Barrel Roll

Cooperage brings a little modern Southern charm to Center City.

by Elisa Ludwig

Neal Santos SUPER COOPER: Batter-fried Florida gator bites and ancho-dusted flank steak are two highlights on chef Ralph Kane's modernized American Southern menu.

[ review ]

I encountered my first boiled peanut a couple weeks ago at Cooperage, a wine and whiskey bar that opened last spring in the Curtis Center. A handful of them arrived in a little white dish inside an oblong tin bucket lined with brown paper, a pleasant surprise of a cocktail courtesy. The soggy shells opened with a crack on the teeth, oozing dark brine. With further delving, the legume meat slipped out of its encasement. It was velvety soft, with a mineral tang of salt, more creamy than crunchy, more bean-y than nutty. My friend and I proceeded to attack the rest of the bowl. How, I wondered, had these little treats eluded me for so long?

The answer was obvious. I live in Philly, where sub-Maryland fare makes only fleeting appearances on the restaurantscape, mostly in the form of barbecue. When Crescent City closed a few years back, it left behind a jambalaya void. Ever since Erin O'Shea left Marigold Kitchen to open Percy Street (in Crescent City's place), there's been no serious ham and grits slinging within city limits. So if ever a time was ripe for a casual, contemporary pan-Southern concept like Cooperage's, it's now.

Owner Joe Volpe, who caters events in the Curtis atrium (he also has Cescaphe Ballroom in Northern Liberties), has filled out his nook nicely. The dining room is handsomely bisected by a horseshoe-shaped, distressed bead-board bar, behind which lies a long list of whiskeys, the emphasis on the domestic. Tiny copper subway tile, dark oak woods and glass cake-dome fixtures lend a sleek yet rustic vibe. Cucumber water served in mason jars, smatterings of wildflowers and tabletop votives nestled in dried black-eyed peas are the subtle signifiers by which this urban eatery evokes the South.

On the Seventh Street side, black and orange booths add an al fresco option. In the daylight hours, the kitchen turns out coffee, light salads and sandwiches. By happy hour, the bar fills with area workers imbibing mean blueberry juleps in silver cups or house cocktails like the Philadelphian (a smooth swill of Jefferson bourbon, brown sugar, chocolate bitters and champagne) to the tunes of Fela, Beach House and Santigold.

In print, chef Ralph Kane's menu is as savvy and appealing as its interior, giving Southern-fried a new freshness — hush puppies are served with blueberry jam, pulled pork "nachos" are updated with sriracha sauce and Cajun-poached shrimp are given a cool dunk in a gin cocktail.

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On several fronts, the kitchen delivers on its promises. The cornbread, another meal-starting freebie in an attractive tin, was sugar-crisped but not too sweet, its crumbling interior layered with flakes of chipotle and a smattering of corn kernels. A fairly traditional gumbo, aswirl with chunks of chicken, andouille sausage and okra, was hearty and intensely spiced, ringing with cayenne and black pepper. Chicken-fried Florida gator bites, tasty nuggets enlivened by a Colonel-pleasing blend of herbs and spices, were appropriately matched with a smoked tomato and red pepper remoulade.

There was a wonderful precision to the flank steak, dusted with ancho chile powder and grilled to a rosy medium-rare. The tender slices of meat came fanned out over a brilliantly conceived side of creamed sunchokes (my favorite new use for an underappreciated root vegetable) and crisp-edged bacon and caramelized onion spaetzle.

Chocolate bourbon beignets were like little molten cakes, their fried, sugar-dusted crusts opening up into melty rich centers which spooned up nicely with coffee ice cream.

So many of the elements here are in place, including the service —which personified, if not Southern charm, then at least a good mid-Atlantic facsimile — that Cooperage seems within striking distance of its vision. But the execution could use fine-tuning.

Some missteps were more forgivable than others. While the thick, granola-crusted "Hippie Chop" was too overcooked to be luscious, its side of leek bread pudding was a phenomenally rich casserole of Parmesan, cream, brioche croutons and onion-y goodness. The shrimp po' boy boasted big juicy shrimp, a pliant roll, vibrant remoulade and a fringe of crunchy cabbage, but the blackened spice was oversalted, as were the homemade chips in the basket. And though the Brekkie Burger was not exactly medium-rare, its hefty Angus beef patty had a tasty coarse grind, and its accoutrements — pickled beets, applewood bacon, herbed aioli and fried egg on an English muffin —made it a memorable and original rendition.

In other cases, the tabled product was a few degrees shy of enjoyable: like the summer berry salad, in which blackberries, strawberries and blueberries were smartly tossed with same-sized balls of pepper-coated goat cheese, dried figs, field greens and balsamic vinaigrette. The candied pecans had no discernible sweetness and the vinaigrette wasn't bold enough to tie the elements together. A similar lack of cohesion troubled the southern chopped salad. I loved the combination of the crisp jicama matchsticks, charred corn kernels, avocado wedges and the okra "croutons" (tiny spangles of the vegetable, batter-fried), but the salad was lacking a dominant note to contrast its milder components.

The chipotle-bourbon lacquer for the chicken wings was complex and smoky, but the wings were served whole, an unwieldy presentation for finger food this saucy. The bite-size sweet potato "tots" were oddly bitter — a shame, because the apple whiskey chutney (which also comes with the pork chop) was just fine.

The pecan-crusted catfish was wonderfully crumbly and kissed with brown sugar, but it could've used a bit more spice — cumin, paprika, chile, something — to amplify the unassuming fish, and the simple celery-studded black-eyed pea ragout beneath.

I was surprised by the unusual yet complementary flavors of the black raspberry ice cream on top of a pecan tartlet — too bad the tartlet itself was an awkward construction, its contents too syrupy to scoop up within the deep confines of buttery crust. Too bad, too, that the clever fried sweet potato strip garnish was burnt to inedibility.

The biggest disappointment came with the daily-changing cobbler, which on one visit was caramelized apple and dried cherry — an odd choice for the height of stone fruit season. The melting scoop of vanilla ice cream on top was promising, but deeper digging revealed that the cobbler was hard and soft in all the wrong places, with uncooked slices of apple and doughy-textured bites of ginger biscuit. A needless tragedy of a dessert, especially when the meal began so promisingly.

Next time I'd order another julep and another round of peanuts and call it a day.

(editorial@citypaper.net)

Cooperage: A Wine & Whiskey Bar | Curtis Center, 601 Walnut St. (entrance on Seventh near Sansom), 215-226-COOP, cooperagephilly.com. Cafe open Mon.-Fri., 7 a.m.-5 p.m.; kitchen open Mon-Fri., 11:30 a.m.-10 p.m.; Sat., 10 a.m.-10 p.m.; Sun., 10 a.m.-9 p.m., brunch Sat.-Sun., 10 a.m.-3 p.m. Appetizers and salads, $6-$10; entrées, $10-$19; sides, $3-$5.