The tendency, in any serious food town, is to focus on the newest restaurants. In a city like Philadelphia, where we find ourselves in the midst of a headlong rush to national dining prominence, such a temptation is even harder to avoid. After all, when it seems as if a new hot-spot is opening every week, or a new marquis-name chef is setting up camp all the time, the older places get pushed to the edges of the popular radar faster than Britney’s latest public meltdown.
And while that’s perhaps an inevitable consequence of any city’s transition from culinary adolescence to maturity, it is not always a healthy one. For sometimes, as is the case with Chef Michael Solomonov at Marigold Kitchen, the evolution never stops. And even though it may not be the first restaurant people think of when they’re looking for a nice, grown-up bite, it fills the bill more completely—and more interestingly—than many of the of-the-moment destinations everyone’s talking about.
It’s a phenomenon that was neatly summed up in an order of beef tongue I recently enjoyed. Brined, smoked, seared, and served in such a way that no attempt seemed to have been made to hide what it was—three thick slices of tongue on a plate—this appetizer brilliantly straddled the line between homey-Jewish comfort food and the best that contemporary cooking has to offer.
Anyone who’s ever visited Katz’s Deli on New York’s Lower East Side will recognize the flavors and textures here immediately, and the tongue reminded me of nothing so much as that famous deli’s thick-sliced hot corned beef. All that weighty richness, however, was cut, both literally and figuratively, by thin slices of pickled peaches, whose vinegar component prevented the tongue from overwhelming the palate.
Organ meats, of course, have seen a popular resurgence in the past year that is perhaps an inevitable result of the region’s burgeoning culinary consciousness: Where foodies go, offal follows. But not everything at Marigold Kitchen is quite as rich as that.
Cauliflower soup, just a touch overseasoned, was nonetheless a creamy (albeit creamless) and flavorful canvas upon which two crispy little falafel balls were highlighted.
Rare, thin-sliced, utterly wonderful venison medallions were rich with the flavor of iron yet not nearly as gamey as that meat can sometimes get. Because of this, it didn’t require the sweet-berry accompaniment that so many such preparations do, and instead benefited from a scattering of chanterelles and a tight little pile of sautéed kale and garlic. It was all joined by grape leaves that had been stuffed with basmati rice, ground venison meat from the flank, shallots, parsley, mint, and a bit of lemon juice.
These Middle Eastern and Jewish touches seem to be a direct extension of Chef Solomonov’s personal experience: Though he was raised in Pittsburgh and made his name in the kitchens of some of this city’s best restaurants, he was born in Israel, and maintains an abiding fascination with the foods of that part of the world. The influence of Israel’s—and the Middle East’s—gustatory heritage is apparent throughout the menu, but in ways that are likely to surprise even the most restaurant-savvy among us.
Super-tender chicken breast, for example, was pounded out and stuffed with exquisitely rich cured duck liver before being cooked sous vide and then given a quick searing in order to encase all of it in a gorgeous layer of golden-hued skin. (Sautéed fingerling potatoes with apples and bacon, of course, were departures from this Middle East ethos, but that’s what makes his cooking so exciting: Its seamless blending of traditions into something entirely new and noteworthy.)
Even desserts embodied this philosophy and practice of cultural blending. Konafi, a traditional Muslim dessert, was here composed of shredded phyllo that was mixed with cream and sugar and layered with smoky Valrhona chocolate fortified with mascarpone cheese. It was all baked in a tart pan, anointed with a bit of kumquat syrup, and crowned with a fabulously sour labneh (or Lebanese yogurt cheese) ice cream.
Pumpkin cake, roughly the shape and fluffy texture of a breakfast muffin, was paired with argan oil ice cream whose flavor was, if anything, vaguely reminiscent of nuts, but far more bitter than that (and far better for it).
Perhaps this is the kind of food you’d expect to find in this neighborhood: University City is one of Philadelphia’s great epicenters of exotic restaurants. But Marigold Kitchen, despite its wholly American vibe (hardwood floors, bright sage-colored walls, genuine and knowledgeable service), is, I believe, the first to take Jewish and Middle Eastern cuisine to this level.
With luck, though, it will not be the last. Because if what Chef Solomonov is doing here is any indication, this is a part of the world whose food has the potential to really shake things up on this side of the pond. The number of cultures it’s derived from, and the wide range of still-unfamiliar ingredients brought into the mix (so to speak) of its recipes, leaves an entire universe of uncharted territory, and untapped flavors, ahead. That makes Marigold Kitchen, no matter how long it’s been around, worthy of our renewed attention.
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