Grange Days

A local dining experiment produces curious results.


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Published: Nov 7, 2007

it's my nuts in a box: The complimentary pre-meal spread at Citygrange ï¿½ perhaps the only bread basket in Philadelphia to feature a nutcracker.

Michael T. Regan

IT'S MY NUTS IN A BOX: The complimentary pre-meal spread at Citygrange — perhaps the only bread basket in Philadelphia to feature a nutcracker.

(CLICK IMAGE FOR LARGER VERSION)

Along with the standard basket of bread, most restaurants will lay some butter on the table to keep you happy until the appetizers come. Some places provide olive oil. Some add a flask of balsamic vinegar.

Citygrange brings you a nutcracker.

It comes in a compartmentalized wooden tray whose cargo resembles the gleanings of a hunter-gatherer who stopped in at IKEA on her way to the woods. Unshelled almonds, walnuts and hazelnuts accompanied a ripe pear and a few other tidbits during my visit. And that was by no means the only unusual thing about the Westin Hotel's new restaurant. But then what else would you expect from a place named after a political movement that peaked in the 1870s?

In historical terms, the Grange was a sort of farmers union that fought railroads and grain warehouse monopolies in an effort to reclaim the economic muscle that was vanishing from rural America. The organization has outlasted the Progressive Era it helped to spawn, yet its true modern-day heirs are the small organic farmers for whom Big Agribusiness has become the real foe. They, of course, provide much of Citygrange's raw materials.

Local food at an upscale restaurant is certainly nothing new, but as the pre-meal nutcracker suite hinted, Citygrange makes something of a fetish out of it. On the whole, that's a good thing, especially for a reasonably priced place catering to out-of-towners. Hotel dining can get pretty generic, so it's good to give visitors a taste of aged Pennsylvania cheddar and chickens from Lancaster. I brought along a California martini fiend who was happy to discover Philly's own Bluecoat gin. (The unsolicited arrival of three extra stuffed olives didn't hurt, either.)

Yet the dishes were a mixed bag. When things were kept simple, the result was often delightful. I can't remember having better sugar snap peas, which were sautéed and dressed with walnuts and local butter. And a stack of low-country corn fritters, more like gooey pancakes than fried-dry lumps of dough, burst with fresh kernels that addicted me at once — though the loose texture didn't win universal admiration.

Fried calamari came with delicious renditions of lemon aioli, a zippy mustard sauce, and a romesco that jumped with the flavor of stellar red peppers. A wild striped bass entrée found the fish slightly overcooked, but paired with an expertly done smoked tomato coulis.

Paradoxically, however, the kitchen fared less well when it folded its local ingredients into a more traditional local cooking style. Case in point here was a very heavy casserole in which heirloom tomatoes and local eggplant were absolutely buried in a goat cheese from Apple Tree Farm. How it is possible to pack this much artisanal cheese into a $15 entrée is beyond me, as is an explanation for why anyone would want to try. The flavors were perfectly good, but two bites and your stomach started to cry uncle.

A side gratin of scalloped potatoes was also disappointing. The cave-aged cheddar melted over the thinly sliced discs probably would have been tastier at room temp, and the dish needed salt and pepper before going into the oven, not just after.

It sure was a big portion, though, which points up an imbalance in Citygrange's menu. Entrées come without accompaniment, and separately ordered sides are big enough for three or four normal-size portions. The wait staff is friendly and sets a pleasantly unhurried pace, but they could do a better job of explaining this awkward combination of normal entrées and family-style sides.

Lacking an adequate briefing, my party was in no shape to order dessert by the time that menu came — even after sending another dinner's worth of food into a doggy bag. Skipping out on the tempting chocolate chunk bread pudding and a dozen interesting cheeses, we split a milkshake instead.

Luckily, this was a blessing in disguise. Our waitress sold us on the chocolate mint variety, and a few minutes later I saw her carrying a tray of fresh mint toward the kitchen. When it reached our table — split between in three glasses, which was thoughtful — the greenery had been shredded into invisible bits of pure flavor that married with chocolate and hazelnut better than I could ever have imagined.

Not all of Citygrange's ideas pay off, but a couple hit the jackpot. Here's hoping they iron out the wrinkles. If the execution catches up to the concept, this could be the kind of big-hotel dining a townie can get behind.

(t_popp@citypaper.net)