A nice Oregon boy often has a hard time finding good food in Philadelphia. Coming from the land of farm fresh ingredients and simple plate presentations, the gold-plated buddhas and opera-singing waiters of the dining scene in our fair City of Brotherly Love is often grating on both the senses and the wallet. Striped Bass was supposed to be a respite from all this, a seafood-centric oasis of good cooking and conscientious service sitting incongruously amidst the glitz of Walnut Street. Unfortunately, it was not.
I should have expected it. Bought from a bankrupt Neil Stein by his archrival-bent-on-spreading-Buddakan-around-the-world Stephen Starr, Striped Bass gained both new curtains and chandeliers as well as a new chef, Alfred Portale, with its new owner. Like the aging star pitcher brought in at the end of his career to prop up an otherwise weak bench, Portale was hired part-time to bring a little bit of New York cachet to Philly's Restaurant Row.
A progenitor of the 1980s "tall food" movement, in which food is stacked to ridiculous heights with little regard to authentic culinary form or function, he is supposed to be a new jewel in Starr's Iron Chef-caliber crown. Yet while a commuter chef can create some inventive recipes, he cannot oversee the daily operations of his restaurant. Especially in a location where an open kitchen is so prominent, not having the "star" chef in residence is a major detriment to a restaurant.
Portale obviously tried to import some of his Gotham Bar & Grill luck into Striped Bass. My dining companion (Mother Bellos was the honored guest) and I both started with the wild mushroom soup ($16), which was tasty, if slightly watery. I continued with a crispy black sea bass ($35) in some sort of red pepper "broth," poured on my dish tableside. The fish was tasty; the broth was a pretentious conceit that overpowered any taste the white bass potentially had. My mother's salmon suffered from a similar problem: her delicious, Scottish-raised fish was simply overpowered by a geometric pesto glaze design.
Lest you think that the good Oregon air did little to replace the crotchety New Yorker deep inside me, there were some high points to Striped Bass. The wine list was extensive, and the sommelier was both friendly and knowledgeable.
Dessert was similarly acceptable. The apple tart ($10) treaded the fine line between sweet and tart, and even though my cold tea was served with an oppressive selection of sugars and cutlery, the small selection of miniature sweets that was served with it managed to end the meal on a high note.
Yet an average denouement cannot wipe clean the sullied slate of my over-priced, over-conceptualized meal. For Striped Bass to continue to be considered one of Philadelphia's finest restaurants, it needs to be more than just another link in Stephen Starr's ever-expanding chain.
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