Three months is not actually a long time to be away from Philadelphia (as evinced by the still-vacant former-Wawa space below the Dorchester that I’m hoping will turn into some sort of Wharton Peach Pit), but there were some dramatic changes that occurred. There was, of course, the closing of Melograno on 22nd and Spruce. (Fear not. I too was scared and immediately jumped onto some of Philly’s robust food blogs to find that it will reopen – grapevine rumors tell me it’s open already – at a new and near location: 2010 Sansom Street). Riverwest residents have been excitedly talking about the new pizzeria and burrito place that opened up nearby. Then, there’s Parc. On my way to a triple double date (yeah, that’s right) at La Viola, and already in pain after only two blocks of walking in four-inch Louboutins, I forgot temporarily about how I wanted to saw off my feet when I saw the warm, glowing lights of this new French style brasserie on the ground floor of the Parc Rittenhouse on 18th and Locust. Apparently, Stephen Starr was busy at work on his continued plan for world conquest while we were away.I was mesmerized. Waiters, carrying trays of cocktails and wearing long, white aprons, deftly maneuvered between outdoor tables and foot traffic. Lots of well dressed people (a welcome sight after experiencing a dire fashion drought in San Francisco this summer) sat sipping champagne and feasting on iced tiers of raw oysters with delicate spoonfuls of mignonette sauce. How indulgent. For a city that does the beer culture so well, this was a glaring anomaly. If I hadn’t walked into a fire hydrant I might have forgotten about La Viola.
I got a call (actually, an Outlook meeting request) the next day from a close friend in my cohort who suggested a double date on Friday. An opentable.com reservation was made in about 2 minutes and I accepted the meeting request with an updated location: Parc.
As I waited for the week to pass, I often thought of some very fine dinners at Balthazar in New York City. Balthazar and Parc emulate well in appearance the fine brasseries of Paris. Balthazar offered, in addition to the warm, lively décor, amazing food. I will never forget, for example, their frisée salad with crisp-on-the-outside-and-chewy-on-the-inside bits of lardons, tossed in a delicate vinaigrette and topped with a perfectly poached egg. Balthazar’s cassoulet, though a failure compared to my French mother in law’s, was a bowl of comfort and symbolized warm, boozy dinners on cold winter nights. Would Parc meet these standards so engrained on my psyche?
Friday came and an early arrival was coordinated to take advantage of pre-dinner cocktails, one of my most favorite dining rituals. I kicked off the evening with a refreshing Dubonnet rouge on ice (I love that I had a choice of rouge or blanc) and stood back to observe the masses enjoying preprandial drinks. I was, however, very glad to be seated promptly at the time of our reservation; the restaurant was very loud and we were quickly wasting energy trying uselessly to be heard. It wasn’t much better at our table, but at the very least, the bar crowd was farther removed, where the lingering happy hour crowd was getting rowdy.
This was a fantastic opportunity to really get to know another couple, both members of which are WG ‘09s. One is a venture capital guru and the other an energy king, but both are true foodies, reverent and humble before cuisine. The truly great thing about going to dinner with such experts is that they write the reviews for you. Here’s an excerpt from one of our debrief emails (Oh, Wharton! How you have influenced me!):
“Parc is a pure Stephen Starr restaurant in all ways good and bad. The good includes an amazing location, the constant buzz of the crowd, service that was polite if not precise, and a menu that was evenly executed and diverse. The bad is perhaps more subtle, but includes food that at all times relies on being rich and decadent in order to be "good", which means that dishes can be overwhelmed by one or two dominant flavors, and sometimes are presented a bit blandly in terms of color and texture… All in all, worth a visit, but for pure foodies, as with most Stephen Starr places, you can probably find better fare, albeit, with less glamour.”
Between the four of us, we tried the petit plateau of iced raw oysters, clams, mussels, steamed shrimp, and crab. All were fine, except the clams could have been fresher (there’s really nothing worse than not-fresh clams). The escargot was not served in the usual plate with eight concave puddles for each snail and butter, but in an iron pot. The genius of this presentation was that there was plenty o f garlicky butter to coat infinite slices of baguette, which, by the way, was excellent. Perhaps some of the best baguette found outside of France. There was no cassoulet on the menu, and I settled with the beef bourguignon. Others had the branzino, lamb, and daily special bouillabaisse. And just as my dinner partner wrote, everything was lovely, but nothing was mind-blowingly spectacular. My bourguignon was flavorful, but a bit dry. My husband’s bouillabaisse had an interesting fennel-flavored twist to the broth, but we both agreed that we’ve had better.
Despite my string of mediocre comments, really, Parc was worth it. We had a very sympathetic, knowledgeable server (French-Canadian… close enough). The crowd was diverse in age and high on making the evening at Parc an oxymoronic pedestrian indulgence. In sum, we had a blast.
The wonderful thing about intimate dinners is that one gets to really know the players. And if at Wharton one of our main goals is to form relationships, to make the ties that will eventually help us in our professional endeavors, to network, then truly getting to know one another over wine and food is really the best way. Given the plentiful drinks, reasonable food, and small tables, Parc delivered.
Parc: 227 S. 18th Street, at Locust Street. (215) 545-2262.
Next Time: The Wharton Palette participates in the ultimate female past-time. No, not a pillow fight in lingerie at a sleep over. Rather, a group of us get together to celebrate a birthday by having a very boozy potluck dinner.
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