Meet Dave

David Katz doesn't care what you think about him. You'll love his food regardless.


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Published: Sep 30, 2008

Michael T. Regan

CORNERED: Chef David Katz gets the lay of the land at 22nd and Spruce, home of his new restaurant, Mémé.

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It was love at first taste when I met David Katz. Not just because Restaurant M's chef was doing novel new American cuisine. It was also because he spoke how he cooked — bluntly, quirkily, honestly. Even if it meant getting up someone’s nose. I can’t remember whose food we were discussing, but Katz snarfed at the flowery complexity. "There's not a lot of stuff on the plate or words on my menu," he told me dryly.

M, in the Morris Hotel, didn’t last. Shame. It was one of Philly’s stateliest nooks, and with Katz’s equally refined cooking as its centerpiece, it became a culinary highlight of 2006. In August 2007, Katz wound up at Mark Bee's Silk City. He left in mid-September.

Less than a year later, Katz's name came up in connection with a solo space that would replace Sandy's Luncheonette at 24th and Locust. Soon after that news hit, Katz and realtor Andrew Krouk began facing neighborhood resistance. So Krouk opened up his property — the Spruce Street corner that formerly housed Melograno — and invited Katz in for what would become Mémé (may-may), which opened on Monday. Now, I can question Katz about being his own chef, how he managed to get Hunter S. Thompson illustrator Ralph Steadman to craft Mémé’s logo and what sort of food a Jewish-Moroccan gentleman will prepare for his first self-dictated shot.

City Paper: I know you from first from M. But before that, you were at Lula and Salt. Would you say the experiences were good — with owners and with chefs?

David Katz: The experiences were good and bad. I learned a lot at Salt from Vernon Morales, and I learned a lot about how to be a chef with independence at Lula. Owner-wise, I had bad experiences with both — pretty prime examples in each case of people owning restaurants that have limited to no restaurant experience. But I take from bad situations, always. You can't learn a lot in any craft if you don't see what bad looks like. You have to have an example of what not to do.

CP: Simplicity is your key, if I remember correctly. You told me, "I just strive to keep it simple and technique-driven in taste and in design." Where does that come from? Were you always so to the point? Does that come from your family, or was it developed in the biz?

DK: Kind of a family thing, because they aren't short or simple. They drove me toward this. Kidding. No, not really — Moroccan Jews are loud. It's mostly a learned thing. I've always respected simple cuisine and a no-bullshit approach. Really contrived, played-with food isn't for me. I've cooked in those kinds of places and learned from them, but when it comes down to it, I just like simple food. Simple food cooked well is by far better than doing too much to food and leaving all that room for error. And for what? Who really gives a shit about what food looks like? I make a dish look presentable for sure, but I don't need to use ingredients that don't belong on the plate just for decoration.

CP: Where are you from, exactly?

DK: I'm from a small neighborhood called Del Haven in Cape May County, right between Wildwood and Cape May on the mainland. Part of my no-B.S. approach comes from growing up there.

CP: Did you want — before Mémé — to own your own restaurant, or was owning and running something you thought was better left to the business guys?

DK: Oh, always. Years ago, wiser people than myself taught me that owning is the ultimate goal. You need to have complete freedom, not just some. Chef-owned places are always my favorite, and anybody who takes food seriously sees it this way. I've worked in places where the chef was and wasn't the owner, and there is a big difference.

CP: What was more of a blow: losing M or losing Silk City?

DK: Losing M indeed. Silk City meant nothing to me. A guy I knew had a great little forum to do cool shit in, and he asked me to do it. I said yes, noticing the possibilities of the situation, and embraced it. He changed his mind from wanting to create a unique, cool-ass dining experience that doesn't exist in Philadelphia to wanting the same old mindless bar food that is on every corner.

M's loss I felt for a while. I really threw myself into that place. Seeing all of those possibilities … they were endless. That place was almost a dream, the courtyard, the brick hotel. It was beautiful, and I built a strong team and philosophy there. We had a little family going at M. My son was born on the next block while I worked there — a lot of emotional attachment to that place and what should have been. But owners that had a shiny new toy and didn't know how to use it brought that to an end. But, fuck it. It was what it was, and again I learned from a bad situation.

CP: I'm still uncertain what happened at Silk — there was so much weird talk, on the press end and the eaters' end.

DK: Well, it definitely didn't slow me down in any way. I barely had my bag unpacked. What happened there was no biggie and wasn't what all those blogs made it out to be. The owner changed his mind about the food. Period. I wasn't gonna hang around and cook quesadillas.

CP: What reputation do you feel you have in this city of food refinement?

DK: I'd say other chefs that know me respect me for the cook that I am. If it's guys that know me, they know I'm the most unpretentious dude out there. Restaurant owners that know me might have mixed views about me — mostly because I say what I think. I used to be sort of a wild card, but it's passion that drives me. I've always been a focused person with a strong head. And I'm sure there are some people out there that read blogs and gossip pieces and might think bad things about me, but I could give a shit. As far as my rep with the "foodies" of town goes, I'm pretty confident that the ones that have eaten my food are on board. At least that's what they tell me.

CP: What happened with Sandy's? We heard "liquor license." Was that to have been the same concept that Mémé is?

DK: We actually won the liquor license hearing. There just ended up being a problem in the negotiations of the building. And yes, that was going to be Mémé, but with an actual bar to sit at. Neighbors did actually appeal again after we had won the hearing, but I think we could have straightened that out.

CP: Why the name Mémé?

DK: It's how we call "grandmother" in my family, and my Mémé was all about cooking food. She was a great cook and food always meant a lot in my family. It's homage to her because spiritually, she's why I've been cooking more than half of my life. I think the name fits, too, because it is very simple and short, and has just a warm family kind of feeling to it. It's a good name for an unassuming little neighborhood place like this. And also my mother is my son's Mémé.

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CP: I know a little about the logo — it’s one of Ralph Steadman’s traditional strange angry drawings with these flourishes of what look like a hen and olive oil drops. What did it cost you, if I may be so bold? What was the arrangement?

DK: Yeah, there is a quail, a snail, some water, and some cow eyes in there. Man, it was great going through what I had to go through to get him to do this. He has always been pretty much my favorite artist and I still can't believe it sometimes that he did this. I don't really want to disclose how much it cost because cost is the least important thing about this. It's just art between an artist and a fan, that's all.

CP: Why does Steadman's drawing embody what you do for your first solo venture? What did you send Steadman about the concept that got him?

DK: It embodies what I do because his style is aggressive but controlled, and that is beautiful to me. Ink spatter is one of my favorite things in the world — just daring and challenging and says, "I'm doing whatever I want!" I've known for some time that he is a fan of wine and food, so I thought he'd give me a chance. I just explained to him that my place was going to have a lot of soul, and told him why I was naming it Mémé, and about how I use good local ingredients, wild fish, game, natural meats and there is no corporate mentality about it. Just a young guy trying to express himself in a little restaurant — not trying to change the world. I tried to relay my passion for my craft to him, and I think he bought it.

CP: What is Mémé's concept in terms of the culinary?

DK: New American is the concept. Concepts and tags get on my nerves, but for the sake of categorizing the place, new American fits. It's going to be rustic and very simple this time, though, not quite as high-end or refined [as] M. I want to make food people would come eat three days a week. Simple flavors that make sense.

CP: Can you share a few menu items without giving away the store?

DK: Sure. Foie gras and sweet onion tart with apples and sherry-maple glaze. Top sirloin tartare with salty chips and a quail egg. Sautéed skate with slow-cooked tomatoes and tapenade. Roast lamb leg for two with ratatouille and potatoes. Espresso pots de crème with orange confit.

CP: Thanks for arranging my first full meal. Are you your own worst critic?

DK: I'm not my worst critic because I like my food. I may be my toughest critic, though, because I'm a perfectionist. Marco Pierre White has said, "It's hard having people who don't know half as much about food as you do criticizing your food."

(a_amorosi@citypaper.net)

Mémé, 2201 Spruce St., 215-735-4900, memerestaurant.com.