If we asked you what the most happening corner was east of Rittenhouse Square and west of Old City what would you answer? A year ago we know you wouldn’t have said 10th and Spruce. But on a recent evening with the bustle of Kanella on one side and the buzz of Varga Bar on the other, we were convinced. Adam Erace noticed the same thing in his review of Varga Bar. He also noticed the sliders on R. Evan Turney’s almost All-American menu.

The memory of those sliders is still vivid. Turney added Boursin, bacon, caramelized shallots and tomato and packaged them neatly in fluffy LeBus brioche. All good, but the beef … damn. Each patty came with cores the color of bubblegum, perfectly medium-rare, surrounded by a trim brown seal. The attending bangle bracelet onion rings also happen to rock.

Varga Bar [Philadelphia Weekly]
Varga Bar [Official Site]

Adam Erace reviews Bibou, Philadelphia’s latest French bistro and finds the service and food is so good there’s nothing left to be done but some nitpicking.

To eat Calmels’ food is to, at least momentarily, depart the bistro parameters that have lately defined (or constrained, maybe) French in Philly. Sure, Bibou is a bistro at heart—in addition to ivory scallops ringed 
by couscous, summer squash ribbons and frothy gold curry (course No. 4), they also serve pigs feet and escargots—but the clean presentation, precise execution and sheer élan with which Calmels cooks puts it on another level.

Bibou [Philadelphia Weekly]
Bibou [Official Site]

Adam Erace has a moment at Noble American Cookery as the foie gras melts on tongue and the setting sun shines through the front windows. Unfortuantely the moment is killed when he gets his hefty bill. But Erace finds other things along the way worthy of praise, especially the drink program.

[T]he curl of citrus unleashes its essential oils in the Vesper, a martini coined by Sir Ian Fleming in 1953’s Casino Royale . Smooth and subtly floral, the lemon-accented blend of Bluecoat gin, Penn 1681 vodka, Lillet Blonde and orange bitters was as beguiling as its namesake, Bond babe Vesper Lynd, and among the most beautifully balanced cocktails ever to pass these lips.


Noble American Cookery [Philadelphia Weekly]
Noble American Cookery [Official Site]

Adam Erace asks the reader to picture a meal at the Venezuelan Sazon on the ragged corner of 10th and Spring Garden. A meal that shines with pride.

Just picture the soft Champion sweatpants hanging in your closet at home, because that’s what you should’ve worn to Sazon. Picture the portions, generous for such little coin, and how full you are by the time the gargantuan asado negro arrives. But picture the fork, and you lifting it anyway, slicing through the tender steak’s black jacket of caramelized garlic and unrefined brown cane sugar, and savoring.

Spanish Slice [Philadelphia Weekly]

Adam Erace’s review of Teplitzky’s at the Chelsea in Atlantic City reads like a prototypical one-bell, hit-or-miss review of another reviewer in town. But that’s not to say there aren’t dishes worth doting over.

Two tender matzo balls bob like buoys in the broth. On the shimmering surface, golden droplets of chicken fat-the only way to conjure them is making the stock from scratch, which Murphy admirably does-catch the light like shipwrecked jewelry on gentle Atlantic swells. These magic molecules inform a broth so deep it sends echoes down the esophagus. Now I get why they call this stuff Jewish penicillin. All the single bubbes, put your hands up. I’m available.
 

Diamonds and Clubs [Philadelphia Weekly]
Teplitzky’s [Official Site]

Adam Erace takes in chef Peter Miller’s brunch at the P.O.P.E. and has plenty of praise.

They should be talking about his vegan French toast, a breakfast neither as epic as Sabrina’s pyramids nor as neat as Café Estelle’s stuffed pillows, but nonetheless distinctive enough to garner a special place in the pantheon of Philadelphia French toasts. Pureed raw almonds and coconut milk replace the standard custard batter, but the bread fried up just as crisp and golden, while the spicing of cinnamon, vanilla and nutmeg tied the flavors back to the classic. My mom-who considers vegetarianism a misguided notion she can rid the world of one chicken- cutlet convert at a time-loved it.


Papal Infallibility [Philadelphia Weekly]
Pub on Passyunk East [Official Site]

Adam Erace takes a different approach in his review of Ladder 15, comparing and contrasting his visits there. In the end though, it’s still a mixed bag.

[E]ven if the crowd can sometimes feel like a douchebag convention and the drink list is stuck in 1999, Stollenwerk and Campbell have created some dishes worth seeking out. Go for the burger. Just don’t order a Heineken with it.

Ring the Alarm [Philadelphia Weekly]
Ladder 15 [Official Site]

Is one of Philadelphia’s best new restaurants hiding in an Old City lounge? According to Adam Erace it is.

What did come included some of the wittiest, most winsome things I’ve eaten this year. You’ll forgive me for being surprised by the exquisiteness of the citrus-cured foie gras torchon, so rich and silky smeared on croissant (a crunchy bread would have been better) with blueberry mostarda and zingy pink peppercorn-infused tapioca pearls; for being shocked at discovering the bar snack of my dreams (D’Ambro’s chickpea frites) in an ultralounge that sells Jaeger by the $160 bottle.


Bocca [Philadelphia Weekly]

 
There are some bargains to be found among the French-Mexican-Thai dishes found at Coquette but the menu lacks the cohesion that its decor has nailed.

Coy Toy [Philadelphia Weekly]
Coquette Bistro & Raw Bar [Official Site]

Adam Erace visits Saute and has lots of good things to say about the cooking but he’s got a gripe with the menu’s lack of seasonality. Although these potatoes sound great, no matter the month.

As a sidecar to the new American entrees, fingerling potatoes arrive with a shiny duck-fat gloss that glints under the soft hazel lights of the former La Creole. Poached at 200 degrees in Talbot’s lube of choice, the potatoes are possessed by an intensely ducklike essence. Each bite brings a slick of aromatic grease; a burst of papery, cast iron-crisped skin; a smush of creamy, slow-poached spud; a fleeting finish of concentrated wild game flavor. Topped with chives and a dollop of Daisy, these charmingly misshapen fingerlings are perfect. For December.

Simmer in the City [Philadelphia Weekly]