Life in the Philadelphia region (and beyond) from the ever-mobile desk of a Pennsylvania ex-pat living in South Jersey. Politics, sports, restaurants, food and drink reviews, family updates, considerations on celebrity, lots of photos and much more updated darn near daily.
Mr. Greengenes opened its 2012 schedule last night with a full house at PJ Whelihan's in Cherry Hill. As I watched Bryen and gang plug in and warm up, I was struck that I had been watching these guys (or some incarnation of them) pack bars and clubs since I was in college. They led us bar to bar at the shore like pied pipers in the summers of my young adulthood. My bachelor party culminated with me singing on stage with the band in West Chester.
Later on, after my marriage broke up, and I was looking for things to do on summer weekends without kids, MRGG brought me back to the Delaware beaches, rocking The Bottle & Cork and reminded me how much fun Sea Isle had been as a kid.
But last night, early in the first set, I leaned my tired 40 something year old body against the the wall behind the sound board and sipped a soda. The lights blasted through the smoky haze and '99 Red Balloons' gave way to 'Sweet Child of Mine' and 'Bohemian Rhapsody,' and I was taken further back than all that. To a time when we were just out watching our buddies play in the cigarette smoke of The Old State Tavern, or in a fraternity house basement, or in a high school gym in Garnet Valley.
Back then it was still Bryen leading the show, but Harry was on the keys before Joe, Rob was playing lead guitar, Timmy wasn't behind the kit yet, no one had wireless mics and Chicken had probably helped do the load out. Most of the people at PJ's last night weren't even out of diapers yet back then, 'Smells Like Teen Spirit' wasn't an oldie, Carlo still came out to see the guys play, and my name was the answer to a ZBT initiation quiz.
As the first set wrapped up and my soda was empty and my legs were aching, I decided that my night of nostalgia was over and headed home early. As I walked across the parking lot, a 20 something young woman called to me from a car where she was putting on eye makeup. 'Is it really packed in there?' she asked.
Yep. Twenty years later it's still really packed and everyone is still having a good time.
We hope you enjoyed trick or treating as much as we did! Medford really put out a great spread for the kids! There are some really spooky houses, especially our neighbor on Filbert Street and a very cool house on Branch Street that has scary speakers set up in the graveyard.
I was having dinner with some good friends the other night when I was reminded of a recurring scene from my life that still brings a smile to my face nearly 20 years later.
On most Sunday nights from 1992 until sometime in 1994, I sat with some real good friends in a wooden booth at a bar overlooking State Street in Media, Pennsylvania. Joclyn's Bar is still there, up a steep flight of wooden stairs into a gloomy series of rooms that was a dive then and is even more of a dive today.
Back then though, it was where a few of us serendipitously found a place where we ended the weekend and got ready for the week. A local folk singer-songwriter was the soundtrack of our Sunday nights, covering anything you wanted from Elvis to The Eagles, as long as you wrote the request on a dollar bill. John Flynn's originals silenced the din of the bar though, making us look sadly at the necks of our beer bottles, or wistfully out the windows, or even, sometimes, late in the evening, sing along.
There was Lisa the self-tipping waitress, whose hair ranged from 3/4 of an inch tall all the way to two inches and knew how to flirt just enough. We helped he move one hot summer day and helped her shovel her car out the night of the blizzard. We threw our money in the middle of the table and she took what she needed for the beer and a little for herself for each round.
Every now and then Bopper or Jim and I would try to bring someone new into the group, from my college friends to the women who would become our wives, but they never were really comfortable. It was a low key place back then and orders for Chardonnay were greeted with Lisa's bemused smirk. My college friends never understood the folk music thing and never came back for a second Sunday night.
Joclyn's is different now, John Flynn doesn't play there anymore and I had not thought about Lisa in years. Jim, Bopper and I have kids now, and we're too tired at the end of a weekend for Sunday night shenanigans. Still, there have not been too many places that I have hung out in that were as perfect in that moment as Joclyn's was on those nights.
The romantic poets were always my favorites, exalting us to take up the "carpe diem" banner and draw as much out of life as we can. This post isn't as much an homage to a those long-ago Sunday nights as much as it is a notation of the moment I realized how many others I had let past with treasuring them as deeply as I should have. We've all got a Joclyn's in our life that can help remind us.
We'd been trying to get into Zavino for a few months now. The consistent 90 minute wait times on Friday and Saturday nights were too much to ask with so many new places opening, so we kept moving on. This past Saturday night as Center City buzzed with the warm weather and the Phils drubbing of the Mets, we seemed to have gotten lucky.
After initially hearing that the wait was 'probably only a half hour or more,' we go the news that a deuce had just opened on the sidewalk and we could be seated right away! That was good news since the tiny, almost crowded dining room at Zavino was super-hot and way too noisy to hold a romantic conversation, and I had romance on my mind!
The wire table and chairs we were led to seemed perfectly adequate if a bit below standard restaurant quality. Our 'server' greeted us a few minutes later by explaining that Zavino had complimentary still or sparkling water. I asked if he was hustling nodding at the full restaurant and he faked a laugh and splashed some into our glasses and disappeared.
Time passed.
Our 'server' returned to ask what we want to drink. I asked him about what rye they use in the Sazerac cocktail on the menu. He looked at the sky and sighed. "No. It varies," he said. No offer to find out, no admission that it was odd he had no idea. I said ok, the Sazerac was fine. My lovely date ordered a Troeg's Dreamweaver and our 'server' stormed off. No inquiry about whether we wanted an appetizer, no refill on the water.
A few minutes later, the beer was dropped without comment or eye contact and we were left to gaze at the woeful 12 ounce mug of Dreamweaver that still managed a 2 inch head. More time passed and the exceptionally well-made Sazerac was abandoned to the table for my further contemplation. And we had plenty of time to contemplate those drinks. About about 20 minutes later, a hostess noticed four empty glasses on our table and refilled the water and too refill orders for the bar.
Then a strange thing happened. The 'server' showed up, and asked if we were ready to order. No. That's not the strange part. The strange part was that when I said yes, the hipster-turned-hopefully-soon-to-be-unemployed-waiter got his pad out, looked to his left and walked away as I ordered. I've never seen anything like it.
A full 33 minutes after he took our drink order, and after ducking past our table numerous times, the young miscreant finally decided we had waited long enough to be allowed access to actual food. We ordered appetizers and then had to nearly physically restrain him to put in our entree order at the same time.
After first getting the wrong food to the table, we got the grilled zucchini (her)
and the prosciutto (me) for our first course. We'd been on there more than an hour at the point both appetizers finally made it to the table. Sadly the food was not memorable. The zucchini was shockingly flavorless, in a melange of oil and grated pecorino and romescu cheeses served cold. The 7 delicate slices of prosciutto were a nice portion, but simply could not stand up to the scorchingly hot day they had apparently had.
We were starving, so we ate.
The pizzas arrived comparatively quickly, but still a few minutes apart.
I had the polpettini, which was a crispy pie with huge fresh basil leaves, provolone cheese, red sauce and near-microscopic veal meatballs. It was sadly average, and depressingly was the best food we had all night. My lady had the Kennett, with three different mushrooms over a bland white sauce and burnt crust.
Once again, we were starving, so we ate.
A few words about the restaurant itself. The door area is cramped, with the appetizer station immediately to your right as you come in. The tables are arrayed to the left, with windows onto Sansom Street. The bar is a fairly ample expanse of white marble for such a small room. You have to walk through the server area to get to the bathrooms, where the sinks are rather oddly outside the toilet rooms. The outdoor seating is along Sansom Street and is hampered by a narrow, sloping sidewalk. The fits and finishes of the spaces are very well executed and it has a nice atmosphere overall.
The upshot of the night is that we could have handled poor service or average (to below average) food, but not both. It's pretty clear that the ownership group is pushing the ability of the kitchen to get food out and the staff to serve the space they have. I assume that the problem is there are barely enough seats to make the space profitable and that the kitchen is undersized. The fix is to short staff the front and overwork the kitchen. I know the owner is the chef, but he's missing some of the fine points on quality control.
While I left a perfectly appropriate 15% tip, I will admit leaving a rather scathing note about our waiter with the hostess stand. Hopefully someone reads it. It's pretty bad when you watch another 2 person table get seated after you with the same waiter, get drinks, appetizers and dinner all before you and leave before you have gotten a check.
I generally don't read the reviews of a place until I wrote my own, but now that I do, apparently our visit may have been an isolated experience. I'm not sure it's worth going back to find out.
I recently said in this space that I thought that "There has been a subtle chilling effect on personal conduct that I
attribute largely to the prevalence of cell phone cameras and social
media sites."
Given last night's celebrations of the Phillies winning the National League Championship Series and the subsequent displays of public stupidity, i am forced to reflect that people are basically capable of anything when you add enough alcohol to the mix.
Hat tip to meech.one at The Fightins for the clip.
I've just come in after digging out from the huge amount of snow dumped overnight here in South Jersey by that massive storm that paralyzed the region yesterday and last night. Well. Not really. I'm really nibbling on chocolate chip cookies and thinking about what a great dinner we had last night.
We spent last night at Kitchen 233 on Haddon Avenue in Westmont. We went there a few months ago for drinks before heading out to another Westmont spot. As I left, I vowed to come back soon, having enjoyed a well-made absinthe cocktail and after looking longingly at the full page of entrees.
It's a stylish spot featuring top end seafood and steaks in a busy but surprisingly quiet dining room. I started with a very smooth California Zin that wasn't too much for the perfectly prepared Caesar salad. The dressing was the perfect blend of tangy and savory and the greens were crisp and freshly cut.
A large serving of medium-rare Maine scallops were advertised as 'day boat' and 'porcini dusted.' I'll assume the day boat part was true, but the dusting must have been microscopic, because I didn't see any. The flavor though was perfect and the texture was firm but not rubbery, and had a nice buttery braising on the outside. I generally eat everything put in front of me at a restaurant, especially one charging these prices, but the serving was large enough that I was full before the last scallop.
My companion raved about the seafood fra diavlo (too spicy for my palate) and our friends noted the excellent wild mushroom soup and the perfectly prepared signature salmon dish.
The table shared a huge trio of sorbets for dessert that had a bold mango, astringent lemon and sweet raspberry. I had held onto a bit of my zin to see how it did with the desserts and it held up very well, pairing surprisingly well with the mango and raspberry. Espressos all around prepared us for the ride home.
We lingered over dessert and chatted with our friends and were not bothered to move on. The staff was unobtrusive in setting up the room for the next day. The final bill with drinks and a 25% tip came to $205. That's a special dinner night for sure, but not a bad number for four people who felt well-served and happy with the evening.
We were among the last out at 9:45 but the warm bar area was still busy with folks drinking martinis and wine. The crowd was well-dressed, but had a local feel to it. I think it's a destination bar, not a place people come to on a regular basis, but I could be wrong.
This is a very good place for a special dinner. At the top end of the PJ Whelihan's empire, the folks running this place have worked out the kinks that Craig LaBan found in 2007. The Yelp reviews are all over the place, but when you weed out the odd experiences, the basic theme of pricey but excellent food shines through.
My final comment is that it was a night that was about being with friends and we all had a great time. The food and drinks paired well with the conversation and we headed out into a cold. wet night filled with warmth.
After a particularly intense meeting dragged on too late to let me get to John's baseball pictures yesterday, I decided I may as well stay put in the city and headed to the Grand Opening Party at the all-new Valanni.
The party was a lot of fun, with lost of small food to nosh on, flowing wine and free drinks from the kind folks at Jose Cuervo and Jason at PINK Vodka. Everyone was there from regulars like me to Kinky Jen, DJ Jon Gill and a million people I have never seen in the place. It was wild. The GF and I enjoyed the evening. Free booze is NEVER a bad thing.
Regular readers will know that Valanni is the spot I hang out at in the city when I don't have kids to care for or games to attend. It's always been a fun spot with excellent food. Last Fall, owner George Anni leased the space next to the 40 seat restaurant and began renovations to double the size of the restaurant and bar.
The renovations are complete, the new beer taps are flowing and the menu has been re-done. There's a party room in the back and 2 more bathrooms and you can't turn around without running into a new staff member. The matte black, faux-gator flooring is chic, the brushed aluminum chairs are beautiful (but rough on the back), and the decor is Stephen Starr like.
Change is rough on regulars of bars and restaurants. We come there because we lie the place the way it is, we're not looking for anything new. But Valanni had gotten a little shabby and it was time for renovations. The size was a problem too, with the bar crammed at happy hour and no place to host a group gathering. Anni saw that he had to adapt or die and like most restaurant owners, he saw bigger as better.
I love with the physical changes. I am sure Chef will make the new menu zing. The new staff will take a bit of getting used to. Long-time bartender Laurentiu Muras has moved on to open his own place over near Rittenhouse. Alex is headed back behind the bar. Staff turnover always happens as spring turns to summer.
All in all, it's still a great place for a meal, but we'll have to see how comfortable the bar is after the newness wears off.
As I sit here on the way into work (late again), I look to my left and have to smile. Stephen Starr's formerly-trendy Continental Old City is closed up tight this Wednesday morning, recovering for another nightly onslaught of partiers who will cross over from South Jersey tonight.
For now it's dark and quiet, but in 12 hours a barful of 20- somethings will be hoisting $12 speciality cocktails and sharing little plates of wasabi mashed potatoes.
As many of you know, I like to get dressed up and go out. While I am perfectly comfortable eating pizza and drinking Yuengling in my Jeans for Ellie's First Birthday (at Carin's last night), I also like to don the tux, grab a flute of bubbly and escort the lovely GF to a formal ball. One of the best every year is Hair o' The Dog.
I've been a few times over the years and will make a return this year on Saturday night, January 12, 2008 at the Hyatt Regency Penn's Landing. Headlining the event will be my favorite local band and my good friends, Mr. Greengenes. Something tells me Bryen will skip the tux.
It's a cool even, usually with good food and plenty to drink. In the past ladies rooms have been an issue, but i have been assured that the organizers have this one under control this year at the Hyatt. The crowd is wide-ranging from young hotties to The Guv. In my (ahem) mid-30s, I am solidly in the heart of the age range. It's black tie for the guys and the ladies come SERIOUSLY dressed up.
I won't say it's cheap. At $125 a head, it's at the top end of prices for Philly charity events, but it's worth it. The event benefits PAWS - The Philadelphia Animal Welfare Society this year.
I'd recommend you get your tickets early, especially if you are thinking about the VIP section option. I've waited in the past and been disappointed. Let me know if you are going, or what the other hot dates for the winter ball season are. I'll see you there!
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