[ food & drink ]
✚ Southern Exposure <<< continued from page 33
The sweetest lobster tail got country-fried (and countrified). a buttermilk batter that cooked up crunchy and thick. The panko casing on wheels of juicy green tomato was different — light, crisp and laced with Locatelli Romano. Boiled peanuts replaced tahini in a smart hummus that was delicious (albeit fridge-direct frosty) and paired with superior house-baked rye-and-wheat bread. The mustard greens starter is the antidote to kale salad ennui: eye-catching emerald leaves cut into frilly ribbons that were full of spice and texture; a fistful of peanuts, sesame seeds and chopped scallions; a warm mustard vinaigrette whose temperature brings a cozy, comforting quality to the dish without wilting the greens. Its presence on the menu is so unassuming you might miss it. Do not. Sbraga pays proper respect to grain godfather Anson Mills, which he visited in Columbia, S.C., during his Southern field trip. The mill supplies its distinguished Carolina Gold rice, the heirloom parent of modern longgrain, and the silky grits that Sbraga cooks up with smokedpork and shrimp stocks, butter and cream. The former meets straps of succulent braised oxtail, soffrito and tender Sea Island red peas (also Anson Mills); the latter, sweet shrimp seared on the plancha and a fun, salty “ham condiment” of diced ham, scallions, peanuts and garlic. In the mac’n’cheese, the hollows of the durum-wheat pasta shells — made at Sbraga and delivered to Ham — were like cups collecting from a well of fluid cheddar, smoked Gouda and béchamel with house-made barbecue chips and panko scattered over top for texture. Hot chicken, the Nashville specialty, brought a leg and thigh buttermilk-marinated, dredged in seasoned flour, deep-fried and tossed with salt, lard and cayenne pepper. The portion was puny, and the house-baked white bread it’s perched upon was as tough as a flank steak sliced the wrong way, but the bird shone with juiciness beneath the thick, crusty nut-brown exterior. Now if only he can find a way to make the fiery jacket stay on the chicken. Desserts are by Marqessa Gesualdi, a pastry star in the making if her lemon bar — a dream of luminous jelled lemon curd, buttery shortbread, poppy-seed-speckled crème fraîche and torched meringue — was any indication. It was the thing the bartender passed across the crowded counter before my check, which was as startlingly reasonable as the service was excellent. The most expensive thing on the menu is only $16. If it hadn’t been so cold, I might have ordered another few fingers of limited-edition Dad’s Hat port-barrelfinished rye and repaired to a rocking chair on the cozy front “porch” that welcomes you off the street — a nod to Jennifer Cole’s house. Only here the view is of whizzing traffic and sunken rail yards instead of stately oaks. If the bourbon tastes extra smoky, blame Amtrak. (adam.erace@citypaper.net) 34 | P H I L A D E L P H I A C I T Y PA P E R |
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