Fond

A couple of old friends (both ex-coworkers of mine) and I finally managed to get together a few nights ago. Given our disparate labor schedules, not to mention other requirements in life, such meetings have become far too few and distant between. When the stars finally do align, though, you can pretty much count on both wine and food being involved. One can also depend on all of us bringing along a bottle or four that we want to share with each other, often something that we suspect the others may not have had in a while, maybe even something that holds a little in the way of sentimental value. On most such occasions, contributions are pretty evenhanded; on this night, though, I took all but total control of the wine corner, as I was in the mood not just to drink some cool stuff but, more importantly, to turn my buds on to some wines I was pretty sure they'd never had the chance to experience.

An aperitif started things rolling right, a glass for each of us of the second oldest wine yet "newest" vintage of the night, the 2000 Rioja Gran Reserva Rosado "Viña Tondonia" from R. Lopez de Heredia. I'd actually tasted the '98 rosado with one of my cohorts a few months earlier but, as fate would have it, it wasn't a stellar bottle. This one I really wanted to be right and it was, really lovely stuff, oxidative at first whiff but still very young, full of potpourri, wood spice and coconut oil aromas and an overall impression of warm, sun-baked sands.

The scene of the crime, by the way, was Fond, a BYOB spot in the burgeoning, cultural polyglot of a neighborhood that is South Philly's East Passyunk Avenue corridor. I'd eaten at Fond once before with satisfying enough results but on this night chef Lee Styer and crew were cooking at another level.

To a man, we started with Fond's veal sweetbreads, fried to a fine balance between external crispiness and internal creaminess, seasoned just one stop short of the end of the line, and very nicely appointed with the sweetness of wilted onions and rich simplicity of a sunny-up egg. Radikon's 2002 Venezia-Giulia Ribolla Gialla, poured from its signature thin-necked 500 ml bottle, proved not only surprisingly primary, predictably golden and snappily tannic, but also a more than admirable match with our salty, savory plates of ris de veau. Proof aplenty that orange wine really isn't just for uni.

My dining companions both opted for the squab, the chef's special for the day. A killer choice, I must add — one of my buddies, an alum of Le Bec Fin, where squab was a signature dish for many a year, proclaimed it the best he'd ever had. I, however, couldn't pass up on the hangar steak, which was cooked pretty much to perfection and finished with a damn tasty sauce Bordelaise.

Here, I "let" the guys slide in a sentimental choice, a bottle of 1999 Valtellina Superiore Sassella from La Castellina della Fondazione Fojanini. This is a wine we all once sold and that, I believe, its owner had hoped to share with a recently departed friend. It was richer than I remember but otherwise as expected, just barely softening and inching toward some signs of bottle development, a great-value example of how age-worthy, not to mention compelling, the wines of Nebbiolo-based wines of Valtellina can be.

I think we were all in agreement, though, that the youngster in the bunch turned out to be the wine of the night. Bernard Baudry's 2007 Chinon "La Croix Boissée" was drinking beautifully. Disgracefully young as it was, the Baudrys' wine, like the food that night, was firing on all cylinders, showing richness aligned with grace and displaying all the classic traits of Chinon grown in Cravant les Coteaux — floral, herbal and grassy, full of cassis and blueberry fruit, all seasoned with a liberal sprinkling of mineral extract. Ten more years should do this one much, much good. No matter, though. It provided a long overdue introduction to Baudry for a certain member of the Chevaliers de Chezelet, paired wonderfully with my steak, and made for a great way to wrap up and savor an evening among friends.


Fond
1617 East Passyunk Avenue
Philadelphia, PA 19148
(215) 551-5000

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1964 Oddero for the Birthday Girl

A birthday celebration for a good friend. Birth year wine, courtesy of her husband. A meal prepared especially for the occasion and the wines by Chef Pierre Calmels at Bibou, one of my favorite restaurants in Philadelphia. Was I to turn down an invitation like that? Hell no! It was an honor and pleasure to join in for the festivities.

While the anticipated bottles of the night waited in the wings, we got things rolling with some fantastic grower Champagne from Laherte Frères (more on that at a later date).

Chef Calmels' trout gravlax — diced, ringed with cucumber, drizzled with basil vinegar, and topped with baby mustard greens — was one of the stand-out dishes of the night and a lovely match with our bubbly. After another course or two (corn soup with duck prosciutto, a terrine of sweetbreads), it was time to visit the birthday girl's wines.

All I can say is, "Thanks, Kelly, for being born in a good year." I'm a year younger (I'll leave the math to you, kind reader) and was not so lucky. In fact, I've yet to even have a wine from my own birth year, generally considered fair at best, more often bad to worse, in just about every wine growing region on the planet.

These '64s from Oddero, though, were drinking impressively well. My pal Bill had picked them up, especially for Kelly's birthday, from a shop that occasionally buys and sells wines from private collections. While the corks in both were showing their age, crumbling upon extraction, both wines were startlingly young in both appearance and structure.

The 1964 Barbaresco, I think we all agreed, was the wine of the night, still showing a dark red, only slightly going-to-garnet color in the glass; a rich, supple texture; and fruit tones that started out surprisingly primary then took on aromas of spice, roses and dried red fruits with air. The '64 Barolo, in comparison, was a touch darker, similarly evolved but much more brooding and animal in its aromas and textures, showing even greater overall youth and, as expected, more muscular structure. Both wines were a joy to experience but both, I feel, could easily have continued to develop for another couple of decades (though perhaps not without being re-corked).

Of the dishes that Pierre matched to the old Barbaresco and Barolo, my favorite was a last-minute surprise: veal ribeye and baby brussel sprouts on a bed of white bean purée and veal jus. Executed perfectly, the dish was a very fine match with the aromatic complexity and mid-life structure of our two Nebbioli.

Having been clued-in to the birthday girl's surprise, I'd brought along a much younger bottle from Oddero, their 2006 Barbaresco "Gallina." You know, simply for academic purposes. It, too, was on a good night, pure and vibrant, as surprisingly approachable in its near-sinful youth as the '64s were surprisingly youthful in their... well, like I said, you can do the math.

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Parker Rants at Bibou's Expense

Consider a recent statement from a regarded critic:

"...the food was as great a bistro fare as one can imagine...the snail ragout, boudin noir, terrine en crout, out-of-this-world beef marrow bones as well as superb stuffed pig's feet with foie gras over a bed of black lentils had me in Rabelaisien Nirvana."

Then consider this:

"...better yet [there was] no precious sommelier trying to sell us some teeth enamel removing wine with acid levels close to toxic, made by some sheep farmer on the north side of his 4,000-foot foot elevation vineyard picked two months before ripeness, and made from a grape better fed to wild boar than the human species....we all know the type-saving the world from drinking good wine in the name of vinofreakism."

Seems kind of hard to believe they were uttered by the same person yet they were, by none other than the wine advocate himself, Robert Parker. Apparently, Parker dined a few nights ago at one of my favorite restaurants in Philadelphia, Bibou. That's him in the photo (above right), arms draped over the couple behind Bibou, Charlotte and Pierre Calmels. You can view the photo and quotes above, along with a laundry list of what Parker drank, in their original context at Philadelphia Inquirer columnist Michael Klein's blog, The Insider.

What really strikes me about the above diatribe is not so much the obvious case of diarrhea of the mouth but rather the fact that Robert Parker found it necessary to turn a simple moment — a photo op and a chance to send some much deserved praise the way of an excellent neighborhood bistro — into a self-serving opportunity to protect his own crumbling hegemony. What he's trying to protect against, lest I've left you scratching your head, is from what he obviously views as the culprit of his seemingly waning influence: the conversely increasing influence, erosive as Parker apparently views it, of independently voiced — and often freely disseminated — current trends in wine thought. Clearly, the emperor is piling on the moth balls in his own defense.

I could easily see someone thinking, "Okay, McDuff, you're just taking this as your own Parker-like opportunity to put a spin on things, to self-promote." But I have no such illusions of grandeur. If Parker was thinking of any one person, it may have been Alice Feiring, true-wine advocate extraordinaire and author of "The Battle for Wine and Love: or How I Saved the World from Parkerization." However, I think what Parker was actually having a meltdown over is, again, the ever increasing influence of an ever increasing number of voices being publicly expressed in the wine world. Bloggers, writers, sommeliers, retailers, bulletin board subscribers, distributors and importers, heck, maybe even collectors....

It's not really about what Parker called "vinofreakism." Rather, there is an undeniable backlash, though it's hardly universal, against what another wine critic, Eric Asimov, has coined "the tyranny of the tasting note." In this context, perhaps it's even more appropriate to think of as the tyranny of the wine rating system. Parker, like many of his peers at other major wine publications, has built his empire upon it and he is now clearly feeling the pinch.

* * *

On a more grassroots, more down-to-earth level, what I'm just as galled by is the possibility that Parker's diatribe might actually turn-off some true wine and food lovers to the idea of dining at Bibou. What a nasty case of guilt-by-association that would be.

Parker was right about at least a few of the things he was quoted as saying in Klein's article. The food at Bibou is indeed top-notch, an example of French country/bistro cuisine at its finest. And, as I pointed out in my original review of Bibou, everything about the BYOB, from the ease of its food to the quality of stemware and service, makes it a great place to take a broad variety of wines, be they classic or adventurous, heavy-hitters or simple pleasures.

The very same dish of foie-gras stuffed pig's trotters over a bed of lentils, mentioned by Parker, was a highlight of my last visit. Rich it was but over-the-top, as it might sound, it was not. All its elements were in harmony.

On that same August trip, the 2007 Chablis of Gilbert Picq showed much better than Nicolas Joly's Savennières "Les Clos Sacrés" 2005.

Likewise, Coudert's 2007 Fleurie "Clos de la Roilette Cuvée Tardive" was in a prettier spot than the 2006 Arbois Poulsard "Vieilles Vignes" from Tissot.

The real star of the lineup, though, was a bottle of 1997 Château Musar, eloquently expressive and a delight with the pig's foot and lentils.

So, I hope my point in this second half of my own little diatribe is even more obvious than that expressed in part one. Go to Bibou. Take good wine. Enjoy the company of good friends. Eat well. And leave the agenda where it belongs.



Bibou
1009 South 8th Street
(between Carpenter and Washington)
Philadelphia, PA 19147
215-965-8290

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Bibou

Philadelphia is by no means a small town, but exploring its constantly changing dining scene can sometimes make it feel like one. It’s not at all uncommon to go to check out a new spot – or to revisit an old standby – only to find that you know seemingly half the other people in the place. I like to think it’s less a sign of provincialism, more an indication that Philly is evolving into a great restaurant town and, as a direct result, is developing a hardcore set of food explorers, always on the lookout for the newest flavor in town. The phenomenon seems particularly tied to the BYOB scene – something for which Philly is justly renowned. People, it seems, aren’t just in search of the newest, freshest flavor but also for great value and the freedom to create their own wine list.

If there’s a downside to this whole scenario, it’s that some places open to such positive acclaim that the demand for reservations can quickly surpass availability. Witness Bibou. Such was the buzz on the street prior to Bibou’s start just two months ago that the house was full, I’m told, on opening night. While securing a reservation for one of the restaurant’s 36 or so seats hasn’t yet become a near impossibility, something tells me that day’s not far off.


The bar at Bibou serves both as seating for tasting menu customers and as a resting place for co-owner Charlotte Calmels and the wine(s) customers often send her way. During our visit it seemed like someone at every table knew someone at at least one other table, if not more. Charlotte graciously shuttled glasses of wine from one table to the next, including the very fine taste of 1983 Château Pichon Longueville that one group of fellow diners sent our way.
Bibou is also the newest in Philadelphia’s cadre of husband/wife restaurant ventures. Le Bec Fin and Daniel alum Pierre Calmels leads in the kitchen while his wife Charlotte, formerly of Patrice Rames’ Patou and Bistro St. Tropez, oversees the front of the house. Their menu of classic French bistro dishes is scaled to the size of their space – manageable and focused – with just five entrées (in the French sense of the term), five main plates and a handful of desserts on offer Wednesday through Saturday nights. Like at an increasing number of Philadelphia BYOBs, Sunday is prix fixe night, with three courses plus amuse bouche priced at $45 per person, sans tax and tip. Not the cheapest deal in town but a solid value given the quality of what my friends and I encountered on a recent Sunday evening.



Pictured at top, every basket of house baked bread (which is very good, by the way) comes with its own parcel of French butter from the cooperative dairy, Échiré. Cantaloupe soup and escargots, below.
An early season amuse of chilled cantaloupe soup made for a great taste bud teaser, sparked with strips of savory duck prosciutto and a generous twist of black pepper. As at Pif, the former denizen of Bibou’s space in the Italian Market area of Bella Vista, escargots seems poised to be the signature appetizer. On our visit, though, it was the only somewhat disappointing dish of the evening, the richness of a mushroom demi-glace and slightly heavy-handed seasoning obscuring the flavor of the snails themselves. I found no such issues with our other starters. The decadence of seared foie gras was balanced by the sweet and sour tang of plum chutney and the tannic earthiness of toasted walnuts, while a terrine of quail mousse set aside a simply dressed salad and pickled red cabbage provided rustic satisfaction.


Our waiter, who it turns out is from Stuttgart, was first startled and then happily surprised to see a Franken bocksbeutel emerge from my wine caddy. Rufolf Fürst's 2006 Riesling trocken "pur mineral" was rustic, energetic, full-flavored and right on with our first courses. The food at Bibou is very well suited to "classic" wines. Henri Germain's 2005 Bourgogne Rouge was sweet-fruited and delicate enough to work with the fish yet had the depth to match with duck confit. The 1999 Margaux from cru artisan estate Château les Barraillots was still young but showing very well; a solid match with the beef of the day.
The manageable scope of the menu helps Bibou escape the pitfall of far too many restaurants, where small plates all too often outshine the main courses. Here, the plats principaux are the stars, with Chef Calmels displaying a deft hand with proteins and bringing out the best in the innate flavors of market fresh vegetables. Hanger steak, the boeuf course on our visit, was spot-on medium rare, spiked by an assertive yet delicious green peppercorn sauce. Meltingly tender duck confit sat atop a warming, soulful tousle of linguine – slightly overcooked in the French fashion – sauced with duck jus and a fricassee of artichokes and sweet cherry tomatoes. As good as were the meat dishes, the flétan may just have been the star of the night, a perfectly seared medallion of halibut set atop a bed of lemon-poached cauliflower couscous played very well with the pungent sweetness of curried butternut squash and raisins.



Aside from the sorbet and ice creams, which are sourced from nearby Anthony’s in the 9th Street Market, desserts are made in-house. Both chocolate cake, based on a recipe from Charlotte’s grandmother, and peach pie were well executed and made for a comforting, unostentatious finale to our meal.



Bibou
1009 South 8th Street
(between Carpenter and Washington)
Philadelphia, PA 19147
215-965-8290

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Hana and von Hövel

Sometimes simple is best.

It’s remarkable how the most authentic restaurants – much like the most expressive or individualistic wines – polarize their audiences. The clearer the voice, the more people seem to either love it or hate it, leaving very little room for the middle ground. So I couldn’t help but chuckle at what I found today when looking up the phone number for Hana, one of my favorite Japanese restaurants on the non-Jersey side of the Philly burbs.


Hana may not easily win your heart. It’s not at the level of the Jersey spots – Fuji and Sagami – I hinted at above. And Hana’s not likely to win awards. It’s a non-descript looking restaurant located in a non-descript strip mall on a busy, commercial stretch of road. There’s nothing flashy about its interior: just a few basic booths and tables, a five-seat sushi bar, a couple of hanging paper lamps and neutral walls decorated with a modicum of traditional Japanese artwork and knickknacks. And there’s nothing flashy about the food. The rolls don’t have cute names and don’t sprout spines or include intentionally international ingredients. There aren’t any sushi “boats” or any strips of plastic grass adorning the plates. No spicy mayo or cream cheese oozing here and there, either.

What you get is simple food – spartan almost – that’s simply prepared. It’s fresh, pure of flavor and clearly made with care. It’s not all about the sushi and sashimi, though they’re very good. The cooked dishes are also excellent, from belly warming tempura udon to handmade pork shumai to perfectly pickled and refreshing vegetable sunomono. The service is quiet – never forward but always attentive. I’ve not been to Japan but something tells me this is the real deal, a notion seconded by old friends who eat at Hana and have spent time in Japan.

I love it. But apparently, lots of people hate it. Citysearch is not a site I ever use intentionally but it appeared at the top of the Google listings recently when I searched for “Hana Japanese restaurant Wayne PA.” All I wanted was a phone number. What I found was a bunch of user reviews that careened from spiteful to glowing then right back to downright awful.

* * *
Sometimes simple can be complicated.

Hana is a BYOB spot. When I go there, I invariably take Riesling. It’s become a stereotypical pairing with all variety of Asian cuisines. In this case, the stereotype delivers substance.

Saar Riesling, von Hövel 2007
$17. 8% alcohol. Screwcap. Importer: Rudi Wiest, Cellars International, San Marcos, CA.
A growing number of respected wineries in Germany are producing simple, value-oriented bottlings for the export market. A quick look at the front label of this example from Weingut von Hövel reveals little other than the producer’s name and the grape in the bottle, Riesling in this case. There’s also a pretty picture, a definite change from the classically prosaic labeling style used by most producers for their higher-level wines. In at least one sense, this simplicity no doubt works in the wine’s favor, as people who have developed a comfort level with Riesling (but perhaps not with the complexities of German labeling syntax) are likely to be drawn to the bottle. That simplicity also works in the winery’s favor, as the lack of any village, vineyard or Pradikat designation leaves the producer free to blend wines from multiple sites and, if deemed necessary, to chaptalize.

That very simplicity, though, is just as likely to be misunderstood, to play right into unjust stereotypes. A savvy Riesling shopper might spot the 8% alcohol level designated in small print on the back label of the bottle and surmise that the presence of residual sugar is a strong likelihood. Given the simplicity of the front label, though, the absence of any equally simple mention of style (dry, off-dry, etc.) is very likely to result in misunderstanding. The same people that dismiss Hana for its lack of flash or its dainty portions – or anyone, for that matter – might be just as likely to write-off von Hövel’s Riesling because it’s light or, more likely, because it’s “sweet.” And that would be a shame.

Von Hövel’s Saar Riesling is simplicity embodied. It’s light, direct and easy to like. And yes, it’s a little sweet. But it’s a classic expression of Saar Riesling, its hint of sweetness balanced by wiry acidity and its finish crackling with pungent, slate-y minerality. That gentle sweetness helps the wine work with the vinegar in sunomono. Its acidity provides lift to the weight of the rice (just a touch gummy and under-seasoned on our most recent visit to Hana) in nigiri and provides more than enough cut for the natural oils of salmon, hamachi and other salt water fish. The wine’s vaguely sour minerality intertwines effortlessly with the flavors of the sea expressed in sushi and sashimi. Its pretty expression of apples, white peaches and lemons does not overwhelm the palate. And its overall delicacy is in fine balance with the grace and harmony of a typical Japanese meal.

It’s a pure, expressive wine. And much like a no-nonsense, traditional Japanese restaurant, it's just as likely to be despised as it is to be embraced.

Hana
387 W. Lancaster Avenue [map]
Wayne, PA 19087
610-687-3320

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First Look: Bistro on the Brandywine

Opened just two months ago, Bistro on the Brandywine is the newest venture of Brandywine Valley restaurateur Dan Butler. Sister restaurant and parking lot neighbor to Brandywine Prime, it’s Butler’s second opening on the Route 1 corridor in sleepy Chadds Ford, PA in just a little over a year.


By way of full disclosure, I’ve conducted wine dinners at a number of Dan’s restaurants over the years. (In fact, for those of you who may have missed the announcement here a few days back, I’ll be hosting a wine pairing dinner at Brandywine Prime this Friday.) As a result, I’m not a stranger when walking into any of his establishments. Also as a result, I generally opt not to write up my dining experiences at said establishments. However, I figured I’d make an exception this time, given that the Bistro is new, BYOB – more on that later – and a generally charming little spot. Given the full house on a Friday night, it also seems to have filled a void in its neighborhood, fitting neatly in the gap between fine dining and basic pub grub.

The country farmhouse feel provided by stone walls and bead board are made contemporary by sunny views, high ceilings and exposed ductwork.
There were some clear standouts based on our quick sampling of the menu. Medium-sized mussels, which can be ordered in both appetizer and entrée sized portions, were drenched in a deeply flavorful and intensely creamy saffron sauce. The accompanying frites are cut in house, double-fried and combine crispiness with surprisingly potato-y fleshiness given their matchstick size. The only minor shortcoming on that plate was the aioli dip for the fries, which could be a bit zestier and a little less rich. A massive tousle of the same fries came as a de facto part of my main course of steak frites. The hangar steak itself was richly beefy, cooked perfectly medium-rare (except at its most tapered end), appropriately chewy and ratcheted up a notch by a drizzle of shallot infused demi-glace.

The brightest light of the evening – no pun intended, given the sun streaming through the front windows – may just have been the amuse bouche of steak and eggs on truffled toast sent out compliments of the chef.
I would have preferred a thinner, crispier crust, along with more acidic sauce and slightly higher seasoning for the pizza margherita we shared as an appetizer. That didn’t stop us from asking to take the leftovers home, though. And it may just be an appealing style for the customers that come with kids in tow. For those with a predilection for richness, the short ribs are an exercise in the extremes of comfort food. Braised in veal stock, served with Gorgonzola gnocchi and generously sauced, they were, no bones about it, decadent.



A few of the dishes we enjoyed (clockwise, from top left): Pizza Margherita, Moules Frites, Steak Frites and, for dessert, Banana-Caramel Bread Pudding.
Chef de Cuisine Seth Harvey and Managing Partner Paul Bouchard are both imports from other outposts of Chef Butler’s dining empire. Formerly the sous-chef at Wilmington’s Deep Blue, Harvey has put together a menu of French bistro favorites, accented with occasional touches of creativity and with a few nods to the restaurant’s locale – Kennett Square mushroom soup, for instance. Mr. Bouchard has moved on to manage Bistro on the Brandywine after years running Butler’s original Toscana Kitchen + Bar. Given the relative dearth of trained wait staff in the outer suburbs, Paul has already done an admirable job of bringing the young front of the house staff up to speed. Service, though not without a minor hiccup or two, was affable, well paced and comfortable.

No doubt good news to the restaurant’s potential cash flow, its liquor license application was approved just the day before our visit. There is already a short list of Pennsylvania beers in bottle and a wine list so tiny as to be cute – just two whites and two reds, all offered by the glass and the bottle. I’m sure the list will quickly come up to speed. The good news for the local wine-toting crowd is that Bouchard plans to continue the restaurant’s BYOB policy indefinitely. The $5 corkage fee per bottle is justified by quality stemware and waived if a bottle is ordered from the list.

Bistro on the Brandywine
1623 Baltimore Pike
(at Routes 1 & 100)
Chadds Ford, PA 19317
610-388-8090

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Cochon BYOB: First Porcine Impressions

I finally paid a long overdue visit to Cochon last week, along with a friendly pack of rabid food geeks. Between the number of people, the number of plates being passed rapid fire around the table and the social focus of the evening, there’s no way I could do the meal justice with a full restaurant profile. So I figured I’d just write up some basic impressions, post some pictures (which were tough in Cochon’s low light) and save a more focused look for another day.

As its name suggests, Cochon – French for “pig” – is not safe haven for vegetarians. It’s clearly a carnivore’s delight, focusing on robust, French bistro cuisine and occasionally venturing into the realms of offal and the unusual. One could safely say it’s stepped into the once local shoes of now defunct Pif even more clearly than has Pif’s reincarnation as Ansill Food & Wine.


Our appetites were kindled by a couple of surprises from the kitchen: a fried terrine and grilled pâté combo (at left) and fried frog legs.
The food at Cochon is not subtle. Flavors are not delicate. Portions are not dainty. Yet, aside from one slightly overcooked slice of pork belly, just about everything we ate last week was well executed, cooked to perfection and loaded with hardy, soulful flavor. Service was tight, casual and well paced, befitting the clean lines and open, easy feel of the room as well as the good-value menu. First courses are priced between $8-12 with mains all sitting in a narrow band between $20-24, very fair prices for the quality of cooking and ingredients as well as for the generous quantities being served.



First courses included (clockwise, from top left) fried oysters; frisée salad with blood sausages; sweetbreads; and seared scallops. There was another salad course, featuring pork belly and garlic sausages, but my photo stunk so you'll have to use your imagination.


A pair of Rieslings, the "Reserve" from New York State's Red Newt Cellars along with the "Tradition" (not pictured) of Alsace producer Domaine Barmès-Buecher, stole the show for the evening. As good as are Heidi Schröck's wines, her 1999 Cabernet rosé was definitely past it. The Faiveley was over-extracted and over-oaked and the Clos du Val just plain dull, while Latour's "Morgeot" lived to see another day.



Portion control may have been an issue for a less zealous crowd. Second courses included (clockwise, from top left): the veal chop special; baby rack of lamb; pork shoulder over lentils du Puy; and duck breast.


Non red meat eaters need not despair as the daily fish special – sea bass on our visit – was up to the standard set by the rest of the offerings.

Between the five of us, we ordered just about everything on the menu, enjoyed a couple of off-menu surprises and pulled a few corks. Based on the descriptions of the few options, sweets sounded like they might be a bit of an afterthought. I can’t say though, as we never made it to dessert. That too will have to wait for a more restrained (or hungrier) return visit, one I’ll be sure to make based on the quality of my first.

Cochon BYOB 801 E. Passyunk Avenue Philadelphia, PA 19147 (215) 923-7675

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