Cher. Donovan. Brangelina. Some single-word monikers say it all. (In the aforementioned cases, and in order, they mean the following: plastic surgery, injury-prone, and adoption.) But Bliss, the suburbanites’ favorite on Broad Street-what does its name say? I have no idea, and neither, probably, does anyone. Its identity, alas, has always tended to remain a mystery.
The truth is this: There are restaurants in Philadelphia that cause me no small amount of bliss-an eye-rolling, toe-curling, primate-esque grunt-communicating kind of happiness. But Bliss ain’t one of them.
It’s perfectly good, of course: The food is tasty if unexciting, the service is friendly, and the atmosphere always makes me feel like I’m an extra in the photo shoot for the cover art of the latest Amel Larrieux album. But I still don’t understand why all the national magazines insist on covering it when they profile “the hot new Philadelphia.”
The truth is, Bliss is neither hot nor new. It’s been rolling along in the same fashion for years-reliable, inoffensive, and slightly boring.
The menu is a veritable cornucopia of disparate dining traditions, though we decided to start off classically…in Asia. The spring rolls were nicely presented in a tiny bamboo steamer basket, pleasantly crunchy on the outside, and filled with a tasty combination of shrimp, cabbage, and other goodies. There were two of them, perfect for an appetizer in the truest sense of the word: They piqued our appetites without killing them.
But the entrees sounded better than they actually were. The Moroccan salmon was gently seasoned and featured, among things, white raisins-a nod in the general direction of Morocco. But it was lacking that Near-Eastern pop that I’d expected. Maybe I’m jaded, or maybe I just wanted something a little more exciting. I’d call it Moroccan Lite.
And the duck breast, which arrived at the table closer to medium than medium-rare, was a perfectly serviceable bird, but nothing more. The highlight of the dish, actually, was the sweet potato purée, an almost ethereal take on duck’s classic companion, and a nice counterbalance to the meat’s richness.
As far as desserts, the financier was excellent-crumbly, just sweet enough, and perfectly portioned for two people to share without having to feel like they gorged themselves. But by that point I had the feeling that we were getting close to our budgetary goal, so I ended the meal there. No coffee. No second dessert. No postprandial glass of wine. But still, with tax, tip, and two glasses of wine over the course of the meal, the bill came to $115.44.
All told, Bliss serves a very specific purpose, and as long as you go into a meal there with a certain set of expectations, then you’ll be just fine. If, for example, you’re a local restaurant groupie (like so many people seem to be these days), then Bliss is not for you. A meal there will likely leave you underwhelmed. But if, say, your parents are coming to town, and they want the Philadelphia dining experience without having to deal with the occasionally icky ingredients and somewhat avant garde preparations that we’re known for these days, then Bliss is fine.
You’ll have a perfectly good meal, your folks will be impressed, and you’ll all leave dinner happy. Like I said, Bliss is good, but it sure as heck isn’t blissful.
Bliss, 220 S. Broad St., Philadelphia, 215.731.1100; www.bliss-restaurant.com
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AroundPhilly Staff
