When Snackbar first opened back in 2006, it seemed to embody all the promise of a brand new food era for Philadelphia. Here, after all, was an alternative to the hegemony of the quaint BYOB; a sexy, pocket-sized restaurant helmed by a chef whose creativity and willingness to challenge his guests were every bit as notable as the unexpected, often delicious flavors co-mingling on any given plate.
Dishes like pork belly with slow-poached egg in dashi, and the much-swooned-over brussels and truffles with almond foam, were revelatory. They worked in ways that were both firmly grounded in the orthodoxy of flavor and balance, yet pushed the limits in terms of their constituent components, the ways those ingredients were manipulated and the final presentation at the table. Snackbar’s menu, at the time, seemed like nothing less than the clarion call of a new generation.
The problem with avant-gardism, of course, is that it doesn’t always guarantee a full dining room. (Neither does traditionalism, but at least in that case there’s a sense of bet-hedging.) So somewhere along the way, Snackbar changed. Its menu became, if not more traditional, then at least more approachable to those who might not want to be pushed so far at dinner.
Unfortunately, I can report now that Snackbar is a much less challenging restaurant that is more easily approached by the non-food-obsessed, and serving dishes that–in theory at least–retain some semblance of the old bravery without frightening the food-timid.The problem with this is that it doesn’t work half as well as the Snackbar of old.
Brussels sprouts with apple slices, batons of bacon the texture of rendered pancetta, and whole-grain Dijon constituted the highlight of the new, but lacked the sense of excitement and fine-tuned calibration that I expected. The dish was appealing, but nothing more.
Boneless chicken wings were more disappointing, especially considering the almost decadent tenderness that had been coaxed out of the; an almost sinful sense of softness that humble poultry is ordinarily not afforded. But all that carefully extracted mouthfeel was undermined by an inexplicably bland flavor.
Unexpected sophistication is one thing, but blandness is quite another, and in the best dishes they are 100 percent mutually exclusive. The fabulous boneless wings at South Street’s Supper have proved that.
Smoked potato soup with a poached egg was just perplexing; a thin, overly smoky bowlful that tasted little of anything else–even potato. And while the egg, plump and silky, mitigated some of that smokiness, the entire dish was so overseasoned that it was difficult to finish.
Entrees fared better, though even with them a sense of wan tentativeness was unavoidable. The scallops, adeptly browned and rendered sweet as a result, were just a bit overpowered by the smear of parsnip puree painted on the plate. But the interplay between the two flavors was undeniably interesting and while I was not blown away by the result, the excitement and sense of tension there piqued my interest, as well as my palate.
The hamburger, however, did not fare as well. The overriding theme here was savoriness, and the egg and deeply earthy mushrooms certainly forwarded that cause. But there was no sense of differentiation to set it off; no bright vegetal pop to enliven the sandwich, no piquancy, no liveliness. It was a huge portion, to be sure, and the flavors that were there succeeded in playing their appointed roles. But without something to counter them, they grew tiresome after a while.
Desserts worked better, especially the char-edged genoise with pineapple granita, a simple, sensational dessert that was just as refreshing as it was hearty. The so-called chocolate financier, though it was actually more a molten-center gateau au chocolat than anything else, nonetheless proved to be a winner as a result of its reliance on savory flavors as much as sweet.
The space is as appealing as ever (who doesn’t love dining near a fireplace?) and the service struck a nice balance between professional and friendly. The clientele, however, seems to have changed a bit. Now tending more toward the Rittenhouse pied-a-terre set than urban foodies, healthy tans, flowing man-hair, and chunky bracelets seemed to be de rigueur.
So maybe that’s the trade-off. A packed dining room and a less exciting menu, after all, are certainly better for business than their opposite. I just can’t help shake the feeling that the city has lost something as a result of that shift.
AroundPhilly Staff
