Bar Ferdinand

I am going to come right out with it...

Once we had figured out where we were gonna live in Philly, I started looking at restaurants in the neighborhood.

You have got to find your spot, you know.

The place that makes you extra happy...

I really thought Bar Ferdinand was going to be it, for me.

Coming from the Bay Area, a place where you can not spill your wine without getting some on the next small plates joint, BF seemed to have all of my criteria for a nice evening pretty well handled.

Good reviews, a menu full of interesting sounding stuff, a big wine list.

Even the pictures of the decor seemed, well, if a little heavy handed...at least comfortable.

Perhaps, I just wanted it too much...

Perhaps, it is just not that great.

I confess, I have only dined there once.

It didn't really inspire much confidence in a need to return, Bar Ferdinand...

KVC went for an early evening nosh on a hot summer night...

Slow night, no crowd, no waiting.

We were pleasantly greeted and chose a table outside.

Our server was on it, made recommendations, advised us on the wines she preferred.

We selected a half dozen small plates...

Shortly thereafter, the whole experience just fell apart.

As the food came out, we noticed a theme of over-seasoning across half of the items we ordered.

By over-seasoning, I mean dishes that were salted heavily enough to withstand a long sea voyage without refrigeration.

The special watermelon gazpacho, delightful. The signature potato thing which "everybody orders" seemed suspiciously like random diner home fries (only with aoli). The scallop on squid ink risotto perched said delicate bivalve atop a paste of black dyed sodium chloride, as best as I could tell.

The other items we ordered were so forgettable that I honestly don't remember them...

Why?

Because food came out with less timing than one might find from short order cook's kitchen.

Two by two, one person after another, tiny plates arrived...

Before I could even consider one, another two...

I am saying I couldn't even finish a glass of wine before all of the damned plates were gathering flies in front of me.

Now, if we were a table of four or six, that would have been great. Sure.

But, no, we were a table of two...

And, maybe, if it were a busy night and the kitchen was slammed I could let this slide.

Or, if I was at fucking Denny's and needed my Grand Slam Skillet in a hurry, so that I might hop back into a big rig, hauling load of Lone Star beer to some midget's birthday party...that hurried pace would be acceptable...

But that is certainly not the pace I am looking for at a tapas joint.

No, I hope that I can while away some time.

Think about wine and food pairings...

Savor delicious little samples of weird proteins...

Feel languid enough to, for example, order a second fucking glass of wine!

And why does this misstep bother me so, you may ask?

Because I have cooked on a line, in a restaurant...

And sending food at the right pace is right after sending good food, on my list of priorities.

If a place serving food can not get that, I have to wonder where all of the other details fall, between the front and back of house.

I mean, if the punk-rock taqueria, down the street, can figure out how to send chips, sopes and tacos to my table, with enough time to enjoy each and maybe also get a chance to gulp down some fluids between bites - why can't Bar Ferdinand?

Straight up, Bar Ferdinand is a disappointment to me...

Will they get another shot?

Probably.

Will they get to be my extra special neighborhood happy spot?

That chance has probably been lost.