Dining, Food & Wine Article |
Reviews: Everybody Loves Rae
Happy-hour haven and expense-account destination, the Cira Centre’s new Rae restaurant caters to all
By Maria Gallagher
SHARP AND STEELY BY DAY, twinkling like a rhinestone monolith by night, the 29-story Cira Centre demands attention, 24/7. I’m no fan of it, yet I can never drive by without returning its glassy stare. This angular office tower next to 30th Street Station stands with cold shoulders turned in every direction — hardly a welcoming presence, if you’re a restaurant customer headed that way.
Inside, the architects reserved 13,000 square feet for restaurant and banquet dining, dimensions that seem tailor-made for a concept guy like Stephen Starr, or a supersized chain like the Cheesecake Factory. Instead, landlord Brandywine Realty Trust recruited former Le Bec-Fin chef Daniel Stern, who at the time had no prior experience as a restaurant operator; he hadn’t yet opened Gayle, his miniature Queen Village spot. Two years after the Cira deal was done, Stern has pulled off a remarkable feat, bringing a warm and inviting modern restaurant called Rae to the lobby level.
The brash building and the soft-spoken chef are a brilliant mismatch. Who could have guessed that the Cira, with its off-putting armor of mirrors, would become a destination for playful upscale snacks like smoked rabbit nachos, a pile of fried meat pies flattered by the gentle heat of a jalapeño/crème fraîche dipping sauce? Or that a Cira happy hour could groove like a hip hotel’s bar, as soon as the blood-orange martinis come out to play? Or that a restaurant in a big-box space could produce awe-inspiring comfort food, specifically the sumptuous wine-braised short ribs?
Stern named Rae after his maternal grandmother. But the name also references the light that pours through the wall of windows at lunchtime on all but the dreariest days. It isn’t oppressively bright, but I prefer the after-dark ambience, when the lounge and dining rooms feel less exposed and more intimate. As the business day ebbs, office workers jam the bar and feast on a lavish hors d’oeuvres spread, while the dinner-minded settle into wide booths separated by dividers that keep conversations private. The 45-seat mezzanine feels like Siberia when empty, but on Saturday nights, the Main Line descends, dressed up and down simultaneously, in jeans, cashmere and statement jewelry.
Inside, the architects reserved 13,000 square feet for restaurant and banquet dining, dimensions that seem tailor-made for a concept guy like Stephen Starr, or a supersized chain like the Cheesecake Factory. Instead, landlord Brandywine Realty Trust recruited former Le Bec-Fin chef Daniel Stern, who at the time had no prior experience as a restaurant operator; he hadn’t yet opened Gayle, his miniature Queen Village spot. Two years after the Cira deal was done, Stern has pulled off a remarkable feat, bringing a warm and inviting modern restaurant called Rae to the lobby level.
The brash building and the soft-spoken chef are a brilliant mismatch. Who could have guessed that the Cira, with its off-putting armor of mirrors, would become a destination for playful upscale snacks like smoked rabbit nachos, a pile of fried meat pies flattered by the gentle heat of a jalapeño/crème fraîche dipping sauce? Or that a Cira happy hour could groove like a hip hotel’s bar, as soon as the blood-orange martinis come out to play? Or that a restaurant in a big-box space could produce awe-inspiring comfort food, specifically the sumptuous wine-braised short ribs?
Stern named Rae after his maternal grandmother. But the name also references the light that pours through the wall of windows at lunchtime on all but the dreariest days. It isn’t oppressively bright, but I prefer the after-dark ambience, when the lounge and dining rooms feel less exposed and more intimate. As the business day ebbs, office workers jam the bar and feast on a lavish hors d’oeuvres spread, while the dinner-minded settle into wide booths separated by dividers that keep conversations private. The 45-seat mezzanine feels like Siberia when empty, but on Saturday nights, the Main Line descends, dressed up and down simultaneously, in jeans, cashmere and statement jewelry.
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