Snackbar
235 S. 20th Street
(215) 545-5665
As a senior, I've been working my way through Philadelphia's epicurean delights for four years now, and I think I've gone to practically every Italian BYO, Steven Starr and "best cheesesteak" contender in the city. The only place that was left on my left on my list was Jonathan McDonald's Snackbar, which showcases ever-popular small plates with high-concept execution. I'd even heard such phrases as "molecular gastronomy" tossed around, and I was excited to taste what I'd witnessed only on Top Chef.
The dining room didn't disappoint; a cut-out in the wall exhibited a small fire, a clever play on the deconstructed comfort food for which I'd heard the restaurant was famous. A chalkboard on the wall displayed the evening's menu in a distinctly minimalist fashion, listing two or three ingredients with little insight into the preparation.
Yet once we began ordering and eating, there was a noticeable sense that the restaurant had changed it's self-proclaimed concept. Rather than the titular snacks, there were "small plates" and "large plates," effectively mirroring any standard menu. And while practically everything we ate was delicious, nothing seemed to truly display the aforementioned innovativeness. Both oysters and mussels came as they would anywhere else; the oysters were fried on a bed of spinach, overdressed in bacon vinaigrette, and the mussels were served in a ceramic pot. To be fair, the mussels were perhaps the best I'd ever tasted. Served with hot Italian sausage, which gave the mussels a mellow yet spicy flavor, they were accompanied by perfectly charred bread to sop up the Pabst Blue Ribbon-based broth. The crab and scallop gyoza appeared unlike any I'd seen before - shaped almost like a mushroom - but the thick seafood interior was familiar and a bit soggy. Our large plate option was a complete success: the flavor composition of the duck with a subtle apricot glaze ($26) was a beautiful balance of sweet and savory. The closest I saw to avant-garde was our boneless bourbon chicken wings, which had been sous vided to tenderness but lacked bourbon's requisite sweetness. Our dessert of choice was a vanilla/bourbon crŠme br–lée with lime and cola pretzels. The dessert, which we had seen as our final attempt to witness Snackbar's reputed culinary creativity, appeared in an inspired presentation, but fell flat in the area of taste - the crŠme was far from creamy, and crushed pretzels added an incongruent twist.
Perhaps marrying the concept and taste was McDonald's original problem, and our menu the result of this. Or maybe we came in on an off night, as the menu changes frequently. Either way, I would return to Snackbar again, but with a caveat emptor: the food's sophistication may not reach the molecular level, but it is delicious nonetheless.
