October 2, 2008
By: Brian Freedman
bfreedman@aroundphilly.com
I love a dirty cheesesteak as much as anyone; there’s something about that gristle-flecked grease running down my chin that makes me happy. And lunch from a streetside pushcart, all oil and fat and griddle-fried onions, satisfies in a way that little else in the world can.
But sometimes, something less grab-and-go is called for in the middle of the day, a meal more civilized, more well-considered, more…grown-up. That’s where Table 31 comes in.
Most of the press about George Perrier and Chris Scarduzio’s new project in the mammoth Comcast Center has focused on the dinner service, on the Flintstone-sized sides of beef that can be ordered as entrees, on the ways in which the restaurant has become a culinary anchor of sorts in a neighborhood desperately in need of one.
But little has been written about the lunchtime experience, which seems odd given that it is, after all, located in the ground floor of the city’s largest office building. Don’t members of the corporate class have to eat, too?
They do. And, it seems, they are, right here, just a quick elevator ride down from their cubicles and glass-enclosed aeries high above the sprawling courtyard.
It’s for good reason, too. This is a lunch that manages to find that perfect middle ground between comfort and power, between nice-break-from-the-workday-pressures and steakhouse-masculine. Its browns and earthy tones speak of clubbier climes, while splashes of reds seem to reference the more frenetic dealings up above. Even the ceiling, a Mondrian-like maze of rectilinear wooden beams running this way and that, nods in the direction of well-thought-out commerce. The space itself is brilliant.
And the lunchtime menu works in much the same way. Meats play their starring role, sure, but there’s also room for riffs on lighter French and American midday staples.
French dip, for example, was a delicious reworking—or, rather, re-editing—of the beloved classic. But here, instead of relying on an injudicious glopping-on of prepared horseradish and a side cup of lumpy brown glue, the sandwich was constructed of moist, iron-y prime rib, sliced thin but not so much that it wanted to shred, a thin sheen of pepperjack cheese and just enough horseradish cream to tickle the back of the throat. All of this was sandwiched between chewy, not-too-doughy ciabatta and served alongside a shimmery side cup of jus whose light body was a bit of a miracle when its deep savory notes were considered.
The nicoise salad, in much the same way, gently tweaked expectations in a way that rendered the dish both immediately recognizable and playfully different. In this case, all the expected components were there (tender fingerling potatoes; crunchy-soft haricots verts; sweet, slick roasted peppers), but the centerpiece, those now-quotidian slices of seared ahi draped over it all, were instead replaced with a generous helping of yellowfin tuna confit, a touch that brought a richer, more dramatic note than what’s normally offered.
The cavatelli with guanciale appetizer was large enough to serve as an entrée, the dense short noodles tossed in a sauce of tomatoes, bright olive oil and crispy little bits of guanciale, the cured meat of a pig’s jowl (and my favorite part of Miss Piggy, aside from the belly). And because it arrived pre-cheesed (the smart flurry of shaved pecorino had already been done in the kitchen), there was no cheese-decision-making necessary at the table, which is where too many pasta courses find themselves overwhelmed.
Even the vegetable spring rolls were conceived with grace, their whisper-thin wrappers encasing an assortment of vegetables that you could actually taste individually: snappy carrots, bright onions, earthy mushrooms. This, of course, is opposed to the mushy veg-like agglomeration more typical around town.
Some dishes, however, could use one more component to really complete them. The steak frites, though certainly a solid take on that classic with its restrained portioning and rib-sticking shallot red-wine sauce, needed a hint of green to balance out the headier notes. And the sautéed chicken breast was a touch on the dry side, though I think that was because it had been fired too quickly: As soon as appetizers were removed during one visit, entrees were brought over immediately.
Luckily, the mac-and-cheese gratin that came with it satisfied in every way it should have. A perfectly calibrated layer of breadcrumbs and cheese led the way to a savory, rich-but-not-cloying carb-heaven below that relied just as much on the texture of the noodles as it did on the addictive gooeyness of the cheese. In other words, it was a grown-up gratin, perfectly considered and executed.
Desserts brought lunch to a nice, occasionally wistful close, and served a more clear-cut chemical purpose, as well. After all that hearty food, you’ll need a sugary kick in the pants to get you through the rest of the workday. I’d recommend the pbj, a thoroughly adult take on the cafeteria classic that used chocolate raspberry ganache, peanut dacquoise, bright-sharp raspberry coulis and a velvety peanut mousse to brilliant effect. (Eat your heart out, Skippy and Welch’s.) The chocolate cake, too, worked magnificently in its dual nods in the direction of classic diner desserts and finer-dining, French-style chocolate tortes. Much like the French dip and the spring rolls, it offered pleasures that were both high-end and more basic. Which is exactly what a midday meal should do.
Photo courtesy of Philly News
