriers to getting started with a micro-distilling operation aren't easily surmounted. Unlike making homebrewed beer in the basement, an aspiring distiller needs to apply to the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives for a permit. And, if you don't know what you're doing, there's always the risk of what Rob Cassell, Master Distiller at Philadelphia Distilling, describes succinctly as "spark ... then kaboom."

Luckily for cocktail enthusiasts around Philadelphia, Cassell found a way to get past the challenges of licensing and training, allowing the distillery to start turning out Bluecoat Gin in April 2006. That blue glass bottle has since become ubiquitous wherever inventively facial-haired mixologists turn out labor-intensive cocktails: think APO Bar + Lounge, Franklin Mortgage & Investment Company and SouthwarK.

And deservedly so, for the gin has much to recommend it. After 16 trial batches, Cassell hit upon the right combination of botanicals, including juniper, coriander, orange and lemon peel, and angelica root, that produce a gin with compelling aromas of orange and earth, but surprising smoothness on the palate.

Buoyed by the success of Bluecoat, Cassell, a Boyertown, Montgomery County native now living in East Falls, aimed to expand the range of offerings from the 8,000-square foot distillery just off Roosevelt Boulevard in far Northeast Philadelphia. In the last year, he's tackled both perhaps the most unavoidable of spirits, vodka, as well as one of the most esoteric, absinthe.

The absinthe, named Vieux Carré, in an homage to New Orleans' French Quarter, is made in the same hand-hammered copper still that's also used for the gin. Banned in the US in 1912, the spirit was only re-allowed in the country in 2007. Cassell's rendition is the first to be distilled and bottled on the East Coast of the US in almost 100 years.

For a self-proclaimed geek like Cassell, this is a thrill. "You get to make something that hasn't been made ... that's fun." There was no shortage of trial and error to hit on the formula that ultimately included 9 herbs, some of which are grown in Pennsylvania, while others are brought in from France and Switzerland, the original hotbed of absinthe production.

"All the individual ingredients are ...eh. But when you combine them and bounce them off each other, it takes off," says Cassell. There's no real analogue to absinthe in the world of spirits. Vieux Carré is an unusual, murky, dark yellow in color. The nose is earthy and deep, but then it's lush on the palate, with an undeniably rich mouthfeel. Dillution with water almost makes the spirit dance, first revealing smoky characteristics that, when neat, yield to nuanced minty notes. One thing this absinthe doesn’t invoke is Scope. Thankfully.

When he starts talking about the minute details of the distillation process, Cassell's voice begins to speed up, like a school child discoursing about his latest cartoon obsession. To the uninitiated, the effect is largely the same: general befuddlement.

This phenomenon is especially pronounced in front of the column still that he installed to produce 1681 Penn Vodka, named after the year William Penn received the charter to found the state. Luckily, there's little mystery about the ingredients. Cassell uses nothing but unmalted rye from Lehigh, York, Somerset, and Lancaster Counties, all within a roughly 200-mile radius of the distillery.

"I wanted to show that you can mke a quality product with locally grown stuff and sell it at a fair price," says Cassell. If those were really the only criteria, this is a resounding success. The state stores have it at $24. That's a lot cheaper than much of the flashy stuff. And it does what vodka's supposed to do—stay out of the way. There's a clean, pure nose, plus a little flash of character on the finish, when the rye kicks in to provide a bit of spice.

But evidently for Cassell, there's one overriding value at play behind all three of these products. It entails finding a way to unite quality and creativity with serious steps to minimize the environmental impacts of his efforts. "If there's one thing I like, it's the ability to put my own personal views into practice." This is taking booze seriously—in a good way.

Sonata

Tue, 29 Sep 2009 19:00:49 PDT

My first car was a Hyundai, so drawing a Korean auto comparison to the new NoLibs bistro Sonata comes easier than a musical one, though I’m pretty sure that’s not 29-year-old chef/owner Mark Tropea’s intention. A sonata, explains the former executive sous chef of Malvern’s Desmond Hotel, is a composition meant to be played rather than sung. “A chef does the same through his food,” Tropea says. A noble theme, sir, one driven home by a G-clef standing in for the ‘s’ in Sonata’s logo; sheet music confetti stuffed into the candle holders; and the jazzy jazz posters hanging on off-white walls. 

Sure, the “art” looks straight out of Marshall’s HomeGoods, and the patriotic palette—navy blue ceilings and fire-engine-red trim complement the walls—feels more ROTC than BYOB, but Sonata still looks a thousand times better than this address’ previous—and very purple—occupant, Swallow. I thought the French food there was very good, even if the place looked like Grimace’s boudoir, but Swallow abruptly passed away in May, a victim of the recession or its pre-mortem all-mac-’n’-cheese-all-the-time menu, depending on whom you ask. 

Tropea swooped in soon after, putting pen to paper and paintbrush to drywall. In July, he opened with a new look and succinct new American menu, one that’s as heavy on the sous-vide compressing (to its benefit) as it is on the saucing (to its detriment).  

Consider the scallop crudo, and the glug of ectoplasmic chive oil spilled across my dish like The Dip in Who Framed Roger Rabbit . The shot of green popped beautifully against the white of the scallop and plate, but the oil made each sashimi slice slippery as an eel—not exactly the most desirable quality when eating seafood. More so, the onion totally overwhelmed the crudo’s oceanic sweetness, let alone the delicate accent of vanilla salt. 

At times during my dinner at Sonata, it was like Tropea couldn’t help himself, that add-more reflex that afflicts lots of young chefs. It’s a real shame, since mostly he’s doing fresh things with quality ingredients at friendly prices. His pan-crisped pork belly, brined for 24 hours and cooked sous-vide for 12 more, came correct with opposing textures, and I loved the little spheres of compressed Fuji apple and the deeply autumnal calvados molasses—even if the latter tattooed the plate in passé diner-dessert squiggles. 

Sonata 

1030 N. American St. 215.238.1240.  sonatarestaurant.com 

Cuisine: New American. 

Hours: Tues.-Thurs., 5pm-10:30pm; Fri.-Sat., 5pm-11pm; Sun., 5pm-10:30pm. 

Prices: $5-$25. 

Atmosphere: Bright, red-white-and-blue music box with a jeans-friendly vibe. 

Service: Young and friendly. 

Food: Overwrought at times, but promising overall. 

Watermelon also got the compression treatment in a light, summery salad with peppy watercress and creamy Shellbark Hollow goat cheese from West Chester. Here, Tropea went light on the lemon vinaigrette and balsamic reduction, fortunate since Cryovac-ing transformed the melon into a dense, steaky, pink brick brimming with nectar. Another choice for vegetarian Libertines included the chickpea patties, slightly dry but nonetheless enjoyable swiped through tangy roasted garlic yogurt. A thicket of wiry frisée accompanied. 

I had to lift my self-imposed ahi embargo when Sonata’s menu promised a decidedly un-Asian (and thus, un- clichéd) tuna steak crusted in dehydrated black trumpet mushroom dust. The fatty, expertly filleted fish—Tropea breaks down whole loins in house— delivered, with a surprisingly harmonious contrast of earth and sea beneath a ragout of chanterelles and undercooked favas. But there was that tick: not one, but two sauces, Cabernet redux and frothy truffled foie gras butter. Though the ahi was meaty enough to keep pace with both, a single sauce—and less of it—would have sufficed. If Tropea takes this advice and drops one, I hope it’s not the beguiling foie butter, notably lighter than I expected it to be. 

Desserts were weak, a disappointment considering sous and pastry chef Krystal Weaver, Tropea’s former classmate at the Restaurant School at Walnut Hill College, did desserts at Brasserie Perrier and Miel Patisserie. The photogenic mission fig and blueberry tart was little more than that. Lemon ice cream lacked zing, as did the passion fruit panna cotta garnished with distracting raw corn salsa, basil and orange—or should I say raw corn salsa garnished with passion fruit panna cotta, since they appeared in nearly equal proportions? 

It seems Weaver suffers from the same overdressing tendencies as her boss. I’m not too concerned though, because it’s way easier to subtract than to add. Sonata has merit to spare. Sauce too. 

Bocca

Thu, 24 Sep 2009 19:20:25 PDT

Bocca's chef Chris D'Ambro takes us into his kitchen to prepare a light cod with marinated cherry tomatoes on the side. And he does it for under $15. Click on the video and enjoy!

Burger Smackdown

Tue, 22 Sep 2009 17:05:12 PDT

With burgers taking our city (and Twitter feeds) by storm, how could we not hook up a run-down of Philly's latest entrants to the between-a-bun game? One of these burgermen practically asked for it. Actually, he did ask for it. So here's the SquareBurger/PYT face-off you've been waiting for (or are tired of hearing about) with the grass-lovin' Elevation Burger chain's new Wynnewood outpost thrown in for good karma. Order up!

To view this charticle in a larger format, click here.

PW’s Guide to Banh Mi

Tue, 22 Sep 2009 17:05:10 PDT

Thanks to last-minute agreement, the gaping wound in our fair city’s budget has stopped hemorrhaging. But let’s not forget that we were this close to Mad Max -style urban decay so it’s not appropriate for the few left with expendable income to blow tons of it at restaurants serving “combava lime gelee” or “versawhip marshmallows.” We need to eat cheaply, and no nourishing, filling, tasty dish is simpler and easier on the budget than the banh mi.

If You Don’t Speak the Language

The Italian Market’s claustrophobia-inducing Café Nhu y (802 Christian St. 215.925.6544) is smaller than Joey Vento’s sense of empathy, but its banh mi bi—made with pulled pork, shredded carrots, cilantro, jalapeños and a fishy Vietnamese “aioli” on a Sarcone’s roll—is big on taste. U H

If You Dig Tofu 

Brave the white folks with dreads playing hacky sack in Clark Park and head down to Fu Wah Mini Market (810 S. 47th St. 215.729.2993). Its spicy “veggie hoagie” with pickled daikon, crunchy carrot, jalapeños, hot sauce, cracked black pepper and tofu plump with marinade on a toasted roll made our 50 Must-Eats list, but be warned: If you’re more of a meat-eater, the in-your-face ’fu might be a bit overwhelming. U H C 

Key

U Less than $4

B Baguette

H Hoagie roll

P Serves pho too 

A Alcohol

C Corner store

If You Like It Dirty 

We at Field Guide are admittedly sandwich freaks, and we’re in love with Ba Le Bakery and Restaurant (606 Washington Ave. 215.389.4350) and its amazing “special combination” banh mi. Made with pig parts, it’s pork roll on top of layers of ham resting on layers of roast pork caressed by a rich pork pate topped with your typical banh mi accoutrements on a house-baked baguette; it made us happier than a pig in shit. U B 

If You Love Lemmy 

There are many reasons to like Royal Tavern (937 E. Passyunk Ave. 215.389.6694): local craft beer, friendly people, the good chance you’ll hear Motörhead blasting from the speakers at any given moment and, of course, the food. The sweet potato banh mi (dinner only) made with bibb lettuce, crispy jicama, pickled daikon, shredded carrots, jalapeños and … wait for it … cilantro aioli served with a side of fries is a grand addition to their already dynamic bar menu. H A 

If You’re Going Shopping 

At the Hoa Binh Plaza on Washington Avenue, you can pick up a lime tree, the new DVD from your favorite Vietnamese pop trio and a pork banh mi at Nam Son (1601 Washington Ave. 215.545.4067). The sweet and spicy BBQ pork is cooled by daikon, carrot, green bell pepper and cucumber then spiced up again by everyone’s favorite hot sauce, Sriracha. U B P  

If You’re a Sandwich Hunter 

The not-on-the-menu banh mi at May’s Gourmet Café & Deli (1845 Christian St. 215.545.1052) is almost as elusive as Michael Vick in his heyday. Made with ham, pork roll and a rich pork pate and topped with cucumber, carrots, daikon and cilantro on a crispy baguette-like hoagie roll, it’s worth tracking down and making it part of your team. U B C ■

A Moveable Feast

Thu, 17 Sep 2009 17:39:13 PDT

If you've visited the Fair Food Farmstand in the Reading Terminal Market, and you’ve found coolers filled with raw milk, pasture-raised eggs and humanely raised meats. You’ll examine organic fruits and vegetables. But what you probably haven't done is ask about the story behind these locally produced items.

That’s not your fault. Nor is it the fault of the folks behind the counter. Instead, blame the cramped space where the stand currently sits. Fortunately, this is about to change.

After over a month of construction, the stand is moving to its new, larger location on the 12th Street side of the market, in the space formerly inhabited by Rick’s Steaks. And according to Seth Kalkstein, just hired for the newly created position of general manager, the benefits of expansion go beyond simply more space for more products.

"If you look at how the stand is set up today, the customers are blocked off from the employees at the register by the refrigerators," says Kalkstein, who until recently, worked as the cheese manager at Di Bruno Bros. "At the new space, we're going to have lines of sight where the customers are. We're going to be able to interact more with them. That's where most of the education comes from."

Kalkstein, tasked with overseeing the growing Farmstand business while executive Director Ann Karlen focuses on the Fair Food organization as a whole, is a bit of an autodidact when it comes to the items sold at the stand. Consider this zeal for learning combined with over 10 years of experience working behind the cheese counters at Di Bruno's and Ardmore Cheese before that, and two things become clear: how he landed at the farmstand, and why he emphasizes the importance of interaction and education for the new space.

"One thing you realize about the world of cheese," says Kalkstein, "is that production methods matter with regard to taste." Sample cheese made with milk from grass-fed cows, and cheese made with milk from cows that have been fed silage (easily preserved fermented plant matter) and there's no comparison. "You just can't make quality food from animals that are stacked together in a factory farm."

What he first experienced with his taste buds he then further explored through avid reading. Michael Pollan's The Omnivore's Dilemma is one obvious line on the reading list which also includes reference materials, "a lot of technical, nerdy stuff," Harold McGee's incomparable On Food and Cooking: The Science and Lore of the Kitchen and Everything I Want to Do Is Illegal by Joel Salatin. "The key is to read the guys who crusade on the one end, the guys who crusade on the other end, and see where the truth lies in between."

Still, the truth, as revealed by palate and library, placed Kalkstein in full alignment with the local food movement, ready to extol not just the virtue but also the satisfaction of eating locally. Even after years of pushing old-world cheeses made from techniques perfected over centuries, he shoots down the suggestion that Pennsylvania cheeses can't match up. "Sure, it's almost like we're starting from scratch here and relearning artisanal methods," he says, noting that in the 18th century, before the focus of American cheesemaking moved west, there were a number of producers making handmade English-style cheddar in the state.

Sure enough, cheesemakers like Trent Hendricks of Hendricks Farm, Pete Demchur of Shellbark Hollow and Sue Miller of Birchrun Hills Farm, among others, are making exceptional cheese in Pennsylvania, all of which can be found at the Fair Food Stand. Many of these cheeses showcase what Kalkstein considers the particular terroir of Pennsylvania. "You get a lot of oniony flavors, a lot of mushroomy flavors—whether it's something in the soil, or grass, or air going on."

The catch, one might argue, is that these unique flavors—not just in cheese, but also the fuller taste of pasture-raised eggs or the complexity of grass-fed beef— come with a hearty price tag, especially compared their equivalents in the grocery store. Kalkstein's response is succinct. "They're not the same products. You're not eating the same thing."

The distinction may not be immediately obvious. But this returns us to the educational mission of the Fair Food Farmstand and the new opportunities provided by the larger space. It's one thing to put a carton of pasture-raised eggs in the cooler and stick on a $3.75 price tag. But only if someone like Kalkstein can tell you that the difference between the ones from Acme and these ones is "like a symphony when you cut out 3/4 of the instruments" and explain why, then the cost makes a little more sense.

Fall Food and Drink Guide

Tue, 15 Sep 2009 16:33:56 PDT

The Wine School (2006-2008 Fairmount Ave. and 227 Market St. 800.817.7351. vinology.com) is like an Ivy League fraternity and classroom rolled into one. Where else can you get an education in food and wine pairings, taste the difference between Irish and English beers and take Wine 101—a class about wine basics—to impress your friends the next time you go to Tria ? The Wine School and its brother, Philly Beer School , offer a full roster of fun and boozy classes throughout the fall at both their Fairmount and Old City locations.

The mod kitchen theater at Foster’s Homeware (399 Market St. 267.671.0588. shopfosters.com) provides a fun atmosphere for learning kickass cooking techniques (think: Morimoto-style knife skills) as well as recipe tricks. Examples include how to make authentic tomato sauce, secrets to the perfect cake and tips on handling your own salami.  

Williams-Sonoma (The Bellevue, 200 S. Broad St. 215.545.7392. williams- sonoma.com) offers demonstration-style classes that allow students to sit back and learn. You can sign up for the entire series or pick from classes like Bistro-Style Supper, Hors d’oeuvres for a Wine Tasting and Fall Celebration. All classes include samples of the dishes and printed recipes to take home.  

Friday Night Flights at Ristorante Panorama (14 N. Front St. 215.922.7800. localwineevents.com) are wine classes disguised as social mixers—with snacks. These weekly happy hour wine tastings, held every Friday night from 6 p.m. to 8 p.m. feature tasting flights of six to eight wines highlighting a specific theme, region or importer. The wines are paired with cheese and hors d’oeuvres. Panorama’s wine director and sommelier William Eccleston and a guest winemaker lead interactive discussions and sipping. Advance reservations are recommended as the events often sell out.  

Cheap Eats 

Restaurant Week (centercityphila.org) continues today through Fri., Sept. 25, with a little break over the weekend. Over 100 city restaurants are offering $20 three-course lunches and $35 three-course dinners (minus tax, alcohol and gratuity). As a sign of the apocalypse, many parking garages are offering discounted parking. Take advantage of both deals!  

Chef David Katz has added a lunch special at Mémé (2201 Spruce St. 215.735.4900) that’s even more down-home than his already rustic menu. On Thursdays, for 11 bucks, David is dishing up two pieces of his crispy, savory fried chicken; fluffy homemade biscuits; a dash of his secret sauce (it’s hot!) and a tall, cool Miller High Life, iced tea or lemonade. Two dollars more will get you two seasonal sides like potato salad or cole slaw. David dreamt up this meal when he thought, simply, “I love fried chicken. Everyone loves fried chicken.”  

The Pita Pit (1601 Sansom St. 215.564.1080. twitter.com/phillypitapit) wants to reward you for all the time you spend Tweeting about what you’re eating. Join Pita Pit on Twitter and get weekly deal alerts for free cookies and drinks, discounted pitas ($3 lunch!) and news about their current artist-in-residence.  

This month, Jose Garces turns the downstairs at Distrito into The Cantina at Distrito (3945 Chestnut St. 215.222.1657. distritorestaurant.com) featuring a new menu with items under $10. Geared toward local students and neighborhood diners who want to grab drinks and snacks rather than a full meal, the menu includes a variety of tacos,  Mission-style quesadillas, inexpensive margaritas, Mexican beer specials and a new special cocktail menu. Upstairs at Distrito will remain dinner as usual.  

Openings 

Also on the Garces front, Jose rolled out the premium whiskey barrels with the recent opening of Village Whiskey (114 S. 20th St. 215.665.1088. villagewhiskey.com). Set at the corner of a newly established culinary quarter just off Rittenhouse Square, Village Whiskey features an extensive whiskey collection, speakeasy-era cocktails and Garces’ take on American bar snacks. To soak up the serious booze, diners can order savory housemade cheese puffs, a ground-in-house Angus beef burger with a side of duck fat fries in cheddar sauce, or the very cute and tasty house-cured pickles that come in its own mini Mason jar.  

In October, Midtown Village will have Zavino (112 S. 13th St. 215.732.2400), an Italian pizza kitchen and wine bar headed up by chef-partner Steve Gonzalez and featuring crispy pizzas from the wood-burning oven, seasonal pasta dishes and charcuterie. Zavino will serve until 2 a.m., classing up and paying tribute to the neighborhood’s late-night vibe.  

The villagers in Midtown are also awaiting the next offering from kickass eatery entrepreneurs and all-around cool couple Valerie Safran and Marcie Turney. The ladies are leaning toward Mediterranean and it’s sure to be as fab as their Bindi , Lolita , Grocery and Verde . Special Events 

Local food writers Tara Desmond and Joy Manning recently released Almost Meatless , a cookbook encouraging people to eat local and eat healthy without committing to complete vegetarianism. On Sun., Sept. 20, Sean and Kelly Weinberg of Restaurant Alba (7 W. King St., Malvern. 610.644.4009) host a four-course dinner event using local ingredients and recipes from the book. For $65 per person (plus tax and gratuity), diners get the full meal and a signed copy of the book. A wine pairing is available for an additional $25 per person.  

Support the Headhouse Square Farmers Market (Second and Lombard sts.  headhousemarket.org) by attending A Toast to Pennsylvania Wine, Cheese and Chocolate on Thurs., Oct. 15. The event will feature a dozen local favorites including Chaddsford Winery , Betty’s Tasty Buttons and Birchrun Hills Farm .  

Farmers Markets 

Vegan diva Christina Pirello simmers on the demo stage at the City Hall Farmers Market (City Hall Courtyard, farmtocity.org)  on Wed., Sept. 23, from noon to 1 p.m. This free presentation showcases both the market’s and Christina’s commitments to health and local eating.  

For your last-minute cranberry and sweet potato needs, six Food Trust farmers’ markets (Broad and South sts.; Cliveden Park, Chew Ave. and Johnson St.; East Lancaster, 308 E. King St.; Haddington, 52nd St. and Haverford Ave.; Northern Liberties, Second and Poplar sts.; Schuylkill River Park, 25th and Spruce sts.) will be open the day before Thanksgiving. Markets are open from 10 a.m. to 4 p.m., or until vendors sell out. ■

School of Hard Knots

Tue, 15 Sep 2009 17:21:10 PDT

Elizabeth Halen has a problem. A disorder, really.

“I have a special form of attention disorder,” says the Temple sociology doctoral candidate-turned-full-time-baker. “I’ll try to sit down and watch a movie, but 20 minutes into it, I’ll get bored, get up, go to the kitchen and start softening butter so I can make brownies.”

Which begs the question: Can we come over for a movie?

If you’ve had Halen’s brownies or her fluffy oatmeal whoopee pies or her blackberry muffins—served at Home Slice and A Full Plate Café in Northern Liberties—then you know they’re worth being forward for. But Halen, who also caters, bakes special orders and chronicles her chocolate-frosted adventures on her blog Foodaphilia, also didn’t plan to become a baker.

Halen arrived in Philly in 2003 a graduate of Ripon College, a small liberal arts school in Ripon, Wis.—“ironically home to a cookie factory”—to get her sociology Ph.D. from Temple. When she wasn’t working on her dissertation, the self-taught baker was whipping up mint-chocolate bundts and peanut butter-pretzel pies for friends and classmates. “I finished with classes, passed my thesis and comp exams, too. I have a master’s and [put] years of work toward a final dissertation—just never finished it,” she says. “[Graduate school was] not a place that ever made me feel good or appreciated in the way I do when someone swoons as they bite into a piece of my cake.”

Cornbread was the gateway. While still in school, Halen’s friends Shannon Dougherty and Liz Peterson were looking for a baker to make cornbread for their new neighborhood cafe on Liberties Walk, A Full Plate. Halen volunteered, and cornbread was the beginning. “Now I try to have four or five different things available on any given day and at least one that is vegan,” she says. 

“I did enjoy teaching, and during my time at Temple I worked on a great project, but the time spent on those things felt like a chore or work, even though it was enjoyable. I’d find myself thinking about what I was going to bake at home later, or what I could do with bananas that week at the cafe instead of my dissertation.” 

Speaking of bananas, the fruit figures into one of Halen’s most popular inventions: Elvis Cake, which is always available at A Full Plate. This named-for-the-King confection marries chocolate chip-studded banana cake with thick waves of peanut butter buttercream frosting. When people swoon over it, the way Halen likes, she’s the one saying “thank you very much.” 

A seminal moment in Halen’s decision to quit Temple and put all her efforts in baking was when she met James Barrett from Metropolitan Bakery. “James invited me over for a tour and I spent nearly four hours there talking with his staff and getting some hands-on training,” she recalls. “He would show me how to fashion the shape of their baguettes and let me help their baker make cookie dough. I remember very clearly thinking that all of these people I was meeting spend their whole day close to food, concerned about its production and the ultimate product they’re working toward creating, and they were happy about it. And I was jealous. Because that’s what I wanted.” 

And she’s got it now, even if baking is still only a part-time profession. Halen bakes at A Full Plate two full days a week—the day before we spoke, she was “up to her elbows in cookie batter”—and can often be found in their kitchen baking for commercial and personal  purposes and for special catering gigs. 

So will we be seeing Halen in her own bricks-and-mortar bakery soon? “The idea of having my own place is definitely appealing, but I’m not in a financial position to make that big of a step yet,” she admits.

Which means one thing, thankfully, for all of us: More Elvis cake. ■

Bon Appecheap: Sazon

Sun, 13 Sep 2009 19:14:13 PDT

Judy Suzarra-Campbell makes arepas like her grandmother made them: fluffy and kernel-flecked, grilled, split like an English muffin and filled with delicious sandwich makings. Go to Sazon and you can accompany the tasty Venezuelan meals with Bob Campbell's 13 types of truffles and 24 types of hot chocolate. Join us as Suzarra-Campbell shows us how to make arepas the old-fashioned way!

Max Brenner Is Better for Kids

Tue, 08 Sep 2009 19:25:04 PDT

Even if you knew absolutely nothing about Max Brenner, even if you were an exchange student from Borneo or an alien just beamed down to 1500 Walnut St., Philadelphia, Pa., U.S.A., from a distant galaxy, you’d know what was up the minute you swung open the door.

Max Brenner, Chocolate by the Bald Man 

1500 Walnut St. 215.344.8150. maxbrenner.com 

Cuisine: Dessert. 

Hours: Mon.-Thurs., 11:30am-11pm; Fri., 11:30am-1am; Sat., 9am-1am; Sun., 9am-11pm.  

Prices: $4.50-$24.95. 

Atmosphere: Handsome, chocolate-and-caramel colored space with a youthful spirit beneath its chic polish. 

Service: Sweet as the desserts. 

Food: Entertaining, even if the chocolate’s a bore.

Chocolate. Good, virtuous chocolate. The aroma envelops you like a sweet fog as you enter Max Brenner, Chocolate by the Bald Man. Their first confectionary opened in 1996 just outside Tel Aviv, but I’d understand if you thought Willy Wonka owned this brand.

Inside, the Philly outpost (only the second in the U.S.) radiates an infectious, childlike joyfulness. Great propellers turn in tanks of ganache, creating shiny dark, milk and white chocolate whirlpools. Pipes crisscross the ceiling. Cardamom, pink peppercorns, dried chilies and cinnamon sticks crowd into glass containers with cork lids, displayed along the walls like exotic bath products. Rittenhouse housewives, University of the Arts students, Bala besties on Walnut Street shopping sprees and gay dudes on dates crowd the 115 seats in the caramel-colored bar and lounge, while freckled cartoon tykes scamper across the wallpaper in a chocolate-induced hysteria. 

Spread across an eye-popping 11-page menu, Brenner boasts more than 30 sweet endings. I ate so much chocolate I actually had to order the pretty damn good grilled chicken satay—there’s an entire savory menu too, by consulting chef (and Chopped judge) Chris Santos of New York’s Stanton Social—for “dessert.” 

On that menu, words like “crunchy bits” and “wafer balls” supplant “organic,” “fair-trade” and “shade-grown.” Cacao percentage is listed only for the truffles (70 percent). Bean origin isn’t listed at all (to wit: Mexico, Papua New Guinea, Java, the Ivory Coast), nor is the location of where the beans are secret-blended and turned into chocolate (a factory in Israel) before being shipped to the 20-some Max Brenner locations. 

The absence of information is, at first at least, liberating. But when it eventually becomes apparent Brenner’s dessert repertoire relies on just three types of blended chocolate—white, milk, dark—palate fatigue sets in. Even the Suckao, “a small, dense, concentrated shot of rich chocolate,” was more like Hershey’s Special Dark than anything you’d call dense, concentrated or rich. Maybe the Max Brenner menu doesn’t brag about its chocolate because its chocolate is nothing to brag about?  

In this town, there’s no question: You can get better, more interesting, more challenging chocolate elsewhere. What you can’t get elsewhere are funky Ocha teapots whose spring-loaded bottoms dispense aromatic chocolate chai when set atop sleek see-through mugs; ego-boosting bathroom mirrors with “you look extremely good today” etched into the glass; servers with dispositions as sunny as radioactive buttercups; and prices this reasonable. 

Together, these and countless other sweet details unlock the door to a candy crunchies-sprinkled parallel universe where every guy is a Charlie and every girl an Alice; where I was almost willing to overlook how the strawberry-white chocolate milkshake had the chalkiness of a protein shake because it arrived in a charming ceramic milkshake glass that beckoned “Drink Me” in orange block letters. 

Like Bonté, Brenner does waffles in the Liege style, but unlike Bonté, these lacked the gaufre’s signature slim builds, crunchy edges and caramelized pearl sugar pockets. In the banana split version, the breakfast grids came topped with bananas and drowned in chocolate sauce, with strawberries, blueberries, vanilla ice cream and extra chocolate sauce on the side. Combined with the chocolate deluge, the cakey, heavy-as-a-phone-book waffles stuck in my throat like peanut butter, strangely more so than a decent banana-topped dessert pizza that actually contained peanut butter. 

The frozen lemonades, whose electric hues looked lifted from a Crayola box, should also be avoided. The watermelon (Shocking Pink) and mint (Screamin’ Green) flavors tasted as artificial as they appeared, though Brenner insists they contain nothing more than fresh fruit, ice and simple syrup. 

If I had kids, I’d take them to Max Brenner. (Nurse Jackie took her rugrats to the Union Square location in episode nine.) But I’m a grownup, darn it. My tastes are sophisticated, and I won’t be swayed by complimentary mirrors and cute, cool, adorably awesome chocolate-drinking apparatuses … No! I’m going to Naked or Golosa, where the chocolate caters to adults. Just as soon as someone wraps up an Alice glass for me to take home. ■