Coenobium and Carbonara at Dell'Anima

A little padding in my schedule during a reasonably recent trip to New York afforded me the opportunity to head to the West Village for lunch at dell'anima. I'm not sure I would have ventured there if it weren't for having met the young sommelier and restaurateur phenom behind dell'anima, Joe Campanale, along with his mother Karen, when they trucked it down to Philly to co-host a Friuli wine dinner at Osteria, or if it weren't for having connected with both of them in the staccato realms of social media. As dellanimom, Karen snippets up a storm on Twitter on behalf of her son's establishments; it might sound kind of crazy-corny to some, I suspect, but she does a great job with it. We should all be so lucky as to have our moms out there canvassing for us—far more effective than the usual PR spin.

Anyway, back to dell'anima... I'm glad I made the journey. It's the kind of all too rare spot—I've written about a few others here in the past—that's worthy of destination dining but first and foremost provides a bastion of comfort and quality to its own neighborhood.  I was surprised at how cozy the dining room is: just a small bar, a dozen or so tables and an open kitchen.  Fittingly perhaps, I don't recall being awestruck or otherwise astounded by anything I ate that afternoon, just pleasantly sated by good quality food served in a very welcoming environment by a crew that pretty clearly cares about what they're doing.

Of course, it doesn't hurt that Campanale has put together a pretty sharp, all Italian wine list with some strong selections by the glass and welcome depth in the back vintage department for those ready and willing to explore (1971 Movia Ribolla, anyone?).



That by-the-glass program provided me with the welcome opportunity to continue my exploration of the pleasures of pasta carbonara paired with the white Lazio wines of the Monastero Suoro Cisterci, where Paolo Bea's son, Giampiero Bea, has been a consulting winemaker ever since the Sisters' first vintage in 2005.  Last time, it was Coenobium "normale" paired up with the traditional spaghetti alla carbonara at Otto; this time around, it was the more skin contact intensive version of Coenobium, called "Rusticum," poured to accompany dell'anima's tajarin alla carbonara.

The combination of tajarin (an egg-rich pasta style traditional in the Langhe) in place of spaghetti,  speck (native to Alto-Adige and the Südtirol) instead of pancetta or guanciale, and a whole, runny-when-forked egg yolk put a decidedly northern Italian spin on the Roman classic.  The overall conception and impact being similar, though, the carbonara was still Roman at heart, and the local wine (Coenobium is produced about an hour's drive north of Rome) was a crack pairing, the full body, grippy structure and oxidative nuances of "Rusticum" working quite well with the richness and creaminess of the dish.

Now all that's needed is a reason to find myself in the West Village at lunchtime again.  Soon.

 

Dell'Anima
38 8th Avenue
New York, NY 10014
(212) 366-6633

Intro only...

Trestle on Tenth

After years of hearing little other than praise for Trestle on Tenth—from the food, to the wine program, to the vibe—I finally made it there on a recent trip to New York.  You know what?  I wasn't disappointed.

Tucked away on an unassuming Chelsea corner, way out west on 10th Avenue, one might be forgiven for thinking of it as a neighborhood-only kind of spot.  Given the quality of its food (based on one meal and lots of said praise), the wine program and the vibe, though, I'd happily put it on the destination list, especially for those who value substance over flash and are satisfied by comfort and solid yet unfussy service as much as if not more so than by the grand dining experience.

Add to its own allure the fact that Trestle on Tenth sits in a quiet yet charming district, close enough to shopping and galleries to be convenient yet far enough away to escape the scrum, and I'd say it's a pretty good recipe for dining and imbibing happiness.  Appellation Wine & Spirits is just a few blocks down 10th Ave., as is a very cool little independent book shop called 192 Books, and a stairway up to the High Line is located withing crawling distance of T on T's front door.  Not a bad way to spend a Sunday afternoon—and exactly how I started mine.

It was one of those days when I wasn't inclined to check out a little bit of everything on the menu. No, what was needed was one dish, something comforting, something satisfying, something that called to me via the few words used to evoke its merits via Trestle on Tenth's admirably succinct menu descriptions.

That dish was duck confit hash with poached eggs and sauce béarnaise.  It wasn't all that pretty to look at (my flash didn't help), but my stomach didn't care.  It was delicious.  Hearty and heady, with expertly executed poached eggs beneath a generous dollop of bérnaise, all atop an already ample stick-to-your-ribs plateful of shredded duck confit and roasted potatoes.  If you're of the one meal a day ilk, look no further; I of course did eat dinner later that evening but easily could have done without.  A perfect one dish wonder it's not—the hash was a dab on the greasy side and the overall dish could have benefited from a shot of acidity to cut and balance its intense richness—but I wasn't complaining.  It's not exactly what the doctor would order... but it's exactly what I was craving.

Besides, there's always wine to help out in the cut and balance department.  Domaine Arretxea's 2007 Irouléguy "Hegoxuri" Blanc, one of the many fairly priced gems on Trestle's smart list, had the requisite acidity, muscle and savor for the dish.

I hear tell they do fondue, too....

Trestle on Tenth
242 Tenth Avenue
(at 24th Street)
New York, NY 10001
(212) 645-5659

Intro only...

Ma Fête, À la Maison

It's my party and I want to drink bubbly...*

Something of an occasion today, smack up against the Thanksgiving holiday, prompted a relatively impromptu and, as it turned out, quite civilized lunch.  The festivity, the time of day and, most importantly, my craving all called for something sparkling.  It turned out to be a great choice.

Crémant du Jura, Domaine Jean Bourdy N.V.
$21.  12% alcohol.  Cork.  Importer: Potomac Selections, Landover, MD.
This was my first time drinking Jean Bourdy's Crémant du Jura. It won't be the last.  Produced in the méthode traditionelle, it's a non-vintage cuvée based purely on Chardonnay.  A lovely nose of lightly toasted hazelnuts, brioche, pear and marzipan led do a palate much racier and brighter than aromatically suggested, all of which was finished off with a vaguely Chenin-like note of honey and beeswax.  Coursing through it all was a core of almost sweet minerality, with a tang to it that made me think there might be a little Savagnin at play.  The wine blossomed with food, yielding some of the generosity to which its aromas had alluded.  What became crystal clear as we drank the bottle with lunch is that we were enjoying an excellent Jura wine, one that spoke clearly of its place, that just happened to be sparkling — not a sparkling wine for sparkling wine's sake.

The soupe a l'oignon served at À la Maison, the bistro we'd chosen for our mid-day repast, proved a natural match with Bourdy's Crémant du Jura.  Though Gruyère, the cheese traditionally used for French onion soup, may technically be of Swiss origin, it is of very much the same style and proximal place as Comté, arguably "the" classic match with the white wines of the Jura region.  You won't find me arguing.... The sweet nuttiness of the cheese, the deeply caramelized onions and rich broth all brought out the earthy, round aspects of the Crémant.  Truly a lovely match.

The poulet vol au vent at À la Maison, even though the dish was arguably a bit under-seasoned, also worked wonders with the wine.  Between the light cream sauce, buttery accents courtesy of puff pastry, earthy mushrooms, the delicate protein of white meat chicken, and fresh herbaceousness via tomatoes and asparagus, we were again in a sweet spot when it came to the meshing of wine and food.  I'd like to try the dish again, at a time when tomatoes and asparagus are actually in season (and when the person in the kitchen has a freer hand with the salt and pepper ), but even now it was a lovely foil to the wine, not to mention quite a comforting meal on a chilly November afternoon.

À la Maison
53 West Lancaster Avenue
Ardmore, PA 19003
484-412-8009

* * *

* To be sung to the tune of:

Intro only...

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

Intro only...

Halloween Brunch at North Third

With no offense intended to our eventual destination, when we set off toward Northern Liberties at midday, it was a late breakfast we had in mind, at the downhome/Jewish all-day mash-up that is Honey's Sit 'n' Eat. Oddly enough, I've only been to the breakfast-centric Honey's for dinner. Now I know why I've been avoiding it at breakfast/brunch time, at least on weekends. Apparently it's the NoLibs equivalent of Morning Glory. The thirty-five minute wait the host cited looked, from the mass of humanity lined up on the "payment" (yeah, I know, it's not South Philly), more like it would be an hour and thirty-five.

So on we went. Heading east along Brown Street it wasn't long before North Third came into focus. Not having eaten there in ages, we figured it was due for a spin. Not a bad decision in any respect as it would turn out. Though things were bustling here, too, we were able to snag a couple of prime seats at the bar. After a scan of the menu and a quick glance at the taps, I suddenly found myself craving something more savory than I'd been thinking when we set out earlier in the day. Turns out my dining companion was thinking along the same lines. Having a hard time deciding between the two most appealing items on offer, we realized there was no need to choose. Just order them both, and a couple of pints (it was after noon by now, after all) to wash them down.

Apparently a new addition to the menu for the Halloween weekend, North Third's breakfast cassoulet was quite satisfying, definitely deserving of a regular spot in the rotation. At the dish's core was a tender yet still toothsome combo of white beans and black eyed peas, slow cooked and deeply infused with the woodsy, porky influence of double-smoked bacon. A generous dusting of toasty breadcrumbs was a nice touch, traditional yet also working in the breakfast theme, especially in company with the two over-medium eggs that topped the dish. My only gripe? If you're going to list duck confit and polish sausage among the cassoulet's ingredients, then there should be some confit and sausage; I was hard-pressed to find any evidence of either. That said, it was an $11 dollar brunch plate, not a $20 pièce de résistance, and the dish was tasty enough to please without them.

Chili and eggs holds a regular place on the brunch menu at North Third, and represents a repurposing of one of the more popular items on the dinner menu at this comfort-food-centric spot. The serving size made the cassoulet seem petit in comparison but that's okay; it meant we had leftovers to take home for lunch the next day. Working from the bottom up, we're talking about a generous portion of moist, honey-sweetened corn bread, followed by a couple of over-medium eggs, then a generous ladling of meaty chili, topped off with a little melted cheddar, and accompanied by some pretty well executed roasted potatoes. The pile of condiments (jalapeños, salsa, sour cream) seemed unnecessary to me given the ample flavor of the chili. Again, just one gripe: rosemary is a good seasoning choice for chili, but either put a whole sprig in the pot and then remove it before service or chop the needles; unexpectedly chawing down on a whole needle really isn't all that pleasant.

The bar was decked out for the halloween weekend, which, along with the natural light flowing in from the windows along Third and Brown, made it the most inviting (to me, at least) spot in the restaurant. Though my pint of Victory Festbier was a bit imbalanced toward the sweet malt end of the spectrum for my tastes, it worked fine with the hearty fare and seemed too appropriate not to drink given the October-ending occasion.

Is North Third a destination restaurant? Nope. But it, or a spot like it, would be a welcome neighbor in most any hood.

North Third
801 N 3rd Street
Philadelphia, PA 19123
(215) 413-3666

Intro only...

We Met in Eataly But Ate at Otto

Rain dances be damned. When I'm preparing for a trip to New York, it's the sun dance you'll find me performing. My favorite mode of locomotion 'round Manhattan, after all, is my own two feet. There really is no better way to see and truly experience New York, or any similarly concentrated city for that matter. Cycling comes close — you're still very much in touch with the feel, flow and energy — but only walking exposes you to all of the elements that make up any city's true essence.

It's not as if I'll melt in the rain — I'm not quite that wicked — but even the old school guy that I am doesn't really enjoy going on open-ended strolls through the city during a downpour, heck, not even during a steady sprinkle. So, what to do when visiting NYC and the sun dance fails? It's the perfect time to find a good spot for lunch, or any other repast, and to make a long and languorous one of it. That's just what my friends and I did on a recent rainy Monday. After a late morning stroll through the commercial glitz and food hall excess that is the recently opened Eataly, we decided to keep things Batali-esque for lunch. We headed further down Fifth Avenue, to Otto. And yes, we walked. Rain be damned.

An extremely well executed Caffè Vergnano espresso macchiato was a highlight of our Eataly walk-through; even the price (sub $2) was right. Pricing questions aside, the macelleria also looked none too shabby.

I must admit, the man, the empire that is Mario continues to mystify me. His original show, Molto Mario — you know, the one where he actually cooked — was one of my favorites of the early Food Network days. His first book, Simple Italian Food: Recipes from My Two Villages, published in 1998, remains one of my go-to cookbooks for everyday use. Yet I've been consistently underwhelmed by my visits to his dining establishments, from a forced-pace march through an over-flavored meal in the early days at Pò to a largely disappointing, relatively more recent experience with a multi-course meal at Babbo. As our trip suggests, I'm still not ready to give up.

So, back to Otto.... As it turns out, a rainy Monday afternoon is a great time to go. The barroom, as the pics below attest, was all but deserted. Just a small, rotating handful of regulars and passing businessmen in to grab a quick bite at the bar itself. Not sure I'd want to be there on a busy day but, on this day, all was peaceful. Sitting at the bar was a great way to get a read on the place, or at least to get a sense of its soul, on such a quiet afternoon. There's something convivial about sharing food back and forth, interacting with the bartender and sitting within view of both the front door and the kitchen, especially when compared to the more awkward scenario of sitting at a table in a near empty dining room. Anyway, we were looking to share, linger and relax. The bar was a good call.




Hanging at the bar aside, we'd all come with one thing in mind: pizza. That said, after meat, meat and more meat (followed by deep fried pork belly) at Bar Boulud the night before, we were all kind of craving some veggies. To our relative delight, it turned out that vegetable antipasti are something of a specialty at Otto. The funghi misti, cauliflower “alla Siciliana,” and radishes with bagna cauda were all quite good, satisfying that colonic call for something fresh and crunchy.





As one of my dining companions, Joe, has already pointed out, the pizzas at Otto are made in the Roman style, with a thin, fairly stiff and relatively un-risen crust, somewhat reminiscent of a cross between matzoh and fresh-baked pita. While I tend to favor the Neopolitan style, the nice char the pies receive on the grill brings out the best possible flavor from what the Roman crust has to offer. Though I could (and will) quibble with each pie, all were in essence fairly solid and easy to like. The sauce on the margherita was too tomato-paste-y for me; we all questioned whether the egg on the pane frattau should have been cooked before being placed on the pie (at least the yolk was still runny); and there was arguably a bit too much cheese on the cacio e pepe. The latter pie was my favorite, a comforting riff on the classic Roman pasta dish, taking its flavor from the simplest of ingredients: good sheep's milk cheese and a generous application of cracked black pepper.

To wash it all down? A bottle of Giovanni Almondo's 2009 Roero Arneis "Vigna Sparse;" a ripe vintage for Giovanni and Domenico, it's pleasingly plump at the moment yet still has that classic Arneis minerality and salinity hiding under its baby fat. Look no further the next time you're wondering what to pair with roasted and/or marinated cauliflower — a simply delicious combo. And think about it — or another clean, racy white like it — the next time you're doing pizza night. I sometimes feel like vino rosso gets more than its due attention when it comes to pizza pairing. The all Italian wine list at Otto, by the way, is far deeper than one might expect of a fairly casual, pizzeria-themed spot. Even more surprisingly, the wine prices, though not always cheap, are quite fair. There's particular strength in Piemonte — especially Barolo and Barbaresco — with an equitable balance between traditionalist and modernist producers.

After three antipasti and three pizzas one might think we'd have been ready to call it quits. During the course of our meal, though, we'd spotted not one but two different gents eating some mighty fine looking pasta at the bar. Turned out they'd both ordered the spaghetti alla carbonara; we felt absolutely compelled to do the same. Again, a good call. The pasta was dialed in — rich but not overly heavy, with an excellent chew, a deft hand with the saucing and a generous though not over-the-top dose of pancetta.





Now, back to the merits of sitting at the bar.... Our bartender, Eric, had been taking great care of us all through the meal, jumping into our conversation when invited (something we all welcomed), offering up sage advice on the menu, and generally making us feel at home. When we ordered the carbonara, he went digging behind the bar and emerged with an offering — something he thought would be regionally appropriate for our dish. I think he was kind of hoping to turn us all on to something new but he seemed just as pleased to find that we all knew the wine in question: the 2008 vintage of Coenobium, produced by Sisters of the Cistercian order at a monastery in Vitorchiano (about an hour north of Rome), under the guidance of Giampiero Bea. A killer pairing with the pasta and a much appreciated gift from our fine caretaker. Again echoing "the little brother I never had" (do read Joe's post — it's scary how much we sometimes think alike), give that man a raise, Mario!

It was still raining when we left but, somehow, I think we all minded a little less.

Otto
One Fifth Avenue (at 8th Street)
New York, NY 10003
(212) 995-9559


Eataly
200 Fifth Avenue (at 23rd Street)
New York, NY 10010
(646) 398-5100

Intro only...

Ippudo New York

Though my stops have been relatively few and far between, I'm intent on slowly working my way through visits to what are widely considered some of the top spots in Manhattan for ramen. Rai Rai Ken came first, followed by Momofuku and Ramen Setagaya (which is now known as Ramen Kuidouraku). Earlier this week, just before crossing town and jumping the train back to Philly, I added Ippudo to the list; really, though, I should say we, as I was back in action with Joe and Nattles, the same crew from last fall's visit to Setagaya.

While I think it's fair to say that Momofuku has the most urban vibe and frenetic energy of the bunch, it's Ippudo that slots in as the least casual, most typically restaurant-like — from its menu to its service, and from the snazzy decor to the generous table sizes and spacing. That's all reflected in Ippudo's prices, the highest of the bunch when it comes to what we'd all come for: ramen.

Of the several renditions of ramen available, I opted for the Akamaru Modern: 'The original tonkotsu' soup noodle with Ippudo's special sauce, pork belly chashu, cabbage, kikurage, scallions, miso paste and fragrant garlic oil. As the picture above does a reasonable job of conveying, Ippudo's broth is opaque and fairly deeply miso-enriched. It's intensely savory, almost too much so, as I found it hard to get through the whole bowl of broth (in fact, I didn't). The noodles, though excellent in terms of flavor, flexibility and silkiness, could have used a bit more oomph in both the tooth and girth departments in order to stand up to their dark, heady bath.

Back to those prices — if you're going to fork out $13 for lunchtime ramen, you may as well throw in an extra three bucks for the "set," as that modest upcharge will net you a nice little soy-ginger dressed salad and a surprisingly substantial side. Of the four available choices, I went with the broiled eel, classically prepared and set atop a bowl full of slightly sweet sticky rice.

I'll return to Ippudo without a doubt. Overall, it was a more than satisfying experience. I'll even go for the ramen again; I liked it more than my description above may have made it seem. That said, I'll go at dinner rather than lunch, or on a day when I'm feeling the call of the bottomless pit. Perhaps on a wintry day, when that slightly out of balance richness may be brought into check by the elements. Conversely, I won't go when I'm craving that certain ramen fix, something I'm much more prone to at lunchtime, when I'm usually looking for simplicity, lightness, comfort and a sense of being left energized at the end of the meal. For me, I'm coming to learn, that means shio ramen, served in a no-nonsense setting.



Ippudo NY
65 Fourth Avenue
New York, NY 10003
(212) 388-0088

Intro only...

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

Intro only...