Django Swings

by Emily Gasser | Mental Mastication

Usually I avoid writing restaurant reviews. I mean, the Ville only offers so many options, most of which you’ve probably already tasted, and how often do most people spend the time and money to go into Philly or Media for a meal? I could tell you all about my evenings at Pod (mindblowing) and Chris’ Jazz Café (“Come for dinner, leave for dessert”), but that wouldn’t be terribly useful. But I recently had a dining experience worth spending some ink on: Dinner at Django.

Restaurant Week in Philly was in late January; I didn’t mention it because by the time you read about it my column, there’s no way you’d be able to get a reservation. In fact, I called two weeks ahead of time and still barely got squeezed in. My first choice, a tapas place called Amada that’s said to make some of the best food in the city, was booked solid. Next I called Django looking for a Sunday night table. Nope. Monday night? Nope. Anything, anything at all? Apparently their tables for the week were snatched up so quickly that they’d decided to extend Restaurant Week for another six days, and I was in luck: They’d just had a cancellation for Wednesday the 7^th and could reserve me a table for two. I took it.

Django is not the sort of place you stop for a quick bite with friends after a class at Penn; it is the sort of place you go with your parents when they come to visit, or with a date you really want to impress and don’t mind spending some money on. It’s named after Django Reinhardt, the gypsy jazz guitarist who reigned over the Paris jazz scene in the 1930’s, and that mentality pervades the restaurant. The cuisine is French – not the fussy, starched-napkin, snobbier-than-thou French I do my damnedest to avoid but an earthier, more rustic version, like you’d imagine being served at a little village inn in the countryside somewhere. The décor fits that same description; it’s a small, cozy space, with wooden tables, pottery and paintings on the walls, and dim lighting, all very homey and warm.

I was accompanied for the evening by my friend Nina, and we were shown to a tiny table in the back, from which I had a great view into their even tinier kitchen. A waitress presented us with the menus and an amuse bouche, described as a “BLT tart”: pancetta, tomato, wilted arugula, and garlic aioli. Wow. The best part was, Nina’s a vegetarian, so I got to eat hers too. Next came the bread, baked in a flowerpot and tasting fresh and warm from the oven. I can honestly say I don’t think I’ve ever had better bread at a restaurant. We asked for a second loaf.

The first course took a while coming, but it was well worth the wait. My roasted tomato bisque, though it tasted a little too strongly of sharp cheddar, went beautifully with the “petit croquettes madams,” a tiny ham-and-cheese sandwich with a truly petit farmers egg on top, that was served alongside it. Nina’s onion turnover was beyond delicious, crispy and warm and well-complimented by a dollop of smoky crème fraiche.

The main course was a little less impressive, but still solidly done. I ordered a pork cassoulet, like a stew with white beans, cheese, and a big chunk of meat in the middle. The bean mixture was gloppy and rich and satisfying, but the meat was a little bland, and the whole thing would have benefited from a touch less salt. Nina’s entrée, a vegetarian tasting plate, was similarly uneven. The leek and tomato salad was fantastic – people should really serve leeks more often, the they’re delicious – but the saffron bisque tasted sort of odd, with hints of candied orange peel and again too much salt.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had a wonderful dinner in an upscale restaurant only to be disappointed at the end with a beautiful but tasteless dessert. (Case in point: Chris’ Jazz Café, where the French onion soup was delectable but the chocolate cake, at $6 a slice, tasted like someone had defrosted a Sarah Lee, spiffed up the icing, and served it to me.) Django’s desserts weren’t quite on par with their dinners, but they were certainly much better than a lot of places do. We split a goat cheese cake, which was an interesting and mostly-successful experiment on their part, and a chocolate-almond terrine which, aside from a slight burnt-sugar taste to the bottom layer of cake, was wonderfully creamy and delicious.

The bill came to $37 each including tax and tip, which for a three-course meal of that caliber isn’t bad. It’s BYOB, so you won’t have alcohol inflating your bill, though carting your own bottle of wine into Philly on the train can be a bit of a pain. Though the meal had its shortcomings, I would definitely go back to Django for dinner – plans for Parents’ Weekend, anyone?

Published version: http://phoenix.swarthmore.edu/2007-02-22/living/16919