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We
were supposed to have a third, but it was once again a party of two. My
sister was going to join us for brunch. It was all planned, and then it
was not. She even picked the place we would indulge in. When she could
not go, she told us to still go, saying something about hearing it is
the best.
So we went.
Sabrina’s Café (one of their locations) is a sweet little place in uptown
Philadelphia, near to the University of Pennsylvania and Drexel
campuses. The restaurant shares the ground floor of what was a
University building. It once was a large Victorian home, many twists and
turns and rooms. Some of this could have been modernization and re-purposing, but it felt old and lived in.
The
menu had some of the classic brunch essentials, like french toast,
scrambled eggs and omelets. But it was the daily specials sheet that had
some of the more interesting offerings, from the savory end to the
sweets. Because of the number of items on the regular menu, and that
brunch special menu, it was extremely difficult to decide. We, like
always, called on our server for help.
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I
ordered a breakfast wrap, filled with fried white fish, scrambled eggs
with black beans, topped by a pineapple salsa and a mound of sour cream.
The spinach wrap was almost obsolete. It was impossible to pick up like
a sandwich or a wrap, so the tortilla was aesthetic, binding for
something that could not be contained. I was not thrilled with the
seasoning within the brunch wrap. Some spice (Cumin maybe) did not blend
well with the rest of the flavors. The white fish was breaded and
fried. I believe it was one of the spices that was in the breading that
put the whole dish off kilter for me. The fish on the inside was
perfectly cooked, flaky and moist, but its crunchy exterior felt one
sided. Black beans were burrowed within the fluffy scrambled eggs,
formed like an omelet and folded complexly to fill the spinach wrap. The
eggs, though, were a little over cooked to me, brown and almost dry.
They were fluffy but flavorless and lifeless.
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| JAR 1.11.13 |
The
plate was definitely overwhelming. It was a lot a lot of food. On top
of the giant breakfast wrap, there was a healthy mound of hash browns on
the plate. These were delicious. The potatoes were just crisp enough on
the outside, and just soft enough on the inside. Each cube still had
some of the skin on it, and large enough to be almost two bites. There
were translucent strands of sautéed onion weaving throughout the
potatoes. It was nice and salty, seasoned, and hearty. I wanted so badly
to focus my belly on the wrap, the eggs and the fish, but my fork kept
returning to the hash browns.
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| JAR 1.11.13 |
My
dining companion also opted for one of the special breakfasts, called
Leo’s King Size Brunch (most of the dish names had some association to
astrology and the horoscopes). This was a complete mix of the midday
meal and breakfast. This lion sized meal included two poached eggs, a
fried pork cutlet, and a resounding mound of root hash. This was all
drizzled with a mustard mushroom gravy. It is even a mouthful to say.
When I first looked at the description of this meal, I was not sure how
all these disparate elements could combine and be cohesive. I had never
really thought of eggs going well with pork, and pork going well with
rutabaga, or mushrooms going well with mustard, but somehow, in the end
it worked.
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Each of the different parts was just as delicious on its own as with
the other components. The poached eggs, though beautiful in concept,
were a bit over cooked, thus limiting the delightful over spill of runny
yolk. We were imagining the deliciousness that would have ensued had
the poached eggs been just right. Runny yolk mixing with the colorful
hash, coating the different roots and marrying the gravy… but it was all
a dream.
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The
cutlet was much more tender than it looked, as the outside was crunchy
and brown. The meat almost melted in the mouth and was flavorful,
instead of grey and bland. Somehow the mushroom mustard gravy vanished
on the meat and amongst the cubed root vegetables, though a mushroom
would appear here and there, but no precise taste of the sauce was
present to me. The rainbow of roots was just as delicious as the regular
hash browns served at Sabrina’s café. Though some of the roots I was
not enjoying, the combination and mixture was innovative, colorful, and
hearty. These roots were just the right base for a king sized meal.
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| JAR 1.11.13 |
Because
of our need to try it all, we ordered yet another menu item, this,
though to share. After discussing our concern and qualm with our server
when we were initially ordering, she eased our worries, and gave us a
half order of the stuffed french toast. We were unsure about it since we
were ordering other things, but she told us that the stuffed french
toast is the reason why people come there. And she was right, it was
pretty delicious. But, I am not sure if 1. I could eat a whole order on
my own voluntarily and 2. If I really needed to have it again. Don’t get
me wrong, it was
delicious—two thick slices of Challah, eggy and custardy, fused with a
heavy dose of sweet cream cheese filling, topped by a fair dusting of
powdered sugar, rounds of banana and sticky sweet syrup. But like most
everything else, it was a lot.
Honestly, it was a great brunch spot, busy, friendly and satisfying. The portions were large, the combinations were different and varied, and the atmosphere was homey and quirky at the same time. Unfortunately, my innovative and interesting sandwich did not match its potential for me, and it makes me think that I should just stick to the basics if I ever visit Sabrina's Cafe again (which I would... mostly for a half portion of the stuffed french toast).
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They
were glum that Friday night. Maybe it was because the weather was so
dreadfully dreary. It was cloudy all day, warm, but ominous. And then it
sprinkled, and then it rained, and then it was dark. Maybe it was because
they were both realizing that their little sojourn was coming to an end,
and this was one of their last adventures in Philadelphia, this time.
It was probably the latter.
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They
were a little soppy when they finally arrived to Oyster House, much like the boisterous
bunch that had already gathered there. They got in the door right around
when the happy hour including "1 Buck Shucks" and discounted featured
drinks ended, but the crowd was still there, loud, lingering, and
probably getting warmer and hungrier. There was a wait for a table in
the dining area, outside of the bar as well as the oyster bar. So they
stood there, taking in the sights; the dim lighting in the bar area
lined with giant windows looking out onto the wet streets, the hostesses
hovering over a tiny table, the hanging black and white photographs
revealing a different time, the bright lights above the counters
surrounding the shuckers. There was a lot to see, but the wait time
allowed for observation.
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They
finally were seated at a tiny table near the oyster bar. A perfect view
for the daily special oysters and clams scrawled on a chalkboard, and
the men in white aprons surrounded by oysters and ice. On the table
rested a giant glass filled to the brim with what chewed like crackers,
but were shaped more like knots, accompanied by a jar of tangy
horseradish. The walls were heavy with plates that looked to be
haphazardly hung up; different colors, different stories.
The
menu appeared to be transitory, changing with the times and the catch
of the day. It was only on a single sheet of paper, printed with the
date, and the dishes. Their server revealed, after politely responding
to the forever question “what do you recommend?”,
that the proteins basically remain the same, but their preparation and
side accoutrements change almost daily. This means fresh, innovative,
and always moving. Though he gave insight into the vision and the method
of the restaurant, his suggestions for food felt open and surface.
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To
start, they landed on oysters, three ways. The small tastes of the sea
animal that is the namesake of the restaurant, served as a method of
procrastination. Neither could officially decide what they wanted to
eat. The first of the three was topped with something like a pesto. It
was herbaceous, and kind of buttery in the mouth. The second featured
the strong flavors of ginger and scallion, described as Thai. This
oyster was sweet and spicy, and fresh from the greenness of the
scallions. And the last was surrounded by a jalapeno butter topped with a
pickled radish. This radish gave a contrasting crunch to the smooth,
chewiness of the raw oyster. In the end all of the disparate varieties
were too buttery, disguising rather than enhancing the pearl within the
shell. And they were still hungry.
Finally
deciding on a scallop dish for her, and a meaty mackerel for him, they
ordered and waited. Munching on the spherical crackers and the warm
bread, they revealed expectations and raised concerns. When the plates
came to their table, they were visions, perfected, and pretty, a slew of
browns and oranges, accented by some moments of green.
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The
mackerel fillet topped a bed of wilted kale, with a mound of pureed
sweet potatoes just below, and was striped with loud red orange hot
sauce. The presentation of the dish, invited them to combine the
elements, demanding that each bite contained a morsel from each of the
levels, blending fish with root and leaf. And that bite with all of the
ingredients, mixing the rainbow, was almost perfect. The meatiness of
the fish held up to the almost too sweet delicious sweet potato puree
and earthy kale. It felt like a southern adventure, the kale and sweet
potato staples and the heartier fish. Even the hot sauce was a shout out
to a different style of cooking; hot, tangy and pungent. The hot sauce
was just enough to cut the sweetness of the puree, while enhancing it,
as well as bringing life to the kale. They only wished for another
texture, something to counter the kind of sogginess on the plate. Though
the fish was meaty, tender and textured, it was out numbered. Something
crisp or crunchy would have elevated the dish and covered all the bases
that the mouth longs for.
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Just
like the mackerel dish, the scallop plate had a kind of textural
monotony, and suffered from yet another uniformity, color. The scallops
rested on a bed of root vegetables, parsnip, sunchoke and celery root.
Both the scallops and the root medley, were dressed with a disguised
grapefruit vinaigrette. This dressing was almost silent throughout the
plate, until tiny pockets of pulp were stumbled on. And then, it was a
raw burst of bitterness. The purpose of the grapefruit, was to usher in a
counter point, a freshness to balance the heaviness of the earthy root
trio. Unfortunately, it was too bitter and too strong, lingering on the
tongue. The scallops, though pretty to look at, they decided, contained
no flavor. The sponge like seafood, grasped on to no flavor, none of the
oils that the roots were coated in nor the tart dressing. They did not
even have any salt. Though the roots all tasted mildly different, some
sweeter and softer, some more crunchy and sturdy, it was hard to discern
much. It was a plate full of a lot of the same. Something green and
lively could have made all the difference, something with a different
chew and lighter to counter the heaviness of all the roots.
Mild
disappointment and dissatisfaction, led them to think about ordering
more food, there or somewhere else. They still felt hungry and deceived,
like the warmth of the crowd and the lights, the abruptness of the
hostess, and the various websites boasting the greatness, all let them
down. They wanted more out of the Oyster House... Dessert, maybe?
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Dessert as always was a must for them, and hopefully some kind of redemption. After perusing the menu and hearing the specials with
little indecision, but much time, the pair picked the special coconut
rice pudding and one of the favorites, banana cake. A few green
pistachios rested on the surface of the rice pudding. As rice pudding
fans, they were anxious with anticipation, but the end results were not
stultifying. It was wet, like the store bought variety. The rice in the
interior was soft and soggy, and dissipated into the creaminess of the
custard. There were mild, if any notes, of coconut. They were excited to
taste the exotic and almost foreign flavor to rice pudding, but it was
thin almost transparent. This was just run of the mill rice pudding for
them, nothing magical or unexpected.
The
banana cake, however was mildly more interesting, and they found
themselves addicted. Though addictive, it was not fully delicious. The
cake had the essence of banana, but it was dry and holey not the texture
they were used to. And the cream cheese frosting did not have the
pronounced bite of cream cheese, but was super sweet and fluffy. All the
flavors were mild and almost excruciatingly sweet. The little chocolate
cookie crumbles surrounding the cake on the dish, and on top of the
slice, served as relief. It was a different texture a different flavor,
something mildly bitter to break up the tooth wrecking, cavity
producing sweetness.
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In
the end, they paid for too much time for parking, and could not draw
out their visit to the Oyster House any longer. It was the noise and
perhaps a mild annoyance that drove them out. There was no contesting
that the seafood wasn't fresh, and the ingredients were not top of the
line. But there was something lacking. Maybe it was soul and spirit.
There were plenty of those characteristics in the patrons, but the staff
and food felt played out and tired,like they did not quite want to be
there. The balance was also lacking, between creative, innovative and
practical and satisfying.
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