November Recap

If there is one thing I have learned about blogging, it is that one must seize the day: the longer the time between the event and you blogging about the event, the less it stays with you, beyond the fact that you probably will never even publish the damn thing.

Such it is with my whirlwind culinary adventure with my dad and step-mother in November. We hit Parc, Vetri, and Tinto in the space of about 48 hours, and yet here it is February, and I still hadn’t talked about it. So, let’s do that, with apologies for the lack of specifics.

We hit Parc on a Friday night, and it was bustling and convivial, likely an evening representative of what Stephen Starr dreamed this place would be. On most levels it worked: the food was fun, fresh, and flavorful, the atmosphere theme-y but not quite kitschy, and the entire experience just entirely enjoyable. The service had its ups and downs, but that is likely more because of some demanding tables and perhaps a bit too high a customer:server ratio than incompetence. I’d love to go back here for any meal really, but I think I’d like to wait for a nice warm day when we can take advantage of the street scene.

The next night was Vetri, where we had the full on degustation menu. This menu began with a course featuring Sweet Onion Crepe, Pork Cheeks with Chestnut Crema, Venison Tartar with Focaccia, Nantucket Scallop Crudo with Blood Orange. I remember the tartar being highly flavorful and quite enjoying the scallop, despite my usual reservations when it comes to that particular animal. Next though came the best thing ever, or at least pretty damn close to it.

Spinach Gnocchi

It’s a crap picture, but I was likely already in ecstasy that my hands couldn’t stop shaking. These effortless fluffs of pure spinach were so redolent of spinach yet holding together like a typical gnocchi that I had to ask what they were made out of: I was told that there was no pasta there — just spinach. Good lord. Amazing dish. Really worth the entire meal frankly. The other pastas didn’t really have a chance:

Ricotta Cavatelli with Goose Ragu

Pizzocheri Ravioli

Through no fault of their own, these pastas didn’t shine like their green brother, but they were nonetheless quite tasty in their own way — the rigatoni brashly meaty while the ravioli creamily disdained her buff brother. The pasta course was incredibly balanced and kicked Mario Batali’s version all over the eastern seaboard. Restrained yet flavorful and creative.

Turning to the beef, we eschewed the baby goat for “oogly” reasons. We did get the other options:

Braised short rib with celery root and mushrooms

Fried cod with citrus mayonnaise

The cod was more pedestrian than the short rib for perhaps obvious reasons; the former had too many obvious references to fast food flavor profiles, while the latter benefitted from everyone on earth being unable to withstand anything being braised. Good course, but not amazing frankly. I’m still reeling from the pastas though when the dessert comes.

Apples, Apples, Apples

Yeah, I guess. I can’t remember everything that was there, but it was all delectable and I particularly enjoyed the whimsy of the candied apples, even if it was a bit of a hard nut to crack. The service was impressive: attentive without being meddlesome, it was there when we needed them and awfully knowledgeable, though Erin did sort of school the sommelier, who in turn produced a Tokay that I still want 18 cases of. It was an awfully enjoyable evening, though I don’t know if I’ll need to get the degustation again: I’ll just take 8 pounds of the gnocchi.

The next morning we headed to Tinto for brunch. All in all the meal was underwhelming. First, no one was there, which always makes for an odd experience. Second, and most importantly, the meal just was not all that impressive. I started with the tortilla espanola, which consisted of a few slices of serrano ham and a clunky tortilla stacked on a splash of saffron aioli. The aioli overpowered everything and nothing was all that interesting on its own. Next I had the padre e hijo, consisting of crispy duck confit, hash, fried duck egg, and escarole:

Sounds and looks interesting, huh? But can you predict what I will say?

It was sort of a mess, frankly. Textures and flavors were not clean, but instead commingled haphazardly. It tasted good, but wasn’t all that appetizing in a weird way, and was certainly not transformative. Perhaps brunch isn’t the meal for a Tinto experience.

It ended an amazing food weekend on something of a downer, but it wasn’t all that tragic: I could still think back to those tasty breads at Parc and my glorious gnocchi at Vetri, and I did end Tinto with a surprisingly tasty and refreshing grapefruit brulee that gave me enough of a good feeling that I forgave it all its disappointments.

I had to thank dad for the opportunity (and bank account) to try all of these places. Being a veteran of the restaurant business, he was impressed with the Philly food scene as represented by these three places (as well as the Italian Market and Continental, where we went for lunch on Saturday), and I think they did us pretty proud as well.

Joel Robuchon

MGM Grand, Las Vegas, NV

http://www.mgmgrand.com/restaurants/joel-robuchon-french-restaurant.aspx

Several factors contributed to our decision to go to Joël Robuchon and have the 16-course (I still don’t know how they get to this number, but I’m not a math fan) degustation menu. First, we had a great meal at L’Atelier. Second, we saw the Top Chef episode where all of these normally cocky chefs were simply in awe. Third, I asked Jenn Carroll herself at our special dinner with her if we should go; without hesitation, she said yes. With fellow foodie, Sara, her husband Chris and their friends Andy and Irene on board, all that was left to actually have the courage to do the whole shebang. Given assurances by the roundly wonderful staff that some of us could do the degustation menu, while others did the 9-course menu, Andy, Rick, and I went all in.

And, boy, was it all. Just some overall observations first. This was the best served meal I have ever had. There were the obvious touches of great service, like dishes being cleared quickly and napkins being refolded while away from the table, but there was also something subtle that both Sara and I loved: when we thanked them for something, they more often than not said in return, “my pleasure.” You got the feeling that this was a pleasure for them, and gosh darn it, that was nice to hear and feel. The room is small, plush, and elegant, and comfortable — a good thing given that we were there for 5 and a half hours. That, I think we all agreed, was too long. The meal dragged toward the end, and I think they were a bit too French in their propensity for letting us linger. By the end, we all just wanted to stand up and walk around, for fear of coming down the gout or something.

Majolica: Jack’s Farm Dinner

258 Bridge St., Phoenixville, PA

http://www.majolicarestaurant.com/

I haphazardly signed up for the Majolica e-newsletter on one visit or another and started receiving it soon after. Tangent: I think Majolica is doing something very smart with their e-newsletter, in that they are offering special options (like the dinner we just had), advance notice of special events, and other information. In addition, Chef Andrew Deery offers honest commentary on recent dinners and other news, including a great comment about making sure people cancel reservations they can’t make. It makes me more connected to the restaurant, and therefore more likely to visit. Very smart.

Anyway, a ways back the newsletter announced a special dinner featuring ingredients from Jack’s Farm, a local boutique farm that operates a CSA and sells at the local farmer’s market. It seemed like a unique opportunity and a way to support a restaurant I like, and a business who is doing something I want to be more supportive of (local food).

The dinner was different, in that we were at communal tables, and after some initial hemming and hawing, we settled on an empty one and were soon joined by six other foodies; we had great conversation with two ladies from the Main Line about food, travel, education, and, of course, cats. It turned out a lot better than expected.

On to the food. We began with a squash soup composed of butternut, acorn, and delecata varieties, adorned with herbed spaetzle and curry butter. If this was the beginning, I knew we were in for a good night: the soup was thick without being too heavy and just wonderfully seasoned. I love a good squash soup, and think I can make it: I can’t make it like this. Everyone sopped up every bit of it.

Next came a truly inspired salad of arugula. Atop the greens was shaved parmesan and some sliced radishes; underneath was a drizzle of black olive oil. Also slightly obscured was a fried oblong. When it first arrived, I thought it might be some fried goat cheese, which I’d had as an accompaniment to other salads. No, this was a fried poached egg. Um, Deery already had me at fried, but this was amazing. The egg itself was tasty, but as the yolk mixed with the olive oil, you had a wonderful dressing to the fresh arugula. Still light, but wonderfully tasty.

Next came roasted chicken agnolotti accompanied by peas, pea shoots, and pea tendrils, with chicken consomme drizzled on top to serve as something of a light sauce. I don’t know how he did this, but the chicken had the consistency of what one normally gets inside a cheese ravioli. This reads as gross as I write this, but it was wonderful: the chicken was so flavorful and everyone wanted to drink the consomme out of the bowl in which the dish was served. The peas, the peas: I think one can forget how good fresh peas are since we normally get them canned or frozen. Man, those were some fine peas.

A while back I attempted a cassoulet that was heavy on breadcrumbs and not much else. We all agreed after having Deery’s pork cassoulet that he needs to offer a class in making cassoulets, because this was a masterpiece: fresh out of the oven, the smokiness of the falling-apart pork melded beautifully with the turnips, carrots, and potatoes. If you didn’t know it was fall yet, you certainly knew after this dish. Somehow though, despite the smokiness and the earthiness of the ingredients, there was something light about the dish — even bright. I can’t really describe it better than that: the flavors weren’t heavy, but bright.

The cheese plate I heard referred to earlier in the meal didn’t do justice to the next course: a slice of goat cheese was perched next to a beet tartare upon which rested a nest of micro cilantro, all of which was drizzled with aged balsamic. I feel it’s a sign of maturity that I have grown to love beets, and this dish sealed the affair. Talk about brightness — I love how balsamic brings out interesting flavors in strawberries, and here it did the same, bringing out sweetness and tart in the beets. And the combination of beet and cilantro was inspired; I suppose the “micro-ness” of the cilantro mitigated the herb’s normal power, because everything was wonderfully balanced.

The dinner ended with duo of sorts: a poached asian pear drizzled at the table with caramel and a pistachio cake topped with star anise ice cream. The pear was the star here: though a little difficult to cut into, the pear made it worth my while as it was sweet without being sickeningly so and so juicy and flavorful. I normally detest anise, but here it gave just the right amount of bite, offering a wonderful companion to the pear.

Yeah, I liked it. The $65 price tag was a bargain. We all thanked Chef Deery for a wonderful meal as he chatted with the diners after the meal; it was also cool to acknowledge the two guys from the farm who were there — yes, even the pears were from the farm. I may have to sign up for that CSA now, if only to try my hand at beets.

10 Arts by Eric Ripert

Ritz-Carlton Philadelphia

http://www.10arts.com/ (beware automatically playing music)

Thanks to some dogged efforts and wonderful connections and hospitality, the chorus was able to get an extension on the Restaurant Week menu for 10 Arts — and get a private audience with the one and only Jennifer Carroll, the best contestant on this Top Chef (and perhaps ever).

We had a private dining room for the around 30 of us, which was nice — especially since we can get pretty loud, even more so when you get some good juice into us.

I decided to start with a negroni, while Rick went for a cucumber-ific concoction with Hendricks and plenty o’ cucumber: I think I liked his better than he did.

Soon, the first course arrived. Bucking convention, Rick got the pork and beans instead of the salmon ceviche, while I opted for the heirloom corn chowder with creme fraiche.

The pork and beans (really braised pork belly and summer beans with a vinaigrette) was inspired: perfectly salty without being ridiculous, with nice smokiness and tart. My chowder was well-seasoned, though I would have preferred it to be less niblet-y: a few more of them could have been pureed for my liking. Still good though.

Next came the entrees, with Rick choosing the tagliatelle bolognese and me choosing the Pennsylvania brook trout with baby bok choy in a hazelnut brown butter sauce.

I think I speak correctly for Rick in saying that might have been the best bolognese I’ve ever had. There was a sweetness to it that was deep, rich, and intriguing; it was like a sophisticated cousin to Cincinnati chili and just as addictive. A hearty, well-executed dish. My trout was cooked perfectly; the bok choy did little for me beside provide some balance to the sauce, which was fabulous: slightly sweet but with the earthiness of the nuts to ground it, the sauce managed to stay perfect while I savored the meal, something I wouldn’t have expected given its density. It was a great entree.

We soon got our coffees and then the popular dessert of “frozen snickers,” consisting of peanut caramel, peanut butter, and honey ice creams:

However, before I could really dig into what turned out to be a scrumptious and surprisingly light dessert, I was interrupted by perhaps the loudest gay gasp I’d ever heard from my tablemate (and fellow second tenor) Avery: Jennifer had entered the room. Upon hearing the gasp, she headed our way, saying, “well, I guess I have to start over here!” Avery and I instantly hoarded her, fawning and interrogating. Soon, she had to make the rounds, but we later caught up with her for a pic in front of the room’s imposing fireplace.

Isn’t she just the sweetest? Before she left, Brotherly Love, our small group, serenaded her with “The Longest Time” and random people entered into our private room, which, part of me can understand, but also, um, PRIVATE ROOM. Interloper:

Anyway, we cornered Jennifer again before she left and I did my Ron impression, which she enjoyed. She was great — truly humbled by all of the attention and fawning, and she ended up spending around 30 minutes at least with the whole group. Oh, and she told me I had to go for the full 16-course degustation menu at Robuchon in December (so I guess I have to).

The dinner though? Very good. It’s obvious that she has a strong kitchen that is putting out good dishes (not one of the prix fixe options was panned, though if someone had said something like that, Avery and I might have drawn and quartered them), and that she herself has creative ideas and a great talent to execute them.

Go Jenn! You’ll always be Top Chef to us!

Majolica (Once More)

As noted in a recent post, Majolica closed and then re-opened with a new concept–slightly more casual, slightly less expensive, but still featuring quality, local, seasonal ingredients and a certain French flair. We decided to support the return/re-birth and went with friend Sara to celebrate her birthday. It was a Wednesday night, so the place was relatively empty, but did business did pick up as the night went on, thankfully.

To start, Sara had the beet salad, Rick a few oysters, and I had the soup, which that night was a cream of cauliflower; we all enjoyed our dishes quite a bit. Indeed, I was slightly overjoyed by mine — creamy without being heavy, certainly filled with cauliflower goodness, but with nice spices to complement but not overpower the vegetable. I also ordered a side of frites for the table, because, well, one must, really. They were delicious and took me back to my summer in Belgium; ok, not really, but they were very good — crispy enough, but plenty of potato taste and not greasy.

For the entree, Sara had the sweet potato agnolotti (little ravioli) with black trumpet mushrooms and sage; surprised at first that the sweet potato was the filling not the main ingredient of the pasta itself, she was still very pleased with the dish. I had a bite and also found it tasty. Rick had the Atlantic Skatewing with peas and bacon and devoured it; it’s a darn ugly creature, but darn tasty here. After much deliberation, I decided on the milk-fed pork, and was very glad I did. Wonderfully cooked, the meat was tender and flavorful; all pigs should be fed milk…or something.

For dessert, Sara got the pecan shortbread with lemon curd because one cannot pass up curd, and I got the doughnuts for the same reason. The doughnuts were, like the frites, well-executed and little pillows of heaven and hell.

I don’t remember what the bill was, but it was perfectly reasonable. They also have a three-course prix fixe for $25 which is a bargain, I’d say. $60 for dinner for two including tip if you bring your own wine? Bargain.

So, it’s nice to have Majolica back, even if they weren’t gone very long. I look forward to returning much more often than we did in the past.

L’Atelier de Joel Robuchon

MGM Grand, Las Vegas, NV

http://www.mgmgrand.com/dining/atelier-joel-robuchon-french-restaurant.aspx

Joel Robuchon (and, no, I can’t do the umlauts over the e) is crazy good. JR at the Mansion at MGM received three Michelin stars, the only restaurant in Vegas to do so. I couldn’t quite convince my party to spring for the $385 16-course menu at the Mansion, but I could convince them to try the “winter tasting menu” of five courses for $75.

L’Atelier features a very open kitchen around which much of the seating is placed. We were at one of the few tables with a not overly distracting view of the casino. Decked out in black and red, it’s a swanky but not haughty place. After a delectable selection of cocktails (mine was really good and I wish I could remember what it was) and dangerously pointy and dangerously addictive rolls,

our first course came out, which actually was a bonus course that the whole table got thanks to John and Angel springing for the menu decouverte: an amuse bouche of Foie gras parfait with port wine and parmesan foam 

I’m not typically a big fan of foam, but this was some fine foam — perhaps the most parmesan-y thing I have ever tasted, but ever so light. It was indulgent, just as it should be in Vegas.

Now, onto our real first course: Mediterranean vegetables layered with buffalo mozzarella

As you can see, it was eggplant and zucchini was some darn good mozz. Was it life-altering? No. Was it well-prepared and a nice start? Yes, indeedy.

Next step? Some seafood in the form of a Crispy langoustine fritter with basil pesto

I’m pretty sure this is my first langoustine, and I would like to have more, if they’re prepared like this. The crisp here was just right — not at all greasy nor overpowering, but still providing a nice saltiness to give the tender langoustine some edge. It was very good.

For the entree, we had a choice between cod and beef. Duh: French-style hanger steak with fried shallots

The picture doesn’t do justice to this dish. It was perfectly cooked, and the sauce was rich without being too decadent. The shallots added a subtle edge to the richness of the rest of the dish. It was very very very good. Coming with the steak were the most ridiculous potatoes in the most ridiculously adorable red crock of love. Somehow, I missed getting a picture of the crock (what a crock!), but here’s a photo of the potatoes so you can gauge their consistency:

It was like they had been frothed. It was like a potato cappuccino. Man they were good.

Now for a cheese course that featured your sheep, goat, and cow in nicely calming flavors and textures:

And then, les tartes:

Let’s see, you’ve got your marscapone, [can’t remember], raspberry, chocolate, and lemon. And, again, they were just fabulous. 

Service was a bit awkward at times because there was a lot of reaching around our small-ish, tucked-in table, but was very attentive and informative. Overall, I was very impressed and thought I got away with murder for paying $100 for this meal with two drinks. I would go back in a heartbeat, and I cannot wait to hit the Mansion someday.

Brasserie Perrier

1619 Walnut Street, Philadelphia, PA

 

http://www.brasserieperrier.com/

 

We chose this for a pre-baseball lunch with Donna in July (I know…). This will be a mini-review, as my memory ain’t what it used to be. 

 

We decided to sit near the window in the bar area up front because the back just seemed too depressing — not nearly full enough and slightly 80s-ish in decor. I know that Perrier has updated or is updating Le Bec-Fin, and perhaps afterwards he’ll turn his attention here because it was just sort of weird. 

 

I will say this though: they can make some drinks here. The cucumber ale — Hendrick’s, ginger ale, and muddled cucumber and lemon — was perhaps the best summer drink I’ve ever had. God it was good. It was a brilliant turn on a Pimm’s Cup. Good work. 

 

I also had a soup of the day which was nice (I believe it was a light corn chowdery kind of thing). My main course was the (in)famous BP Burger: ground prime sirloin, shredded beef short ribs, seared foie gras, and black truffle cheese. It was a mess: impossible to eat without handiwipes, I couldn’t really taste all the flavors, but could only really just taste fat. I mean, I’m down with that, but I thought it would just be a bit more dignified and not a slather-fest. I have a feeling that it could have been made better, but that it was slapped together for some reason. Or not.

 

Anyway, I have no real compulsion to head back again. Of course I want to do LBF, but having done Georges and now BP, I’m not sure Perrier can do a step below the finest of fine dining…

Ouch

CFC has been seriously neglected. I have drafts in the hopper though and a quasi-wish list item to be checked off next week.

 

Brief review: we did the Lacroix Sunday brunch once more and it was fabulous once more, though perhaps not quite as transporting as previous visits. Highlights this time were the corned veal, the Philly pretzel panzanella, the lobster BLT, the capon breast with lobster jus, and the fried french toast with pomegranate syrup (apparently, there was also a wonderful mushroom dish, but I don’t do mushrooms). So, still a wonderful place and meal. May need to give it some time before the next visit so that my stomach can recover and I can really hunger for it.

Lacroix

The Rittenhouse Hotel

210 West Rittenhouse Square, Philadelphia, PA, 19103

http://www.lacroixrestaurant.com/

There are few things better than brunch, and I’m not talking about just dining “things”: I mean, in general, brunch is one of my favorite things in life. It features food, lots of it, friends and family, lolling about: what more could one ask for? I have experienced many fine brunches in my lifetime, starting as a child when church was actually more a pre-brunch activity than an actual destination: like I had to do penance to the brunch gods (yes, going to hell, blah blah fishcakes). Among my favorites as a child were Arnie’s and the Seahorse (sadly defunct). In grad school, economics dictated a rest, but of late, I’ve had some fabulous ones, including the infamous Sterling Brunch in Vegas (about which there will probably be a “fond remembrance” post), and some bad ones (I’m talking to you, Coleman; seriously, don’t go there–it’s a total rip-off).

However, there is really nothing to compare to the Sunday Brunch at Lacroix at the Rittenhouse. It has become almost my life’s mission to turn people on to this place, and everyone I have recommended it to–all of whom first blanched at the sticker price of over $50–have thanked me to the point of embarrassment.

For our third visit, we went with Roland, Philip, and Mike to celebrate the holidays and pig out.

So, Lacroix is a great restaurant in its own right, but they don’t turn their brunch into a cash cow by skimping on quality and just providing quantity. They do both, and do it well.

So, just to set the stage, the room overlooks Rittenhouse Square, and is decorated plushly but modernly in green hues and dark wood. For brunch, the restaurant is given over to presentation. When you enter, you come upon a long table featuring cold dishes, at the end of which sits the raw bar. Once you can tear yourself away from that round, you are escorted into the kitchen, where the hot dishes are located, as well as the chocolate fountain and liquid nitrogen station (oh, don’t worry, we’ll get there). If you have room, the dessert table (ahem, “Garden Table”) awaits:

OK, enough with the setup. By the way, what follows is not for the faint of heart.

Plate #1

(Clockwise from bottom left: salmon crudo, fennel condiment; foie gras ganache; Parmesan “puff,” anchovy, roasted garlic; caramel green apple soda (off plate); unsure; California roll; BBQ eel roll; caviar; spiced baked apple panzanetta)

OK, obviously the star for me here was the puff. The foie gras ganache was, if possible, not foie gras-y enough for us, though I thought it was delightful nonetheless. Here’s the thing about this place: often I will be bowled away just by the very idea of the stuff they came up with. The ganache was like that. The panzanella was very good as well.

Plate #2 (sorry for blurriness; it’s the excitement of it all)

(Clockwise from bottom right: warm chickpea soup, homemade pitas; pulled beef hot pockets; smoked sturgeon salad, potato, horseradish vinaigrette; caviar; “chips and dip” (basically a homemade guacamole))

Yeah, so, going in, who would have thunk that a simple warm chickpea soup would be in the running for best of show? Wow. This little soup (oh, and are you noticing the fabulousness of the portions? Perfection) had us all losing our eyes in the backs of their sockets. It was perfectly smooth, tasting of the most wonderful chickpeas with hints of the expected spices: it was just amazing. We were licking the teacups.

Plate #3 (note, we are not even out of the cold dishes)

(Clockwise from bottom left: chilled spaghetti squash salad, truffle, sunchoke (my second time with this ingredient: the first was a soup at Majolica (see links on right) that was amazing. I may need to try my hand at sunchokes. Yeah, right.), cranberry; warm chickpea soup (everyone is shocked: the first thing anyone said when someone else returned from the cold table was, “are there still chickpea soups?”); crispy potatoes, escargot fricassee; coddled quail eggs with homemade mustard, smoked trout roe.)

Well, obviously there is the soup. However, the potato and escargot number was really quite nice. The potato was nice and light and balanced the earthiness of the escargot well. The spaghetti squash salad was not that memorable, but I loved the consistency of it, and the very idea.

Plate #4 (actually Philip’s because I forgot to photograph my final cold plate because I was beginning to enter a food coma.)

The key thing to mention here is on the bottom: the polenta fries. They had been constantly missing whenever I went up (an oddity, as they are usually quite good about keeping things in stock on the tables), but I finally snagged one and knew why: crispy yet soft, the fry was topped with homemade “ketchup” (God knows why they used scare quotes), which reminded you of potato fries, but balanced nicely with the polenta’s flavor. It was great.

Plate #5 (Hot Stuff!)

(Clockwise from top left: Niman Ranch smoked bacon; unsure: might be a crab cake; rabbit leg paella; unsure: might be sweet potato; Guinness braised beef short rib; center: poached organic eggs, lobster and leeks)

First, the bacon. One of my first websites reviewed brunches, and I had a separate rating for bacon. I love bacon. I own bacon salt. This is some damn fine bacon. The paella was fine; the poached eggs were awfully good (and isn’t that thing they’re in just the dickens? Lacroix has the best containers. Given the restaurant’s ridiculous use of them, we decided that we are going to open a ramekin-only restaurant. Don’t we need this?); the ribs were ridiculous: almost literally melt in your mouth. God they were good.

Plate #whatever

(Clockwise from bottom: bacon (natch); handmade sausage dumplings, truffled white beans; roasted duck breast with cherry compote; axis venison loin au poivre, huckleberry gin jus (well, sure: I make that every Sunday); savory Tuscan bread pudding with fontina and asiago cheese; brussels sprouts with bacon and chestnuts; pumpkin seed pancakes with pumpkin butter)

Yeah, this might have been the best plate. The meats were ridiculous: so tender, so creative, so complex. The bread pudding? Seriously? My God. It put sweet bread puddings to shame, kicking them while they were down, asking them who their daddy was. I don’t know if I have had brussels sprouts more than a couple of times in my life, and if they are half as good as these, I’ve been missing out big time. The pancakes were just pumpkin-y enough, and would you look at the color of that pumpkin butter?

Plate #mmmfffmfmfmmf (me trying to keep going with a mouth and stomach stuffed; sorry again for the focus)

(clockwise from bottom: gratin of potato, lemon, and roasted hazelnuts; food of the gods; belgian waffle with fresh mixed berries)

The gratin had an amazing flavor combination: the lemon was just barely there, but added a wonderful acidity to the pedestrian potato, and the crunch of the hazelnuts were awfully welcome. It was an inspired dish.

Plate #I really should stop…oh, but there’s dessert!

(clockwise from top right: rice crispy treat dipped in the 5-foot tall chocolate fountain; vanilla ice cream with raspberry coulis; milk chocolate malt foam with banana gelee)

Yeah, so the liquid nitrogen station. Here’s what happens. The pastry chef at the station loads a dollop of the foam, tops it with the banana gelee, and then encloses the gelee with another dollop of foam. She then opens the vat of liquid nitrogen and plunges the orb into it. What comes out is this quick-frozen though not hard concoction. Is it worth all of the trouble? Probably not (it was good, but not life-altering), but the theater!

Plate #Must stop eating can’t focus

(orange poppyseed cake with sour cream frosting; coffee pot de creme)

Both were excellent. Frankly, I can’t remember. The food coma was in full effect.

We started at 11, right when they open; we left at 2:45. I had umpteen glasses of water, cups of coffee, trips to the bathroom; I also got the wine duet with a lovely glass of bubbly (Marquis de la Tour) and a glass of a 2004 Chateau Saint-Suplice Bordeaux.

I can’t tell you what it all cost; whatever it was was worth it ($100? maybe more?). Oh, I haven’t mentioned service. Our waiter was sort of odd (like he was nervous, though he’d obviously worked there a while), but the service overall was impeccable: attentive, but not cloying; knowledgeable and respectful–they didn’t once glare at us for our gluttony.

So, yeah. You have to go if you are the area. At some point, we will probably try the other Philadelphia brunch standby, the Fountain, but it’s hard to say no to another trip to Lacroix.