South Philly Review

Matthew Levin is the chef of the moment. For weeks food bloggers have been following the progress of Adsum, his new restaurant in Queen Village that opened last week.

I have always savored Levin’s cuisine. He owned a chic restaurant in New Hope and moved to LaCroix at The Rittenhouse. During his tenure there, he was a wizard in the kitchen. He took an almost chemist-like approach to ingredients and their various flavors and textures.

Like all fine chefs, Levin easily adapts to any kitchen. It was no surprise when I discovered he is the chef at Rouge as well.

I have not been to Rouge in a while. I wanted to sample his menu before I head over to Adsum.

The restaurant is a little piece of paradise. Its circular bar is usually filled with men and women right out of central casting. As I sipped a big, icy cold Bombay Sapphire martini, ($13) expertly prepared by the female barkeep Sam, a man about 75 years old with snow-white hair wearing a gold and diamond pinky ring slid onto the stool next to me. A husband and wife were sharing a bottle of rose. There were a few men in business suits and a woman wearing a little black dress and a strand of pearls. A father was celebrating his birthday with his two 50-something year-old daughters.

Sam and Amy unfolded a large linen napkin in front of me. It served as a place mat. I studied Levin’s menu and immediately got big eyes. Every dish appealed to me. I munched a fresh French roll with creamy sweet butter and tried to make my decisions.

Kobe beef tartare ($15) was hand chopped and immaculately fresh. It was topped with a charred onion soy sauce and a sprinkling of crisp, slightly salted macadamia nuts. Instead of a small fried quail’s egg, Levin served an Asian twist on the all-American deviled egg.

He mixed hot wasabi into the yolk. This was bliss on a plate.

The list of wines by the glass was superbly planned. I enjoyed a glass of KuoRio Malbac from Mendoza, Argentina ($9) that was a delicious bargain. It was rich, dry and ripe with fruit.

Next up was Bibb lettuce and endive salad ($14) which was large enough to share. I took my time savoring each bite. The greens were tossed with sweet red onion, sliced cherry tomatoes, spicy cashew nuts, chunks of Roquefort cheese, thinly-sliced Granny Smith apples napped in a red wine vinaigrette with fresh herbs. The salad was perfectly seasoned.

The test of a fine chef is roast chicken. It is a classic French bistro/brasserie dish of which I never ever tire. You can easily undercook or overcook it. Levin’s masterpiece ($23) earned gold stars. He roasted the breast with salt, pepper and fresh herbs. The wingtip was still attached. The chicken sat atop a bed of garlic spinach. 

I ate every bit of it. Roast chicken is served with mashed potatoes. I asked Amy if I could substitute the fingerling potatoes sautéed in duck fat for the mashed variety.

The potatoes arrived in an oval-shaped cast iron ramekin and were so piping hot that I could see steam arising from them. What followed was culinary nirvana. I render duck and chicken fat at home. All they required was a little sprinkling of salt.

My dinner was so generous, I toted half of it home in a pretty red plastic Rouge bag.

Service was as impeccable as the food. Amy and Sam brought me a second roll and kept my water glass filled. They have regular patrons and they take good care of them.

The only qualm I have is the space is too dark. There is a flashlight kept behind the bar which I had to use several times. So did a number of customers. Because it is a shoebox-size gem, the decibel level easily soars. At least the music was soft jazz and standards.

After such a scrumptious meal, I am counting the days before I dine at Adsum. You might be wondering why I dined alone at Rouge. Every once in a Purim, I enjoy the dining alone experience. Besides, everyone I called was busy that evening. Edward had meetings scheduled. They missed a fine dining experience all around.

Three extraordinary tips of the toque to Rouge.

Rouge
205 S. 18th St.
215-732-6622
www.rouge98.com