All of a sudden I’m facing skyscrapers and am surrounded by steak houses; I’m not sure if I’m in Boston or if I really landed in Philadephia.
My excitement at this last minute trip stemmed from my hope to visit some of my favorite museums. The Philadelphia Museum was hosting both a Chagall exhibit, Paris Through the Window: Marc Chagall and His Circle and even an Alessi exhibit but all the museums seem to close at 5 during the week.
Opera? Thwarted again. So I turned to the tried and true food and wine.
First off, I investigated the Philadelphia School of Wine.
I’m not sure why, but I ended up in the Ritz Carlton. Okay, a self-confessed lover of hotel bars, I ended up in the Ritz Carlton. Am I at Radius? Cheeky. Similar locale but the ceilings are much higher and I’m intrigued by what is in the middle. It looks like a wine cellar but as I move closer to check it out, I see it’s really some wine bottles but if you look down, it’s the top of the incredible chandelier.
My cocktail was a rum and Campari concoction. I tried to look up the details on their site, but it’s not listed.
As I walk out of the Ritz, I see they have a happy hour—too bad they didn’t tell me. For the record, there wasn’t a bar “snack” offering, either.
Next up, the Warwick’s Tavern 17. They, too, had specials but once again I didn’t decrypt the menu correctly; I ordered the Mango Mojo (bacardi run, lime juice, fresh mint and mango puree). While it wasn’t the $4 cocktail I hopped for, it was certainly well worth the $8 at a pint-ful.
While I waited for dinner to arrive I had the pleasure of watching the woman next to me be regaled by man-at-the-bar-with-a-laptop and the bartender. Neither looked very happy when her young and attractive fellow showed. On the other side of the bar, it was all men under 25. Bizarre since the other side was older men. Incidental or deliberate?
The Chipotle Barbecued Grilled Salmon with roasted tomato salad served on sweet corn mashed potatoes was exactly as described and cooked well. But it was still disappointing. Was it because it did taste exactly like comfort food noveau? Or whatever you call the phenomenon of glamming up comfort food?
The next night I was intent on trying the $40 anniversary special at Le Bec Fin. The closest I’ve ever been is the cookbook gracing my shelf so I thought I would investigate and try to figure out whether Georges Perrier sold it or not. The wait will continue. I was too sick to taste the food so I opted against torturing myself.