Reviews

by Richard Max Bockol, Esq.
BYOB Robert Reilly is living the life of. He’s taken over ownership of a former luncheonette-lousy-looking shebang, and turned it into a neatly trimmed Bella Vista shebang-for-your buck restaurant. Reilly himself has the brackish bearded face of a Dutch Master’s self-portrait. His head seems to have longitude without latitude. With hair parted down the middle, and an attached pony-tail of sorts, his visage is almost angelically corpulent, but most calming and inviting.

He seemingly enjoys kissing and hugging the neighborhood regulars, grasping the hands and waists of those he doesn’t know, and he contrives to offer a supererogatory welcome that would give Perrier-Starr type restaurateurs urticaria.

Salt & Pepper’s light green tiles with a honeydew melon hue pervade the walls. Your eyes follow to fifty short candle-wicks all aglow adjacent to the cooking area, as if what’s being openly prepared there ought to offer heavenliness. Large glass containers line the area, filled with a cornucopia of whole onions, lemons and limes, recreating an extremely modest local-ingredient Garden of Eden. Overhead, halogen track lighting focuses upon Sean Ford, the chef (formerly at Pumpkin) who meanders through his pots, pans and dishes as if he were trying to be devilishly sizzly, noisy and brash. He’s never out of sight nor hearing from any of the two dozen or so seats in this cantankerously cozy establishment.

Each table is covered over by crab-house brown bag paper, cut to fit, and adorned with a votive candle. A white tile floor provides surface enough for black-backed wooden chairs whose seats are propped by black cushions.

While your brought-from-home wine is being opened, offerings of amuse bouch (avocado-chive skinless dumpling dots) are extended upon baby spoons. Breads are concurrently made available with side containers of herb-loaded olive oil redolent of sage. Service is sage as well.

Appetizers on the winter menu not to miss:

Seared Scallops, Citrus Salad, Aged Balsamic ($9.75). Two enormous sea-divers are seared perfectly golden on top, and lightly at bottom, in the method preferred by chefs in the know. Therefore the scallops remain pearly and glistening throughout, crisp to the fork’s first touch, and bursting with flavor in one’s mouth. They rest upon a bed of citrus orange and grapefruit slices emboldened by a drizzled balsamic reduction. One’s plate is adorned artistically in swirls of the vinegar to complete. Ford has built a powerful pick-up.

Butternut Squash Soup, Braised Short Ribs ($8). A large white bowl is vertiginously filled with soup the color of dawn, upon which has been drawn a happy face with a spotted balsamic smile, a nose of de-boned short-ribs and cheeks of croutons. A meaty flavor adds strength and robustness to a vegetarian base, all of which is sweetly savory and toothsome. The ribs are as buttery as their surroundings, melting inadvertently in a tongue-touch. The crunch of croutons thereafter makes the food three-dimensional, keeping your jaws and mind, swallowing and sighing in syncopation and liquidity.

Wild Mushroom Tart, Frisée, Smoked Bacon, Truffle Vinaigrette ($10). Imagine a three-inch diameter pie with scalloped crustiness, upon which a bevy of sliced and oil-softened wild mushrooms lie bare. Purse pinches of properly positioned salad greens as a cover up so that the mushrooms are decently unembarrassed. Then surround the lot with dabs of vinaigrette in which chopped truffles swim abundantly, adding a dollop or two atop, complemented by smoked bacon bits, drippings and oil. The mix is astonishingly soothing and cool on the palate, yet as woodsy and smokey as a charcoal-baked brick-oven pizza.

I will not mention entrées such as the Braised Pork Shoulder, Shitake Polenta, and Broccoli Rabe ($19), nor Grilled Skirt Steak, Fingerling Potatoes, Chimichurri and Spinach ($23) except to say that each takes Winter by the throat, and strangles every bit of fidgety frightening frigidty out of it, cloaking your senses warmly with rib-sticking meals meant to be heated and hearty. One complaint: the skirt steak should be ordered from the butcher specifically as “skirt steak #1,” a thinner much more succulent and tender end of the loin piece. Notwithstanding, these marvelous renditions are inventive and enviable.

I must discuss the Fish of the Day, which happened to be Grilled Swordfish ($22). A pompous cross-hatched huge portion of swordfish is propped up on a bed of steaming and creamy mashed potatoes. The throne-like mound is surrounded by cut morsels of Brussel sprouts, two French fries and an undercoating sauce rich with mushroom munches and a bacon bacchanal. The fish needs a steak knife to cut its seared flesh precisely, as if it were a filet mignon, because that best describes its texture. Allow the mash and munch to pass between your lips in concert with the fish, and topple your taste buds with the bacon.

Spring is around the corner.

Getting Out of the Food’s Way
At Salt & Pepper, Delicious Restraint is John DeSantis’ Goal.
By Rick Nichols of The Philadelphia Inquirer

It is a bit of an accidental restaurant—Salt & Pepper—the successor on the corner of Sixth and Fitzwater to Brocco’s hoagie shop and, after that, a failed stab at a tile-walled Mediterranean cafe, the first S & P. It is a modest cube of light in the Bella Vista night, almost under a bushel, 24 intimate seats, which would qualify it as a bona fide shrimp if not for Little Fish, the veteran 21-seater at Sixth and Catharine.I would say Salt & Pepper is minimalist. But that would imply a chilliness or spareness that is not the sense you get dining there. It feels fresh and warm, the white tablecloths layered over with crisp brown butcher (actually, it’s called kraft) paper, the cutlery done in a classic, sort of ancient Aegean pattern, the fork stems fluted like a Doric column.

Do they look familiar? Well, says owner Robert Reilly, 28, they’re relics from the wreck of the old Striped Bass, bought at auction by the previous Salt & Pepper owner when original Bass-man Neil Stein was forced to liquidate.

Even in this small detail you might read a certain weird convergence or accident of nature, which we will get to in a moment. But let us consider chef John DeSantis’ menu—limited on a given night to six entrees. A handful of appetizers. And a few desserts, though they include a new heartthrob of mine—the off-puttingly named “Strawberry Bread Pudding.” (Talk about hiding your light.)

On my visits, I have come to appreciate the instinct for restraint here—so counter to prevailing norms—and to savor the result: DeSantis’ surefooted and careful dishes. Grilled filet mignon was fanned on the plate with potato and mushroom gratin, a supremely comforting dish, if not so-called comfort food. My moist salmon in a savory, uncomplicated grainy mustard sauce was crisply pan-fried, and served with lusciously tender beets and sliced potatoes stacked like stones marking a forest trail.

DeSantis, 32, has cooked at Taquet in Wayne, Lacroix on Rittenhouse Square and Passerelle in Radnor (where he met Reilly). He picks up his own produce and cheeses at the Reading Terminal Market. He keeps it clean and simple: “I try not to confuse myself or the guests.”

The ocean-sweet diver scallop, as big as a pocket watch, is grilled just right. I find an island of potato salad in a lovely celery-root soup. The beets? They’re roasted with olive oil, then sauteed simply in butter, shallots, salt and pepper: “That’s pretty much all you need to make food talk for itself,” DeSantis says.

That Salt & Pepper got a second act was, as I say, a bit of a fluke. Reilly had worked as a waiter at Buddakan, Barclay Prime and, lastly, Striped Bass (former home of his current silverware), leaving Aug. 15 with a notion of opening a place, but no real plan. Days later a friend called to tell him someone at the bar at Barclay Prime was talking about selling Salt & Pepper. Two weeks later, Reilly bought it. He says he and DeSantis simply want to serve food that makes sense to them, each capitalizing on what he knows best—Reilly, gracious and low-key service; DeSantis, plainspoken but from-scratch, skillfully seasoned new American food.

One weekday evening, with a sparse crowd, I sampled a gentle, unfatty, warmhearted lamb stew and a soulful stacked fish dish—fresh grouper, poached sardines and monkfish—under bright, fresh tomato sauce. The strawberry bread pudding? It’s a take on a dessert DeSantis learned at the Mainland Inn, a ramekin layered with sliced strawberries, then fresh-whipped strawberry-and-cream custard, then topped with custard-soaked slices of Sarcone’s rolls, baked slightly crisp, and dusted over with powdered sugar.

On the lonely corner of Sixth and Fitzwater, it is a beacon and a magnet—after-dinner bread pudding, light and lush. It’s no accident I get it each time, sticking to what makes sense for me. Contact columnist Rick Nichols at 215-854-2715 or rnichols@phillynews.com. Read his recent work at http://go.philly.com/ricknichols.

Check out Another Review from Philadelphia Weekly

Melanie Menkevich
For the Temple News

Salt and Pepper shakes up the BYOB scene and your taste buds with great food and service.
For appetizers, the mixed greens salad was the perfect blend of favors, as was the wild mushroom tart. The black been chili had just the right amount of spices. All three went great with the cabernet we brought.

Most of the clientele were middle-aged neighborhood residents. A decent-sized crowd filled the restaurant and every table was occupied. All diners had brought their own wine. Not everyone stuck to wine, though. As I left a group of men arrived with a case of beer in tow.

Our waitress opened our wine and poured it into our glasses, leaving the bottle off to the side to chill in ice. If you bring an extra bottle, they will refrigerate it for you.
The menu is seasonal, and the winter menu offers five entrees. Their motto, “Simple, Fresher, Better” reflects the food perfectly. Chef Sean Ford’s recommendations were the braised pork shoulder with shiitake polenta and broccoli rabe. Another recommendation, the pan roasted chicken with root vegetables, is cleaned and prepared so that the skin isn’t crispy and shriveled, rather locking in the juices.

The pork was tender and the chicken fresh and juicy. Both meats went well with cabernet wine, as did the crispy skin salmon. I ordered a tender grilled skirt steak, and the chimiichurri sauce was sweet like the cabernet, however I think that that a darker wine would have been best for the dish. In fact, Ford said that “Usually the rule of thumb is the lighter the food, the lighter the wine.”

The atmosphere is cozy. As you walk in you immediately see the restaurant’s entire layout. Its small space has its advantages. Everyone has a view of the chef and can survey his talents from the table.

Ford believes the BYOB is a smart concept for restaurants and customers. He explained that the BYOB concept works well because diners enjoy paying for the food but not the ridiculous wine prices.

Prices are moderately expensive, but the portion sizes are fair. In regards to small restaurants, “if the food isn’t good, people don’t normally come back,” said Ivan Rose, a diner.

Without a liquor license, restaurants such as Salt and Pepper rely on the quality of their food to keep diners coming back. Salt and Pepper may be a small place, but their food certainly is up to par.

Breakout Box

Salt & Pepper
746 S 6th Street
(215) 238–1920

Melanie Menkevich can be reached at tua50170@temple.edu.