Trey Popp visits 12th Street’s Tweed and finds it an uneven affair.
Some of the chefâ€™s most enjoyable items are his most plainspoken: a squash-heavy zucchini gratin, or scalloped potatoes perked up with savory boiled ham from Newtownâ€™s Ely Farm, both cooked in miniature cast-iron casseroles that grant their contents a crisp you canâ€™t get any other way. His roasted chicken has some of the crunchiest skin Iâ€™ve ever encounteredâ€”the dark meat could almost fool you into thinking itâ€™s friedâ€”and its mustard-carrot sauce is intense but not overwhelming.
But the menu is all over the map. Thereâ€™s spaghetti and (too tough) meatballs; hiramasa sashimi flanked by splendidly spicy chipotle sauce, dreadfully dull curry sauce, perky wasabi sauce and crÃ¨me fraÃ®che; a flat-tasting duck burger outshone by cherry chutney.
1 1/2 Stars out of 4