starring SALAD: Park & Sixth Restaurant and Drinkery

RER 7.18.15

It’s funny when a salad is your favorite dish of the meal, especially when you’re gorging on gastropub fare. It happens, and it happened at Park& Sixth Restaurant and Drinkery. You never would’ve guessed that a beet salad would be the star of your show when cheesy pulled pork mac and cheese, succulent scallops with dense risotto, and garlicky oil-drenched chorizo and scrimp sidled up to your table.

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But it was. It was fresh and it was last. And it was beautiful. Sweet ruby beets, velvety in texture and in color, resting on emerald mesculin lettuce, provided a cool kind of warmth with a royal delicacy. Pale pink rings of pickled onion and herbed goat cheese shone like diamonds against the darker richer hues, while the salad glimmered, sparkling with cayenne candied almonds. This was just a salad, but the combination of the flavors from the sweet beets, the spicy nuts and aromatic cheese was magic, only rivaled by the raucous textures and crunch.

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Everything looked just as scrumptious as that broach of a salad, but flavors fell flat, textures were off, and execution was a shadow. The pulled pork mac and cheese, a special for the evening, was hot and melty, just like you like it, but the meat was so sparse in the sea of fluctuating cheese.

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But the two scallops had promise, the sweetness of the sea and salt with a healthy dose of pepper. It was the truffled risotto dotted with wild mushrooms that held back the small starter. The rice was not cooked enough, with dry chewy centers, and the risotto was lacking the creaminess you were expecting.

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Shrimp and chorizo go together, forever, but the oil became spicy almost until you could not bare it. The crunchy bread dulled the heat and softened with the oil, enabling the shrimp and fatty chorizo.

Park & Sixth’s (gastropub) refined renegade menu offers classics with a twist to amp up “dive bar bites,” but the lovely beet salad wove into your memory as those gem tones emanated in the night.

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7.18.15

oh SHUCKS : Oyster House

RER 1.11.13

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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1.11.13

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italian MY WAY: Modo Mio

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RER 1.9.13

Unfortunately, extreme hunger is often times paired with extreme indecision, which only delays satiation. It was hard enough to decide on a place to go in an unfamiliar city, vibrant with choices and history. But the thick cloud of hunger and disorientation made things that much more difficult. Sure we had a late lunch, but thin crust pizza wears off quickly in our bellies, and that time came faster than we thought.

After a quick perusal of an outdated Phillymag.com “Top 50”  in Philadelphia, my travel companion blindly chose Modo Mio , known for its Turista prix- fixe, BYOB and the excruciatingly unfamiliar “Cash Only.” And a few recalculating attempts via GPS and a few blocked streets later, we finally found our way to the restaurant. A giant wine store across the road helped us with one of the anchoring characteristics of Modo Mio, but a tiny sign on the door startled us with the last (we had enough cash, whew).

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The menu is small, but dense, and changes with the seasons and availability. Each element is extensive and sounds exquisite from the ingredients and the luxury of technique. There are a lot of words on the menu, leading to lengthy descriptions that would suck all mystery from the dish. Instead, it created fancy images that in the end turned out to be far from correct.

Our server was extremely enthusiastic in helping us in our journey, recommending dishes and friendly conversation. She described what she liked best, showing us “her way” in Modo Mio, which we really appreciated. It was a kind of honesty and genuine interaction that we do not always encounter. With her guidance, we decided on the Turista tasting, four courses for $35; antipasto, pasta, secondo, and dessert. This gave us everything we wanted (times two). For each stage we picked at and tasted each other’s dish, giving a rounder experience of the chef, the kitchen, and the vision. 

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The mussel appetizer, ordered white and hot, was delicious, the ingredients were fresh and whole. The white sauce was thin and wet, concealing the moderate spice and heat. It was the kind of spiciness that is subtle and sophisticated, present, but enough to ruin your mouth and the entire dish. It kicked at the back of the throat, and blended nicely with the meaty mussels.

The single scallop on the other hand, had no heat, but a richness from both the plump scallop and the heavy potato pancake. Between the perfectly cooked scallop and the dense potato, was a layer of mild radicchio smothered in a balsamic reduction with a thin line of crusty melted cheese. This whole combination was magical. All the different flavors melted into one, creating a beautiful and memorable dish. Although radicchio is bitter and unsavory at times, this usage was intended to break up the richness and add a little bite. The balsamic mildly concealed the abrasiveness, but I could have done with less radicchio, as it almost scars the mouth.

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For the pasta, I tried the recommended lasagna, topped with a perfectly fried egg. The addition of a fried egg adds richness and creaminess to most any dish. The melding of the yolk with the melted mozzarella and the creamy tomato sauce resulted in decadence. The layers of pasta embedded in the meat studded Bolognese, was fresh and limp, porous enough to be inundated with the sauce and egg accoutrement. It was cheesy and meaty on the inside, however the creamy tomato sauce surrounded the nice sized tranche of the classic pasta. This tomato sauce was almost surprising, smooth and chunky at the same time, acidic and cooling.

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The Agnolotti del Plin, was an obvious fresh made rabbit ravioli drowned in sage brown butter. The plate was not pretty, a few ravioli floating in a pool of glistening brown butter. Rabbit, mildly unfamiliar to me, is meaty and gamy, but at the same time stringy and light, a stark contrast to what I am used to. The ravioli were heavy and thick with pasta, drenched in butter infused with sage. The tastes were delicious but it was perhaps too heavy.

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The meat courses, unfortunately, took a downhill turn. The concepts were beautiful on paper and on the plate, but fell short in the mouth. The seared duck leg was striking, draped with a pretty fried egg, on mono-colored bed of goccia and an apricot gremolata. The duck along with the fried egg might have been too rich, especially following a heavy pasta dish. The duck was moist and fatty, but some of the components underneath were superfluous and messy. The apricots, however, broke the fat with tart sweetness, and revived the dish. 

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The Bistecca, also was a little overbearing. The seasoning of the steak was overwhelmingly salty. It was topped by vibrant colors—scallions and sundried tomatoes. Underneath the meat, drowned in its juices and other flavoring was a chickpea pancake, made thin and folded to create mass. Some how not all of the flavors came together nicely, making the magic of the dinner to that moment dissipate.

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Dessert, too, was not at the level of the first courses; scant and almost monotone. The warm apple tart as suggested by our server was a slim sliver, and left me longing more, more tart and more dynamic. The slender slice was packed with apple, not quite sweet, but mostly tart, though not surprising. A dollop of cool rosemary ice cream, which had more essence of the herb than the flavor, topped the tart. It was almost too delicate to stand up to the bold apple, melting all flavors into one.

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The bread pudding, dotted with cherries suffered a similar uniformity. The stiff chunk of pudding slid into obscurity with a healthy spooning of crème angalise. The cream on top only emphasized the creaminess of the custard, inflating that singular flavor, rather than the element of difference, the cherries.

The restaurant was cozy, reminding me of a few restaurants I visited during my stint in Bologna. Maybe it was the friendliness, exhibited by our server’s eagerness, or the little taste of bread topped with a kind of tomato pesto, or it was the complimentary shots of Sambuca, that emanated the warmth. Even the BYOB and cash only policies felt inviting in the small dim restaurant. The food was like comfort food, sometimes too heavy and too salty, but always warm. Despite the fall of the meal, it was really an enjoyable experience, like our own guided tour. 

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1.9.13 

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