Don’t call Butcher & Singer a steakhouse.
They do have "steak and chops" on the menu, sure. Lamb chops, creamed spinach and a wood-paneled bar serving real pisco sours would all seem to belong in a steakhouse, but this grandiose space has a few things more to offer its dinner friends. Jeanna Chandler, the general manager, makes sure the temperature of the restaurant is comfortable and the volume of the jazz pianists tickling the ivories is neither too loud or too soft. She works the budget sheet to allot enough for hydroponic tomatoes for the tomato and Roquefort salad are soft, fresh and juicy even in November. She hires servers with at least five years experience and takes time to visit the local meat suppliers that provide the prime cuts to the restaurant (B&S butchers in-house). Perhaps this is why, on a rainy Tuesday, each seat in the restaurant is occupied well into the night.
Don’t ask for a cocktail menu at the bar.
Bartenders wear perfectly pressed white shirts with jackets. This is the kind of bartender your grandfather would respect, one that knows how to make a proper Manhattan (rye whiskey, no cherries) and hold a good conversation. Suits gather around the candle-lit tables, one hand in their slack pocket, the other patting a friend on the back. There are older men, even ones with suspenders, and younger Jude Law lookalikes enjoying a solo steak at the bar. Women, both young and old, are dressed to the nines in classy sweater dresses, plaid skirts or fitted jackets. There is courting here at the bar, the old fashioned kind that required good conversation and single-ingredient cocktails.
Don’t be surprised it doesn’t look like Striped Bass.
The floor on each side of the main dining room has been raised and carpeted. The main dining room, while still bordered with power-lunch leather booths, is situated under two gold chandeliers from Le Fontaine Blue of Miami. The famous golden bass has been replaced with a golden bull’s head and the kitchen (now called the Bull pen) is closed off. There are plaid lamp shades, metal bull lamp stands, various wallpaper designs and a mural of dogs drinking and smoking in a saloon behind one of the mezzanine seating areas (the dog mural is a staff favorite).
Don’t order the pork chop.
"Stephen," as they call him here, has taken the time to serve Steak Diane (a curiosity for anyone living in Pennsylvania) and a real Delmonico steak. Just ask the overly knowledgeable staff about each cut if you’re unsure–"Stephen" even threw in the staple filet for those scared to tread into more marbled waters. You can even order the Lobster Newburg. But with a perfectly salted Delmonico sitting simply on a plain plate–just a few sprigs of arugula, no sauce, no fancy emulsion, no presentation whatsoever–there is really no excuse to come here to eat anything but what they do best. Start first with their best appetizers, such as the East Coast or West Coast oyster special of the day or the crab cake, which is full of lumpy meat–not bread-crumb filler–and served with thick slices of homemade coleslaw. The steak tartare reminds me of why I love being a carnivore: golden, crisp ovals of toasted, buttered baguette slices help you scoop into the mound of healthy-red tartare cubes spotted with capers.
Don’t take my word for it.
Try it yourself. And make sure to order a Manhattan.
AroundPhilly Staff
