| Restaurant Info |
| Monk's Cafe 264 S. 16th St Philadelphia, PA 19102 (215) 545-7005 www.monkscafe.com/ Daily: 11:30am - 2am Belgian Cafe Daily: 11:30am - 2am Daily: 11am - 2am Eulogy Belgian Tavern Mon - Weds: 5pm - 2am |
And there they were, a dozen, at my disposal.
Ever so sneakily, I wrapped the clam-plucked shells in the white cloth napkin and shoved them into my Mom’s purse. When we later reached our car, she grabbed for her keys to find a garlicky and slippery surprise. I found myself in trouble.
That was my first shellfish memory. Despite my initial shellfish scolding, I continued to enjoy them if not for their chewy texture and (hopefully) soupy broth, for the novelty of working for my food. Back then it kept me busy while adults talked about adult things at restaurant dinner tables — plus, I’d sometimes get a tiny fork.
When “spaghetti and clams” (as in Progresso white clam sauce) became a regular in our family dinner rotation. That was the end of my ordering clams at restaurants. Enter mussels. Enter their larger elongated shape, their more delicate chewiness, their more exotic shells, and the dilemmas they’d cause. All was well and good if a place offered one kind. If they had them, I’d get them, simple as that. But what if they had red and white varieties? I’d start to bite my nails.
These days, I’ve become comfortable in choosing between two options. But what about places that offer four kinds? What about those with eight varieties? While quantity does not equal quality, if mussels have earned their own section of a restaurant’s menu, one would infer that they had better be good. That’s what I set out to comfirm.
So, what is it that I seek in my mollusks? Broth: flavorful but not overbearing, because it’s still about the mussels themselves. Add what you wish, but don’t weigh the shellies down. Freshness: don’t give me closed ones or rubbery ones or foul ones. And the soaking utensil: with mussels, the bread they’re served with is just as important as a hoagie’s roll. Give me mine with a little toasted crunch. Or at least be sure to give me some.
I gathered some troops to mussel-eat with me. Here’s what we found:
MONK’S
Our tired-looking, middle-aged waitress wasn’t the friendliest lass, but I wouldn’t be either, handling the hollering TKE frat-reunion of what looked like the class of 1980.
“So, we’re looking to get a few kinds of mussels…” I told her.
“Monks, Red Light, Thai Curry,” she recommended in monotone, her face not showing an ounce of emotion.
I looked at the menu. Monk’s had Geuze, and my face puckered just thinking about that sour stuff. Red Light was spicy, and I’m a wimp. Thai curry mussels? Really? Three suggestions, three fails.
We started with the Burges - pretty basic, sporting a broth of Hoegaarden, wine, leeks, and garlic, and the Ghent – Saison Dupont, wine, parsley, caramelized leeks, bacon, and blue cheese - so we wouldn’t look too plain. And ya know what? Let’s do those strange Thai Curry mussels. OK, so just two fails.
Three aluminum pots each full of mollusks, bowls for shells, bread, and fries arrived. The table was bombarded. We dug in; the ivory-colored mussels plump, fresh, and the broths not overly strong. The blue cheese of the Ghent played a supporting role to the shellfish, just as it should. And the Thai Curry? Just a hint of curry… perfect. Monk’s mastered the balancing act of strong flavors.
As I reached to dip my fry in the bourbon mayonnaise, I elbowed the remaining 75% of my Tripel Karmeliet into my lap. We attempted to call our girl over, and after she took her good ol’ time to finish telling a story to another waitress, I told her about my spill. I expected her to return with a fresh beer for me. She returned with napkins.
Lucky you, Monk’s. Your mussels are so good that you didn’t even have to be too nice, and I’ll still be returning.
Served with: various types of rolls, fries and bourbon mayonnaise.
Varieties: 8 kinds
Price: $9.95 for a pound; $19.95 for a kilo
BELGIAN CAFÉ
Part of the Monk’s Café’s umbrella of bars/restaurants, Belgian café’s space is brighter, paintings naked-er, faces younger, and service just as apathetic. With our two kinds of mussels; De Koninck with caramelized leeks, apples, swiss cheese and De Koninck beer, and Memling with shrimp, spinach, garlic, capers -— came fries and just two dinner rolls to soak up all that juice. Fries don’t soak up anything, so I’m pretty sure the only way this would have been a sufficient amount of carbs is if two out of the three of us were on Atkins or had a gluten allergy.
I summoned our server. “Would it be possible to have some more bread?”
She kind of stared at the wall for a few moments. “Um, let me check. We’re running low.”
The mussels themselves were ivory-toned and just as fresh, plump, and interesting as Monks’, but I’d much rather dine in Belgian Café’s more pleasant atmosphere.
Then came more bread. And I kept my elbows in line.
Served with: Fries with bourbon mayonnaise, (few) mediocre dinner rolls
Varieties: 8 kinds
Price: $9.95 for a pound; $19.95 for a kilo
DEVIL’S DEN
Down 11th street past a slew of restaurants leading me to believe I was in Vietnam-town, sits Devil’s Den. This beer bar was completely dead at lunchtime on a Wednesday when my Mom and I walked in, and for no good reason. The friendly bartender, the orange-hued, fresh, and plump mussels, and the absurd beer list are all fantastic. Then again, it’s a randomly located bar at lunchtime on a Wednesday – maybe this says something good about Philly – maybe that we’re at work.
The two kinds we tried; Traditional – lemon, white wine, garlic, parsley, butter, and Aventinus – garlic, shallots, leeks, bacon, cream, were both extremely rich. Obviously, the Aventinus because of the cream, but the Traditional also needed something bubbly to wash it down. Yard’s Brawler? Don’t mind if I do. And my Mom didn’t mind if she did, either.
Served with: A classic hoagie roll, grilled, with the marks to show, and dainty, crispy fries. Just ketchup here, though.
Varieties: 4 kinds
Price: $12
EULOGY
I feel like the entire meal experience can be summed up by a deep, dark, mad scientist laugh. Not a light, happy eulogy.
We dined with our elbows perched upon a coffin, literally, filled with trinkets, receipts, and business cards, topped with a sheet of plexiglass. How cozy. And then came our waiter, and things got even cozier.
“YOU’LL FIND THE BEER LIST ON THE LAST FIVE PAGES OF THE MENU.” I used the dimly glimmering red candleholder to browse the list in the dark. The scene reminded be a bit of The Dinner Party from Hell. “I KNOW WAY TOO MUCH ABOUT BEER, SO LET ME KNOW IF YOU HAVE ANY QUESTIONS.” He sounded like an infernal Billy Mays, passionate about his OxiClean.
It’s always a kind gesture, but the real question is, are servers like these willing to non-pretentiously guide people through a beer drinking experience suited to the customer’s taste, or their own?
I cringed as one of my guests asked the waiter “What’s good?”
“Light or Dark?”
“Uh, in-between.”
“I think you should go for La Botteresse Ambree.”
Sure, he ended up liking it, but what would he say, “this is crap!”? Even if we hate it, when we’re given “good” beer, we’ll choke it down as though it’s bettering us as people. Sometimes I think this is wonderful, and sometimes I resent it. In the case of Eulogy, it was wonderful.
Based on the empty piles of shells on over half of the upstairs tables, what we knew there wouldn’t be a chance of having to choke down were the mussels. When we asked which was the most popular, the answer was Dijon prepared with cream, Dijon mustard, garlic, shallots, white wine, and lemon. I was also in the mood for a red, so the Provençal fit the bill made with tomato sauce, garlic, shallots, celery, onion, peppers, butter, and fresh herbs– would be our second. The mussels were plump and perfect, their hue undistinguishable in the dark. The Dijon tasting rich, as expected, was perfect for soaking up with bread. The Provençal, on the other hand, seemed a little “special.”
I tried one, chewed, and swallowed. What was that taste? I had another, chewed, and swallowed. I let everyone try a few before I proposed my observation.
“Guys, do the red ones taste weird to you?”
“Yeah,” or “kinda” was the consensus.
“Like… weed?” I asked.
“That’s it!” “Oh my God!” “Totally!”
Doubtful, but wouldn’t that be a dark, funny little trick in keeping with the lugubrious setting.
Served with: Somewhat stale baguette. Fries are $5 extra, but the twice-fried steak fries are worth it.
Varieties: 9 kinds
Price: $7.99 for a pound; $14.99 for two pounds
I suppose sometimes in life, quantity can equal quality.
Emily Callaghan is managing editor of Table Matters and a graduate of Drexel University. Her work has appeared in Philadelpia Magazine, The Philadelphia Inquirer and TheSmartSet.com.
Article photograph from Travis S. via via Flickr (Creative Commons), "Eat Drink Philly" photograph from suvodeb, via Flickr (Creative Commons), "Philly" photograph from camardella, via Flickr (Creative Commons).
