Greg Vernick in the kitchen of his restaurant | Photo via Facebook
Every restaurant has an inaugural “regular,” and for Vernick, it was me.
At least that’s what chef Greg Vernick divulged, with a chuckle, when I called to ask a few questions about a late-spring meal. It was news to me. It seems that after I paid my third visit — a bit too quickly on the heels of my first two upon its 2012 opening — general manager Ryan Mulholland giddily proclaimed that the restaurant’s first serial patron was officially in the bag.
Whereupon I returned once more — and then completely disappeared for almost three years. Read more »
Spaghetti and Meatballs at Triangle Tavern | Photo by Jeffrey Towne
There’s only so much you can tell about a restaurant from its staff’s sartorial choices. But Triangle Tavern’s bar — whose bulbous edge gleams darkly with decades’ worth of varnish — offered a fascinating study in contrasts as I settled in amid drifting speckles of disco-ball light. A bullet casing swung from my bartender’s pale white neck as she stirred Dubonnet into gin. Nearby, a slender crucifix tagged its owner as a South Philadelphian of a more iconic stripe. And passing between them was a young black man rocking a Portland Trail Blazers jersey. Read more »
With the final days of Friday Saturday Sunday under owners Jamie and Weaver Lilley coming up quickly. We reached into the Philadelphia magazine archives to find the 42-year old restaurant’s first review.
The review is by restaurant critic Jim Quinn, who in the October 1973 issue of the magazine reviewed Friday Saturday Sunday and Thursday Too (as it was known) as well as Astral Plane and Frog, two other restaurants that history shows were part of what we now refer to as, Philadelphia’s first restaurant renaissance. Even in its earliest days, it was clear that these restaurants were something special.
Waiter, There’s a Long Hair in My Vichyssoise »
Beef tartare with green strawberry | Photo by Neal Santos
On the first day, there were Edison bulbs. Twenty-first-century diners across the land gazed up from rough-hewn farm tables, from their plates of artisanal charcuterie and pork belly with rich-yolked local egg, and beheld the bygone incandescence of the tungsten age.
On the second day, there were Clover Clubs and Aviations. Barmen wearing arm garters and handlebar mustaches shook Prohibition’s elixirs into the Facebook era.
Oh, but on the third day our souls willfinally sing, for the jazz club will rise again! Read more »
Trio of pizzas at the Parlor | Photo by Danya Henninger
Confession of a city critic: Whenever I have to schlep out to the suburbs, I can’t help but grit my teeth. Expectations drop beyond the county line. For every Junto, there are three Saint Jameses, and there goes an hour’s worth of unleaded into the ledger of our atmospheric doom.
But I exaggerate. The Saint James’s awfulness lay far beyond the reach of replication, much less in triplicate. Yet trepidation nevertheless filled the family wagon as we made our way to its replacement in Ardmore’s Suburban Square. Owner Rob Wasserman rebooted the ill-starred concept in March as a pizzeria called Parlor, where pies bearing somewhat distressing names such as Buffy and Beastmode awaited us. Read more »
Vesper Bar | Photo by Neal Santos
Two men walk into a bar.
“May we go downstairs?” one asks, gesturing toward a bookcase that conceals a secret stairwell.
“Do you have the password?” the hostess replies, flashing a flinty sidelong stare. Read more »
The bar at Heritage.
, a newcomer to Northern Liberties this spring, surprised and impressed City Paper critic Adam Erace. So much so, in fact, that the restaurant now holds a spot in his top 10 Philly favorites despite its relative youth. Lauding the mature and thoughtful cooking, Erace explains:
“Lately I feel that, spoiled by recent years of plenty, we’ve slid into a period of casual-sex restaurants: They feel good, sure, but do they challenge us? Do they have a point of view? Are they adding something to the conversation? At first glance, Heritage seemed to be just another lemming, offering a couple hours of pleasant distraction with the same ol’ new-American menu of kale salad, crudo and smoked things. Reading through online, the list felt inexplicably wintry. It was 95 degrees. I didn’t want to eat brisket with cabbage, trout in truffled broth or duck confit. I didn’t want to eat at Heritage. Now, thanks to chef Sean Magee, I can’t wait to go back.”
Heritage shines in Northern Liberties [City Paper]
￼Tortellini with brussels sprouts | Photo by Jason Varney
You knew this was coming. In Philadelphia, where chefs are constantly popping up in one another’s kitchens or dueling each other at Cook, it was only a matter of time before two of them would notice a FOR RENT sign as they carpooled home one night and decide to take the next logical step and move in together. Read more »
Fish Tacos at Buena Onda | Photo by Jason Varney
Strange things are afoot in Fast Food Nation. McDonald’s, whose 2013 Mighty Wings promotion left the chain sitting on 10 million pounds of unsold chicken, is so deep in a corporate identity crisis that it just gave the Hamburglar a makeover as a suburbanite hipster. Meanwhile, Shake Shack’s stock hit a P/E ratio nearly 10 times higher than Facebook’s. And now Jose Garces is leaping into the quick-serve sweepstakes with a value proposition of his own: $3.50 fish tacos, and free beer while you wait. Read more »
Adam Erace was already a fan of Bobby Saritsoglou’s cooking from Saritsoglou’s time at Santucci’s. There, Erace realized the pizzeria was also a really good neighborhood BYOB. Now Saritsoglou is cooking Greek food at Opa and Erace says the Midtown Village spot is now a “great restaurant.”
[M]eat was where Saritsoglou really shined, whether in the bite-sized dolmades, smoky charred grape-leaf bundles rolled around aggressively spiced keftedes that positively quivered with juiciness, or the shareable Meat Board, a carnivore’s playground that shortly will become a new must-have dish in Philadelphia. Inspired by Greece’s kebab-and-beer psistaria, this scene co-starred four perfectly cooked proteins on a butcher-block backdrop: oregano-rubbed chicken so moist, the word “confit” hardly does it justice; uncased pork-and-beef soutzoukakiasausages shot through with woodsy za’atar; a take on loukaniko, a true sausage deeply perfumed with orange zest and fennel seed; and bifteki, which was like the most unearthly delicious burger patty you’ve ever eaten. The bifteki sat on a thick slice of tomato, a king on a scarlet cushion. I cut into the crunchy caramelized crust of the pan-fried 80/20 beef patty (a light dredge in flour is the key), revealing a glistening interior as red as the fruit it sat upon.
A new chef brings a fresh new menu to Opa [City Paper]