You could be forgiven for thinking Gayle was a typical Philly BYOB. It is very small, very close to South Street and has a clientele of bohemian foodies and aspiring trendsetters. But Gayle does have a wine list, and its entire page of domestic offerings is thoughtful and eclectic. What really makes Gayle unique in Philly is the postmodernism of its dishes, which bring mixed but always intriguing results.
Amongst the successes were the winter wings ($8) and the lobster roll ($12). The wings didn't neglect their duty as comfort food, but their sticky glaze of Moroccan spice and butternut squash made them all the more compelling. Similarly, the lobster roll was simple but inventive: chunks of lobster were enlivened by a coating of lavender mayonnaise, and ensconced in a homemade roll. Better still, the crisp risotto, truffle and soy ($8) was as clever and delicious an interpretation of arancini as you will find. Unlike the furry balls of risotto that are all too common, these were croquette-like in crunchiness and creaminess. They were accompanied by zesty and voluptuous sabayon, nicely studded with black truffles.
Some of the entrees, however, were not so good. It is difficult to craft something delicate and inventive and still fit the 'meat and potatoes' mold. The sirloin steak ($25) was flabby and cumbersome -- the meal's biggest disappointment. Its accompaniment, a deep-fried ball of molten Roquefort, exploded flatulently and was as tedious to eat as it must have been to prepare. While florid in description and appearance, "Chicken, Purple and Green" ($20) was monotone in flavor. The bird itself was gorgeously moist, but its purple component, a red-cabbage pesto, was neither cabbage-y nor pesto-y enough to really contribute.
Desserts (all $8) were also a little off-key, lacking the clarity and complexity of flavor that this kitchen is clearly capable of. "Breakfast" was especially culpable: a recklessly over-glazed piece of French toast and a confused pot de cr‹¨«me of whipped cream and mocha froth. The "ice-cream sandwich" was almost a practical joke, as three miserable triangles of soggy phyllo were slapped onto an admittedly glorious custard gelato. Sour cream and walnut apple pie was the notable exception. The walnut crust yielded invitingly into a fluffy cake, enmeshed with gooey apple compote. A side scoop of thyme ice cream counterpoised the unctuousness of the pie brilliantly.
Because many of the dishes are so unconventional, their shortcomings are extra glaring. Still, Gayle is a very good restaurant that hasn't yet fulfilled its potential or its lofty ambitions. Although already a worthwhile visit for the thrill-seeking gastronome, great things may be on the horizon.
