Minor Gourmandry

At Blush, style is served first

With a desire to age better than its predecessors, Blush has opened its doors for Summer. The Bryn Mawr nook in which Blush now resides has been home to headaches and ill omens for careless restaurateurs and careful veteran chefs alike. Despite the looming history of failures, the location is much too stupendous to remain vacant. Enter chef and first-time owner Nicholas Farina. Farina honed his skills at the NYC's The Grand Tier (Metropolitan Opera House)  before becoming chef de cuisine at Solaris Grille in Chestnut Hill. Though Blush is Farina's first restaurant, elements of his last kitchen have been drafted over to the new -- both menus are refined American cuisine (familiar items with a forgein twist). If Solaris could win over the younger rollers of Chestnut Hill, Farina must hope to woo the swanks of the Main Line with a similar formula.

With its Bourdeaux-hued tapestries and massive wine selection, Faina aims to create a more demure atmosphere for dining and sipping. While the restaurant claims to be casual-friendly, the chandeliers and comely maple tables suggest upscale dining. I expect they'll be catering to more than a couple private parties this Summer. But hey, if you want to don your sport shorts and sit on the second-floor Veranda (what a gorgeous view!), feel right at...um...home.

Though the indoor space was cool, the recent sweltering heat begged for outdoor seating. Blush can seat several parties outdoors, so do yourself and your company a favor and ask for the "Veranda" in advance. With the wind blowing and the sun gleaming, the food is almost secondary...almost.

Upon a quick one-over, the appetizers read appealingly, with their bold and bright ingredients:  PEI Mussels, Sweet Potato Ravioli, "Cigar" (fried won-ton) wraps of Lobster, Marscapone Cheese, and Scallions. A few daily soups and substantial salads filled out the first course choices.

Intrigued by the prospect of a lip-curling dessert menu, all diners present opted to save room by going straight to the entrees. Though my eyes hovered over the Pineapple and Tequilla Glazed Duck for several tense moments, the evening rays reminded me of lazy dinners at the shore. At the shore, you eat fish. Plancha Seared Grouper, with an enticing poblano shrimp griddle cake side, seemed a premium choice.

After a belly-readying wait (a euphemism, but the climate eroded impatience), my Grouper arrived plump atop an artful pat of griddle cake and surrounded by grill-marked carrots and asparagus spears. Attractive plates are a plus -- each plate was visually appetizing -- but one bite into the undercooked carrots undermined that appeal. The grilled veggies were more of a garnish than a side. The slab of grouper was rich with seasoning, but the cut was too thick for pepper to save it. Grouper is not a typically flavorful fish, so some splashes of lemon would have been well worth the effort. The griddle cake was paired with a creamy shrimp sauce, so that abetted the desperate fish. The poblano shrimp cake really saved the plate. Its flavors fully impacted; first buttery cornbread, then lightly spicy shrimp.

The Pan Seared Scallops with sundried tomato mashed potato(es) offered the opposite problem -- the main component was delicious, with its slightly sweet balsamic reduction, but the main side, the mashed potatoes, were served at room temperature. It seems the kitchen staff has yet to gel completely, leading to some timing errors and subpar peices. If Farina is aiming for upscale dining, he will need to tighten these loose screws or he will find himself as another Bryn Mawr vagrant.

The dessert menu was fine (pretty typical fair, i.e. Apple Tart, Tiramisu, Chocolate Mousse cake..), but not as lip-lickingly awesome as we'd hoped. Two diners opted for solely for coffee, and one for gelato (vanilla and chocolate). Without a clear winner on the dessert menu (all $7), I opted for the taste of three desserts ($7). A tiny cuplet of chocolate ice cream arrived alongside a chocolate mousse tartlet and a lemon meringue tartlet. The ice cream was a cool but quickly melting dark chocolate. The chocolate mousse tartlet suffered from a very bland shell, but the lemon "chiffon" tartlet was a cool lemon curd with just the right bite. My recommendation, skip the rest and GO LEMON!

While not much at this new Main Line wine and dine warrants excitement, Blush does offer a satisfying menu with enough appeal, for me, to warrant a second try. The wine and spirits offered also argue in the restaurant's favor. Great cocktails, decent beer selection, and a detailed and wide array of wine and champagn. Get yourself a seat on the Veranda, a Caribbean cocktail, and prosper as you swallow one of those Lobster Cigars.

Location and contact:

24 North Merion Avenue
Bryn Mawr, PA 19010
Phone: 610-527-7700

 

No longer a diamond in the rough, Sovalo is still a gem

Inquirer food critic, Craig LaBan, recently released his "Bells of 2005" to highlight the year's restaurant reviews. Out of over fifty new-ish restaurants reviewed in 2005, only six received above 2 bells. None received a perfect score.

Scrolling through the list, I noted a couple of restaurants I had sworn to try. At the top of that list was Sovalo; coincidentally, it also topped LaBan's list with a 3-bell review. Researching further, I found Citypaper gave the restaurant a glowing review, and included it in their year-end wrap. Lauren McCutcheon of PW, however, was unimpressed by Sovalo's hype and failed to mention it in her review of 2005. Though fine dining is too expensive a venue to debunk critical controversies, the overwhelmingly positive ring of Sovalo's reviews drew me to the Northern Liberties restaurant (I mean, we're talking 3 bells).

Sovalo has the added attraction of being Philly's next (if it isn't already) boomtown. Just peruse the community's bulletin-cum-webpage, and you'll find several places new & old that are on the dining hotlist: Pura Vida, N. 3rd, Azure. There's a bevy of great coffee shops, one for every hip clique. Lucky for the expat Californian couple who own Sovalo, they nabbed the nicest building in the area. Several massive windows protrude vertically from the ground, giving the interior the illusion of being spacious. The color scheme is appropriate for a So-Cal Italian restaurant: sleek blacks, midnight maroons, wood floors, and floral upholstered walls. Each table is dimly lit by a sole candle (bloggers beware, your photos will suck).

The monthly menu is composed of four sections: Antipasta, Pasta, Secondi, and Contorni (vegetables & sides); and this month, "Gennaio," is overwhelmed with attractve options. I appreciated the careful pairing of ingredients for the menu's several salads. Rarely has a salad selection distracted me from the rest of the appetizers. I decided upon the Blood orange, pistachio, and watercress salad (8.95), which came atop a thin mat of sliced sopressata. The salad was dressed with no more than a simple oil, but the rich oil of the roast pistachios and dripping juice of the blood orange slices provided more than enough dressing. The sopressata was wowing, due to its encompassing flavor, which included the citrus flavor of the blood orange. Want to avoid the leaf? My second choice was easily the mouth-wateringly attractive Sweet breads and chanterelles with apple mantecato and pomegranate.

For a second course, the decision fell between the heartier Secondi section (Braised pork shoulder, mushroom-stuffed quail), or the enticing Pasta one. One look at the Bartlett pear, onion, and fontina ravioli and the menu was shut. Every element I could ask for in a filled-pasta was present: a bold cheese, toothable but not tough pasta, and an intriguing filling The slightly sour caramel of the onion and the sweet pear bits caused me to sigh in delight. The pasta packets were surrounded by a brown butter sauce spiked with crisped bits of sage. (And you thought the dish couldn't get any better? $13.95)

Replacing my white pasta plate was the menu for the final course: Dolci. The selections are more complementary than supplementarty, as Sovalo has no pastry chef and therefore avoids that fields grandeur. Still..(options...). I selected the Florentine Hot Chocolate. The oblong plate came with a palm-sized cup of melted bittersweet chocolate and a duo of Amaretti and almond biscotti. The 8oz cup held an intense bittersweet chocolate liquid - no compaints on flavor - with the consistency of slightly gloopy coffee. The hot water (no milk here) only partially melted the blocks of chocolate, giving the drink its disappointing texture. Though not all reviewers were equally impressed, the low-rise Chocolate Hazelnut Torta dolloped with whipped cinnamon marscapone pleasured the palates of my two dining partners.

It's not hard to tell why Sovalo had LaBan ringing a trio bells: the location, the nuance (slates of freshly baked bread and herbed butter), and the desire (the owners make sure the waitstaff is convincingly concerned). The menu is endlessly attractive, though not particularly daring, and well-priced for the care and quality. Simply put, Sovalo is a restaurant to get excited about. Spread the word.

Location: 702 N. Second St. (Philadelphia, PA 19123)

For Reservations: 215-413-7770

Upon Returning: Marigold Part II

To celebrate the end of a semester apart, my parents and younger brother accompanied me to Marigold Kitchen, a restaurant I’d clamored about since my first visit a year back. We arrived on a Thursday, with a reservation for 6:30; the dining room emanated a demure hum. Barely audible music wafted above homey tables lit by a simple blue (Ikea?) candle.

Minutes after settling in with a glass of Pellegrino, our server arrived with an amuse bouche: a spoonful of crusted and baked goat cheese with two pomegranate arils (the individual seed-containers of the fruit). The spoonful was a perfect pair, first mildly sweet then goaty (nothing like baked brie). I sat back with smug anticipation – Marigold was going to win over the credit card holders parents. 

After what seemed like 20 minutes of menu deliberations – I was charged with menu interpretation, though even Uni custard was new to my ears – we ordered and readied for what proved to be an incessant wait. Service was a tad off all night. Later, despite our shooting hands and nodding heads, a trio of waiters attempted to whisk away with my mother’s last sliver of cake. The final waiter was successful, but moments later he returned the plate bashfully. If nothing else, the excusable slips provided conversation during the down-time.

First to arrive was my appetizer, consisting of two crostini: a Seared Foie Gras and a Duck Rilette. Each was placed over a crispy pumpernickel biscuit (full molasses flavor) and a stewed apple slice. The crispy crunch of the bottom disc provided the pillowy and salty Foie Gras with texture contrast and an equally puissant flavor. The three nibbles of Seared Foie Gras toast were the highlights of the night. The duck rilette, a scoop of stripped and pulverized mallard that looked like a spread, was also a sheer delight, especially when combined with the thin molasses cracker and dipped in the thin honey streak running alongside the plate. My brother enjoyed, or at least was intrigued by, the Taylor Bay Scallops: three tiny shells held thin coins of scallop resting above an Uni custard and topped with black trumpet mushroom strips.

After a belly-readying break, four entrees were laid down at each respective tablemat. In a lapse of dining acumen (due, of course, to the gourmet abeyance known as college food), I chose the Seared Scallop dish with Oxtail Tagine and root vegetables. The scallops were cooked exactly the same as the foie gras, and the texture of the two meats was nearly equivalent on my tongue. (And, call me crazy, but most scallop entrees taste the same everywhere.) The dish held none of the flair expected from a Marigold selection. I expected the oxtail might be the star accoutrement, but the strips of pork-tasting-tail felt misplaced on the plate – strewn between the scallops. The couscous studded with diced root veggies was a tasty if uninteresting preparation to side the seared scallops. All said, I enjoyed the dish ruefully. 

My brother’s $30 Strip Steak (entrees from 24-30 this season) looked like a better selection, with a colorful smear of sweet potato and a wedge of creamy and crisp pommes au gratin – a beautifully conceived version of a wintry selection. Another fall/winter tease was the Squab Breast and Squab Ravioli, sided with a Chestnut puree and Rose-petal jus.

Dessert was a “yes” all around, because, save for my two courses, none of the plates were belly-busters. While the fruit’s season has passed, seeing the word “pear” and “fritter” in the same sentence intrigued me enough to opt for the dessert: Fennel-poached Pear and Pear Fritter, with Sage Ice Cream. The poached pear was a tad soggy, and overpowered by fennel, but it was still pleasurable to eat the peeled pear in its entirety (any core nuisances had been removed). The warm pear fritter was the size of a golf ball, and contained an aromatic grind of sugar and pear and spice. The sage ice cream rivaled any gasp-worthy herb simulation at Capogiro. Another dessert, the Warm Chocolate Cake, was more akin to a fallen-soufflé than a cake. Layer cake or not, the rich truffle center made the cupped-palm-sized dessert just enough to satisfy. For some contrast, a Black Walnut Tuile arrived on the plate, wedged in between the cake and Sesame Ice Cream. All five dessert selections (not including a $9/15 cheeseplate) appeared to have the same theme: concentrated flavors in tiny packages. Not too exorbitant or sweet, the desserts are meant to complement the meal before it. 

Though I left Marigold without the mouth-altering experience I’d hoped for, the meal was wholly satisfying. Every plate combined unique and familiar preparations with seasonal flavors, mostly to laudable effect. The Foie Gras and Duck Rilette was perhaps the best appetizer I had all year, thanks to the unexpected but perfectly suitable sweetness underlying both preparations.

 Diners that caught on to Marigold early will note a recent price hike. Whereas no entrée was above $24 early in 2005, now, no entrée is less. The appetizers, too, average above $9. Sadly, Marigold’s national hype justifies the raise. While the restaurant is no longer a bargain – it’s on par with most high-end BYOBs – the food allows no room for complaints. My advice: expect the best from Marigold, and be disappointed if it doesn’t deliver. My less-than-perfect meal won’t lower my expectations for excellence.

Location: 501 S. 45th St. 
(reservations accepted: 215-222-3699)

Phoebe's knows her 'cue

Heading south in Center City, once you pass beyond Spruce, you better know where you're going. Once you hit Bainbridge, you'll either find yourself at the cusp of a bevy of  South Street activity, or you'll be staring at an abundance of devolpments.

Food and shopping outlets are mostly found between streets 2nd through 10th - numbered streets run east to west - and west of that, you're on your own. But if you're willing to look, there are some cultural enclaves, almost like buroughs, below Spruce and west of 10th. One of these is the 22nd block of South St. It's a confluence of multiple ethnicities, ones usually separated into distinct 'hoods. Look at the cuisine and you get a sense of the diversity. There's the Balkan Express (Hungarian), Mai Lai (Thia), Ants Pants Cafe ("International"), and Phoebe's Bar-B-Que (from the good ole south).

Always looking for good Latte, I planned to stop at Ants Pants, and then eat lunch at Phoebe's. Well, Ants Pants happens to be closed on Tuesdays, so I replaced my Iced Latte with a nice cool bottled water (only $.50 round these parts). Adjacent to Ants Pants is Phoebe's, a glorified hole-in-the-wall -- glorified because it isn't dirty, hole-in-the-wall because you'll be searching for elbow room. Tight quarter means Pheobe's is takeout only.

The menu has a lot of options, but not of the food variety, of the portion variety. Table-less, I knew I'd have to order with carry-out sanitation in mind, so I went with the portable Pulled Pork Sandwich (small side of  worthy slaw included).  To start, Spiro, the joint's owner for six years and counting, works his hands into a bucket of pork meat. His veteran mitts separate the nubs from the choice meat, pulling and tenderizing the meat in the process. The next step would usually be to weigh the meat - 1/3lb per sandwich - but he seems like he knows the proper amount, so he bypasses the measure and drops the pulled pork into Phoebe's homemade sauce.

I asked for the "hot" barbecue sauce after Spiro assured me it was more tangy than fiery. I'd have to agree. Unlike many barbecue sauces, the first sensation I encountered was tang. It isn't off-putting, or tart, but it does separate the flavor from a more traditional and more bold molasses, spice, and tomato puree-based barbecue bastings.

The pork on the sandwich was very toothsome. The pieces were more than just shards of meat, they were tenderized and thinly torn, making the meat very easy to chew. I was suprised to find not one tough nub in my whole sandwich. The moisture of the sandwich comes mostly from the sauce, the pork is tender but not seeped in a marinade and therefore less juicy (and less messy, keep in mind).

Whereas the wrap at the Smoked Joint made for an awkward pork encasing, the kaiser roll at Phoebe's is just right -- which means it was sturdy enough to hold the meat, but not too thick as to subtract from the overall taste. Kudos for not simply using two wimpy pieces of "white" bread.

Phoebe's solid sandwich has got me lookin' to consume more 'cue. Maybe next time I'll get down and dirty with their ribs, an integral item on any good Barbecue restraunt.

Location: 2214 South St.
Other places to chow:
Jamaican Jerk Hut (1436 South St.)
Sweet Lucy's Smokehouse (7500 State Rd. - Northeast Philly - Big Hype!)
Ron's Ribs (1627 South St.)

Duck Deli BBQ Restaurant (524 E. Butler Ave., New Britain)
Nina's Bar-B-Que (351 Evesham Ave., Lawnside, N.J.

Melograno: Is it that good?

Overrated is a term usually saved for athletes or cult films, not restaurants. But, never say never, Melograno is overrated. A decline into bloated reviews is conceivable, isn't it? The restaurant opens in 2003 with a full head of gastro-steam and follows with a strech of inspired dining, pleasing magazines and local papers. Fast forward to Summer 2005, the critics stop showing. The staff is satisfied with their popularity, and the locals still fill the place everynight from 6:30 to close. Why not let loose a bit?

I made the decision to go to this Toscan BYOB, despite the notoriously lengthy table-wait due to their no reservation policy, because of the notably positive reviews (not least of them from Bon Appetit and Craig LaBan). Most of these reviews date from over a year ago, even EGullet and Chowhound posts are months old. Maybe others have caught on.

We were seated quickly thanks to our 6:20 arrival time (it's a summer Friday night mind you). The crowd was yuppie to suave middle-agers. Conversations appeared less concerned with the pasta's tooth-ability and more about weekend gettaways. (Although one table chatted about Rrestaurateur Neil Stein's demise.) One of two order-taking waitrons, our waitress wasn't peppy, but she was adequate at reading the specials and fielding questions. Some of the waitstaff seems unconcerned.

The dinner started out without mishap. In fact, my breaded and deep-fried chicken livers (fegatini di pollo $8) were excellent. Crispy and lightly mustardy, the oblong cutlets were piquant and satisfying. The bed of sweet onions and stewed tomatoes was also sharply flavorful. However, the multigrain bread, served with a weak olive oil, was disappointing. The carraway seeds insinuated their flavor much too imprudently.

My male dining comrade had a wonderfully visual and toothsome antipasta of one grilled artichoke surrounded by deftly charbroiled scallops. The deflowered artichoke came with it's long stem attached, giving it the look of a short ulna. The scallops' flavor weren't subverted by any heavy butter sauce, just a little olive oil, and were perfectly cooked through. Let's just say we were all pretty excited for the next course.

At this time of the night, the tiny corner location was crowded, with the final seats being occupied outdoors. With packed quarters comes noisey conversation. Romantic and quiet Melograno is not. At times I couldn't gauge my dining comrades' responses without a double-take. I even found myself cupping my ear and leaning forward to hear the dessert selection. "WHAT KIND OF CAKE WAS THAT AGAIN?"

On to the main course. If I hadn't ordered the fried chicken livers during the first course, I likely would have turned to the meats section of the menu,  which occupies one of the five pages in the little black booklet (the other four: antipastas, salads, pastas, and fish). The prune, walnut and fig-stuffed quail sounded delicious, and judging from the satisfied smile of another diner, it was. But, wanting to try something different, I went with the beet and marscapone-filled ravioli surrounded by a white wine and olive sauce. I rarely, if ever, get pasta out, mostly because it's a dinner staple in my household.

After an agreeable wait-period, the raviolis ($14) arrived as four or five 3 x 3 inch squares with a pink center. Now, because this isn't a four or five course meal, and because the raviolis weren't an appetizer, I felt justified in expecting more substance. The plate was awkwardly spare - no sides anchored the few raviolis - when compared to the other entrees I spied around the restaurant. I may not have noticed the meager portion if the raviolis were good. The pasta was too tough around the edges, and the beet-filling, altough visually appealing, completely masked the flavors of the cheese and oils with its tart-sweet flavor.

I should also mention that the supremely popular papperadelle, with truffle oil splashed wild mushrooms, toasted walnuts, and pecorino slices, was al dente. While it was a much more agreeable portion and a better dish overall than the ravioli, the pasta had too many splashes of truffle oil, which filled my nostrils and allowed only mushroom and truffle to be tasted. Yes, less truffle oil.

The apple torte I had for dessert was cute, and the flavor and texture were pleasing - I would be satisfied with the torte if I had made it. Still, some vanilla ice cream or gelato would have been nice, and the torte's inside should have been less lemon flavored and more apple.

I wasn't looking for bountiful garnishing or gastro-flourishes at Melograno, I understand this is Toscana bistro fare, but I was expecting bountiful flavor. I suppose that other menu choices would have left me with a much more positive opinion, but the point is I didn't choose those other items. At a great restaurant, all choices should be smile-enducing.

Location:  2201 Spruce St. [No reservations, some outdoor seating available]

Other options:
Italian - Ava (at 518 S. 3rd Street Philadelphia)
Sovalo (702-704 N. Second St.)
BYOBs (not too distant)  -
Matyson (19th, below Market St.)
Audrey Claire (276 S. 20th, intersects with Spruce)

Lolita - Nuevo Mexicano

Why name a restaurant Lolita? It's a tad unoriginal, and the literary association only adds kitsch. But let's dig a little deeper into the name. Let's think in terms of location.

Across the street from the tiny mocha nymphet is a flashy hombre: the imposing El Vez. The restaurant's namesake is taken from the Mexican-born performer who borrowed both his style and his title's syllables from the Graceland King, Elvis Presley. In life, El Vez is primetime glam, in death, he'll become a cross-cultural sidenote in pop history. How fitting then, that restaurant culture-clasher Stephen Starr would borrow El Vez's name for the hip semi-Mexican eagery. So not unlike the man, El Vez restaurant is hipper to style than to authenticity. (This is not say El Vez doesn't bring some great chow to the table - 'cause it does.)

Four years from the opening of Starr's restaurant, Lolita opened its own doors. The opening was risky, as the other Latin-influenced restaurants saw minimal success, and the one that did, El Vez, was across the street and hip as ever. To attract attention, the new Latin spot had to flash a little leg, be a little risque, so to speak. Thus, Lolita, Nabokov's coquettish female, became the namesake of the authentic BYOT (Bring Your Own Tequila).

Now food with a storyline's all well and good, but does Lolita deliver the goods? Yep (read below for more detail). It's authentic Mexican with flare, even though the chef's name is Marcey.

It was a balmy night, with a spring breeze, so we sat outside. The restaurant doesn't occupy more than one storefront, but it's deep - holds at least forty, more if weather permits outdoor seating. The tables outside wobble ever so slightly, and the sidewalk slants some, but the young Tequila drowning crowd appears as comfortable outside as inside the candle lit room.

Tequila. Maybe the main reason people flock to Lolita is the BYOT theme. Lolita provides the glasses and one of several tasty fruit or herb mixes, and patrons bring the Tequila. Alright already, what about the food?

Reading the appetizers, or Bocaditos (small bites), I envisioned splashes of color - golden beets, green avocados, white jicama, orange-ginger glazed pork. As visually mouthwatering as any menu could be. My dining compadres and I were compelled to start with the guacamole con topos mixtos, a basket of platain, sweet potato, and corn chips with a side of creamy green guacamole, a crunchy jicama slaw, and a chunky salsa. The sweet potato chips burst with flavor, but the corn chips were just good.

The queso fundido, a dish similar to one I had enjoyed thoroughly at El Vez, was again a superb bubbly mixture of meat (chorizo and flank steak) and two rare and wonderful Mexican cheeses (chihuahua and oaxaca). Small warm tortillas were provided to ensheath the mixture, creating a hard-to-beat spicey pocket. The wraps were cheesey, but not cumbersome to eat - like so many dripping tacos and quesadillas are. For lighter but still multi-dimensional fair, my dining partners recommend the ensalda mexicana, with its contrasting textures and eye-catching appearance.

I'm sure many like to simply mix and match appetizers for their meal, but the entrees (platos fuertos) are equally as enticing, if not as authentic. Aside from their Spanish titles, the entrees' English descriptions are very similiar to dishes found at other chic-BYOs. It reminds me of dishes American Iron Chef's might create: a fat cola-chipotle glazed pork chop with papaya salad. The enchiladas verdes de champinones y queso con camarones en chipotlados seemed like a dish that combined authenticity and variety.

The platos was certainly a feast for the eyes. The enchiladas, herbed rice and beans were smothered by a thin pea green (tomatillo) mole. Microgreens, diced tomatoes and julienned radishes were piled high atop the mole and grilled shrimp. Unlike my entree at Bistro 7, the sides weren't just boring afterthoughts (although the pile of greens and veggies weren't more than a garnish).  The herbed rice was well-done and well-suited for savoring the excess mole, and the grilled shrimp had bite but no unwanted bounce. In fact, the sides nearly overwhelmed the enchiladas burried under the mounds of flavor. I saw the monterey jack cheese and felt the corn tortilla texture, but mostly the filling was muted.

Even with people-magnet Capogiro gelateria across the street, Lolita's dessert menu is reason to stick around. Not all of the desserts were created equal, notably an interestingly flavored but too chewy bread pudding, but I really enjoyed my light finish: mexican chocolate and kahlua flan with toasted almond phyllo and cripsy cannella. I should say I was expecting more chocolate flavor than I tasted, but I enjoyed the bits of cinnamon and the heady kahlua flavor. The chocolate flan masqueraded as a silken version of a spiked-coffee drink.

When I began composing this review, I realized the most lasting impression I held from my meal at Lolita was visual. The eyes feast at least as well as the belly does. The colors exude freshness, and the dishes are as appealing for their creativity as they are for their authentic contents. The food is good to great -- there was nothing I didn't like -- but I'd recommend Lolita mostly for its cool healthy vibe and fun and colorful presentations.

Carmine's Creole Cafe reviewed

Only now, in my third post about Carmine's, am I able to speak from experience. My grandfather was in town for grandchild graduation week, so, as is customary, we tapped his pocketbook for dinner. (I kid!) With our "Pop" in tow, I knew that Carmine's only needed to service our stomachs, the entertainment was already provided.

Carmine's new interior is pretty suave. Sets of red-seated maple chairs surround reflective marbeled tables; a soft glow from candelabra and hooded ceiling lights covers the dining room. Since it's always crowded there's usually a dull roar, but I think it only invites you to carry a boisterous conversation. The waitresses are also very friendly and easy to chat with. Although Carmine's may not be a bring-the-whole-family restaurant, the staff has a great way with younger diners - like earnestly convincing them the andouilles won't be too spicey.

Carmine's menu has some notable motifs: crab meat is in everything, shrimp is always blackened, and nothing but dessert escapes Creole spicing. If nothing else, the themed selections give the restaurant an attractive uniqueness, Carmine's = New Orleans' Creole. Along with regular menu items is a consistent nightly specials' list, which customarily contains, among other things, a fresh fish and a grilled duck dish.

Before we placed our orders, our post-graduation hunger made it unanimously apparent that something was missing...bread. Our empty table cried for slices of warm baguette and a slab of butter. Alas, none would be found over the course of our meal, not even with my soup.

The soup I selected for my appetizer, Crab Three Ways Bisque, was the night's special. If I remember correctly, the crab was prepared as a broth, as meaty lumps (of dungeness), and as a sole blue-tipped claw. The soup's broth was a deep brown; it was topped with scallion, buttery and sweet, and fittingly thick. The wealth of juicy lump crab meat made the cup of soup a satisfying starter.

In the window of the resturant sits a lush picture of a duck and fried oyster dish from Carmine's that appeared in Philly Style magazine. When the waitress described the featured duck dish, I recognized it to be similar to the one pictured in the photo. Thus, I made my entree decision -- Roasted Duck with fried oysters and jambalaya.

Most of the entrees, my fellow diners and I would soon discover, are fairly large. The sides are also copious, and varied, and definitely carb-orific. I'm glad I went the soup route to start.

We also found the quality of the entrees to be varied. Pop's crab meat pasta with pomodoro (err...tomato) sauce was nearly devoid of meaty substances rendering it an expensive Italian pasta dish. The other pasta dishes were similarly uninteresting. The fish special was a much better choice. If I remember correctly it was a blackened cod glazed with a fruity-sauce, and underneath was an excellent sweet jasmine rice.

My own choice proved much better. The dish was so busy with flavor and mouthfeel, it was almost fool-proof. The thyme-scented jambalaya was bountiful and filled and flavored by hot 'n' spicey andouille sausage cuts and blackened shrimp. The rice in the jambalaya was not even as creamy as a pilaf, which was appropriate because the plate was surrounded by a thick, viscous, brown roux. The popular Creole sauce was a tad too filling, but the duck, which was more dry than crispy, needed it. Finally, the star of the dish, was the fried oysters. The oysters were briny and smooth with a crackling crunchy crust that was just fantastic. Although weak in parts, taken together the jambalaya and oysters helped elevate the merely ok duck to make the dish thoroughly satisfying. (Because it was like an entree and an appetizer combined, it's also a great deal at $23.)

I wasn't expecting much from Carmine's desserts - one reason being their ethnic dissimilarity compared to the rest of the Creole-inspired food - but my Marscapone and Goat Cheese Cheesecake was awesomely delicious. The cake had a pleasant bite that was less smooth than stiff, which is appropriate for a goat cheese-based dessert. The marscapone added a sweetness similar to a good Italian cream. The adorning strawberry sauce was also a fittingly sweet addition; a tart raspberry or lime would have been out of place.

The sight of half-eaten glasses of Tiramisu - "too much cream" - and the lukewarm response to the cinnamon bun bread pudding told me that not everyone was so pleased.

Carmine's Creole Cafe is obviously not without some food-related ills, but combined with strong service and a comfortable ambience, it is a restaurant to which I will return. If its location was no so convenient, however, I would have second thoughts.

Location: 232 Woodbine Ave., Narberth
(610-660-0160)

A Slice of Lacroix

Several weeks ago, a question was posed to me: "would you like to have a graduation party, or would you like to go to Lacroix." Moments after the query was broached we were making reservations. After returning from a dreamy experience last night (6/2), I reassured myself that I had made the correct decision.

It goes without saying that any food-loving Philadelphian sets the bar high for the degustation at Lacroix. It's indisputably one of the top three restaurants in the entire area, and likely one that'll find a place on national lists (as if it needed more accolades). I too expected a meal of fantastical proportions, but I tried to be reasonable - one can only expect food to provide so much transcendence.

What made eating at Lacroix live up to my lofty expectations was not the exoctic French dishes I consumed, but, I dare say, the glamour and luxury permeating the restaurant's atmosphere. Spending a night at Lacroix is partaking in the complete dining experience.

To my initial dismay, I realized that I had left my camera behind at the house. How would I preserve the meal for later perusal?  I worried. I thought about drawing pictures. After the fact, I'm glad I did not concern myself with materializing the sublime night with photographs. And you readers can leave the appearance of the foods up to your own imagination. Besides, a glance at the food's desriptions should suffice in causing you to salivate.

The dining room itself is supremely designed, with distinctively modern but unobtrusive architecture and arrangements. I was happy that the room was not all glitz and glam as one might expect for a restaurant in the Rittenhouse hotel. Those adjectives are more suited to describe the plating.

Connie, our warm and spritzy hostess, informed us that a tour of the kitchen was planned for tonight's meal, and that Chef himself had reserved a spot at the chef's table for our desserts. Though bubbling with excitement, I calmly agreed that it would be "wonderful."

Now it was time to open the Degustation Menu, and commense the feasting. After great deliberation our choices were set; I went for the 4-course plan ($69 compared to $60 for 3), due in part to a slight nudge from our waiter. In times of great celebration only true gluttony should be avoided.

For my first plate I selected a torchon of Foie Gras topped with a spiced bread paillette (cheese straw) and a side of Bosc pear moutarde. The foie gras's puck shape and pallor were more than a little off-putting, but never would I judge a food soley on appearance. But first appearances can be right: the first bite conjured a taste that was reminiscent of a bad goat cheese experience mixed with an awkward butteryness. The fois gras was simply overwhelming. Not even the slightly mustard-tinted pears could cut through the puissant goat flavor. You could say I was off to a rough start, but I did not let this misstep quash my high hopes. (Hey, we were enjoying the fresh metropolitan bread and expertly chosen libations.)

The Hawaiian Black Pomfret, swiming in a bacon broth along with a wonderful potato tourne and a pungent merguez sausage and a knot of pickled green beans, was just the kind of reassurance I needed. The pomfret, a tender mahi mahi-type fish, was expertly paired with a bacon-flavored broth. The tiny bridge-shaped merguez sausage packed a wallop of aged Spanish meat flavor.

The next dish proved equally as wonderful, although with a wholly different appeal. An artful swirl of sauces and ingredients mixed under two crossed Pan-Roasted French Quail thighs. These tiny packets of quail may have been apex of game flavor. The chef coaxed every morsel of stripped-pork flavor from the meat. There was no tough sinews or fats to chew through, just tender meat.

The fourth plate was less inspired, but just as good as any top quality byobs' fair. The Atlantic Skate Wing (like they really needed to say Atlantic) was lightly pan-seared so that each side had a nice tan. Skate usually has a mouthfeel like flounder, but Lacroix's chefs' preparation made the fish even more succulent, with help from an orange jus, and delicate. Accompanying the wing was a two-bite milk-braised pork shoulder -- tiny, but each bite was very satisfying.

Now I needed time to recline and let my belly rest. No such luck. Minutes later our waiter escorted us into the kitchen where the eponymous executive chef Jean-Marie Lacroix was introduced. Before he saw us, I watched as he sat unassumingly in his foreman-like office, overseeing the clockwork mechanics of his white-gowned staff. Unlike some other Frenchmen I've met, Chef Lacroix was both modest and reticent; although I couldn't imagine him being so quiet when a cog slowed the prep process. (A few chefs emphasized, with admiration, his dedication to perfection.)

We were shown to a table adjacent to the kitchen area. The placement was almost surreal: the shake and hustle of the kitchen surrounded us while we sat suited and tied, pleasantly slurping and sipping. Adding to the oddity of the situation, in the middle of our dessert course, a tourist group of about 18 were ushered into the room. Their guide explained to them the areas of the kitchen and then joked, "we even hired a couple of models." To make the evening even more unreal, I was able to visit the dessert station and the saucier's station. The patissier and his crew were round and jolly, and even the overworked saucier still readily obliged to a tour.

After all the wonderful events of the night, the desserts couldn't possibly have lived up to the proceeding dishes - it's true one of them didn't. The final course is courtesy of Chef (or free), but along side the grand presentations  of the savoury dishes, the dessert selections don't make for a fitting finale. I would make this point without hesitation if it was a normal evening, but this night my dessert selection was accompanied by a flurry of extras: a two-piece chocolate set, several petit sweets, a scoop of Tonka ice cream, and a congratulations traditional petit four cake (which, it should go without saying, was way too good for such a tiny chocolate-almond cake). My actual selection was the Raspberry Tart: a finger-sized slither of tart was the base for six little raspberries. Thankfully, a dollop of lemon sorbet accented the tiny flavors of the tart.

I wouldn't have eaten more that night if you paid me, but when leaving Lacroix I wasn't thinking about my soon-to-be-grouchy belly. No, such corporal matters were of little concern - I was still floating from my French-themed high.

Bistro 7

We almost missed Bistro 7 as we drove down 3rd Street. Only a tiny sign on one of the dimly lit windows of the restaurant signified we had found our destination. I wasn't suprised Bistro 7 was a tad inconspicuous; I'd only just read about it the day before thanks to a recent Philadelphia Weekly review. The reviewer was taken aback, in a good way, by the staff's urbanity and the impressive food preparation. Any restaurant that's tagged the "Jackie O. of the Philadelphia BYOB scene" is well-worth a try.

Bistro 7 was almost at capacity the Friday we went, but we had reservations and seating was snappy. Of the two available, I chose the table closest to the entrance because the lighting was much brighter than the romantic glimmer at the rest of the tables (better for picture taking). After a few staff members rotated around, one of them cooly took our drink order. I was happy to see offerings such as Virgil's Root Beer and Orangina for those not wanting alcohol but still looking for something more interesting than Sprite or water. The courtesy of our lax waitress was more genuine than forced, a rare characteristic in in restaurants, and one that makes dining even more comfortable and enjoyable.

The appetizers were all appealing, ranging from a beet and fennel terrine to a gripping potato gnocchi dish, but  I was in the mood for soup, and dammit, I was gonna get it. The closest thing Bistro 7 had was a Prince Edward Island Mussels Soup in a roasted tomato-garlic broth. Although I've never been a fan of any bivavles - too unctuous - I'm usually willing to fork into a few mussels. But when the spoon hit the plate, this dish just wasn't good enough to make me the mussel lover my Dad professes himself to be. The broth was very smooth, but a large dollop of creamy butter nearly overwhelmed it. I tried my best to avoid it. I must note that the spiciness added from little bits of chorizo was a welcome taste.   

The entrees were equally enticing as the appetizers, but nothing restaurant-goers familiar with BYOBs and hip chefs wouldn't recognize: Wild Striped Bass, Day Boat Scallops, Beef Ribeye. Keeping attuned to the local food movement sweeping over many of the city's better restaurants and cafes, the meat-containing items on the menu indicated the purveyor, e.g., Stoltzfus (the duck) and Wolfe Neck Farm (the ribeye).

I opted for the Buttermilk-Fried Limestone Springs Boneless Rainbow Trout (that's a mouthful of appeal). I imagined that fried trout would be the apotheosis of all those fried fish sticks I'd never, ever order. I must say, the trout matched my lofty expectations. The crust around the fish was unbelievably well-textured and just held on until the first chew. The buttermilk gave them a great initial taste that gave way to the delicious and tender rainbow trout. But if only the secondary parts of the dish had any merit...

The accompanying black-eyed peas were abundant, but were merely filler next to the trout. The tomato, garlic, and kale mixed in with the peas were better, but notging great. For $19 dollars, I really can't snear too much at the sides, but I'd almost rather the chef left out the peas altogether.

One of my fellow diners ordered the Chinese Five-Spiced Peking Duck Breast. The Peking Duck was equal in flavor punch to Nan's version, but it won me over thanks to the small pop of the cuminy skin surrounding the duck. Very good. There was one downer to the dish: I saw my partner had little bits of chewed fat spotting her nearly-cleaned plate by the time she was finished.

The waitress read of the small but fitting selection of desserts, one of which was a cheese plate. From the three sweeter selections I chose the Coconut Jasmine Rice Pudding, which came with a healthy drizzling of caramel sauce. For some the coconut-caramel combination may be a bit much sugar intake, but I thought the flavor was very good, if not a bit too heavy on caramel. I was most impressed with the lumpy yet creamy pudding texture. Each bite was more refreshing than the last.

After savoring the last of my dessert, I observed that the Bistro was unoccupied  -- to the maitre d's unnoticeable dismay, there was no late night turnover -- so I took this rare opportunity to chat with the chef du cuisine. Bistro 7's chef, we were informed, was not a product of culinary school, but rather one birthed from the bellies of kitchens around the region. His dishes well represented his less patrician origins; I mean that in a good way -- no useless garnishes or questionable cultural fussions.

The scruffy, stone-jawed chef leaned on the counter of his publicly visible plating station. We informed him that we enjoyed the meal. I told him how I thought my dish had a pleasing Southern theme, punctuated by the very fun and well-prepared buttermilk-fried rainbow trout. His uneven brows and askance glare told me he contended with my "Southern" labeling, but he agreed that he liked to base his dishes around "geographic regions." He continued, "So then, like, you don't have wasabi-soy mashed potatoes and those types of things. It makes it easier to create dishes." It sounded fair enough to me. I think any jaded restaurant critic, especially those who typically review classier restaurants (see NY Times), would appreciate his dedication to a geographic theme more than the casual dinner who loves to ooh-and-ahh at the fanciful and foreign.

The dining couplet and I left Bistro 7 thoroughly satisfied, but not so much by the food as by how comfortable we felt chatting away over the dishes. It certainly wasn't the pea-colored walls that made the experience a success -- actually the bare walls begged for some local artwork to fit the theme -- moreso it was the genuine congeniality of all staff that made the dinner well worth the trip, and the price. It's tough not like a place whose staff makes you feel like a regular.

Location: 7 N. Third St. (closed Monday)

Nan Restaurant

"This is why Philly is so fat" read a quip under Nan's 2005 Zagat rating. Hmm...I guess that's high praise, but such a theory could be applied to McDonald's as well. Maybe they use too much butter. Exiting the Sino-French enclave, I drew my conclusion. Yes, the chef uses lots of butter, and no, it won't keep you from licking your plate.

Nan isn't located in the most inviting part of the city. Even more odd is its corner location, more reminiscent of a deli locale than an upscale restaurant's. Really, that's all beside the point. Nan has reigned on that spot for many years, creating, with astonishing consistency, some of the best food in the city. Once you step into Nan's demure white dining room, any concerns about your car's safety will be wiped away.

The restaurant's interior appears to have undergone some considerable renovation. Still, a budget can only be stretched so thin. My chair was somewhat uncomfortable, and the table was a tad wobbly. Annoying at first, but something that can be overlooked.

Moving on to the more important elements...The service at Nan is very solid. Our young waiter was pleasant and informative, and most importantly, he wasn't mealy. The restaurant isn't far from Penn University's campus, so it tends to be partially staffed and occupied by grads and undergrads. He promptly handed us the menu, which was filled with enticing options presented as simply as a roadside diner's: Pork, Venison, Sweetbreads. The blue-chipping present on nearly every swanky BYO menu in the city is totally absent from the menu. This typically indicates the confidence of the chef. He wants you to trust him with the preparations. And from my experience, trust me, you can trust him.

For appetizers, our party of three decided to split a Thai Beef Salad and a Diver Scallop Salad. Both were specials. One thing about Nan's menu, even their specials rotation, is that it never changes. Some see this as a flaw, other appreciate the restaurant's appeal to "regulars" (i.e. frequent diners). The Thai Beef was barely seared on both sides, leaving it with the intense incarnadine hue that probably would appeal more to hardcore carnivores than we civilized omnivores. Still, the flavors were very good, though the salad greens themselves added little to the dish. The Diver Scallops would be my pick from the two. Again lightly seared, the three treasures were soft but had just enough bite to feel substantial. The scallops sat atop radicchio and nice thick asparagus, and were surrounded by a thick beurre blanc -- intensely buttery. I'm not a fan of heavily buttered sauces (even though most culinary school sauces are, I appreciate it when the butteriness is subtle), but because the scallops themselves were not doused in the liquid, I'm not gonna complain.

For my entree. I chose the Peking Duck special. I've had duck that tastes like pork before; this was not that duck. I wasn't prepared for this succulent skinless treasure, I expected it to be more Peking-ed. The dish was loaded with a thick buttery sweet sauce (the waiter tagged it a "vinaigrette"). It was as if Asian and French iron chefs battled on my plate, and the French had emerged victorious. Diplomatically, the victors allowed for a slight spiciness and some soy to sneak in to the fruity buttery "vinaigrette." I suppose the Peking descriptor was also merely a  votive for the fallen culinary comrades. Whatever the circumstances, the dish layered flavors very well. I mean, look at my description: buttery, sweet, fruity, subtly spiced. As a side note, the entree came with a cup of root vegetables. This was more of an afterthought; the veggies were unexciting and a tad dry. I would've been content with the plentiful duck.

As married couples oft do, the two other diners in attendance split the Pad Thai entree, their all time favorite dish from the Orient. And truly the only solely Asian dish on the menu. The waiter presented the entree on two plates; the portions were more than enough for two hungry diners. They ate happily.

We decided to skip dessert -- instead we stopped at the Green Line Cafe to sip lattes before going homebound -- although the decision was difficult. Despite the pastries chef's absence, our waiter dutifully noted, their most popular desserts remained: classic chocolate cake, two types of fruit-based puff pastries, and a creme caramel.

The bill was higher than the menu led us to expect, but the specials menu tends to be more expensive. The appetizers were $14-a-piece, my Peking Duck was $23.95 (which would have tied for the priciest item on the menu), and the Pad Thai (menu item) was 14.95. Through and through the place is a deal. The portions are on the larger side, and the quality is superb.

Location: 4000 Chestnut Street (University City), Philadelphia, PA

Other Reviews: Philadining.com (very high praise), Craig LaBan (outdated, but still relevant - 1998)