Parc

Rating: 💋 💋 💋 💋 💋

My favorite restaurant, oh how I love Parc! I first took you all here way back in Autumn 2019. It was a different world. I am so happy that this French bistro stayed in business despite the hit the restaurant industry has taken, and I certainly hope it stays that way. Eating here is such an absolute joy, from the environment to the lovely people who work here to the scrumptious plates. I have never had a bad meal.

I hope I did not just jinx myself.

My recent birthday and the opening up of Philadelphia brought me back to my favorite place in the whole city. We have changed quite a bit in our time apart.

I admit, I still have my misgivings about dining out at all. It certainly is not something I want to make a regular thing just yet. So many things have been decreed and reversed and reinstated that I do not really trust anything. It is hard to know what the right thing to do is. You don't want people to lose their income, their business, their livelihood. You don't want to essentially sacrifice people to the virus for the sake of the economy. That is one argument I just do not understand. It is hard to know in whose best interests the official statements on covid protocol are. With that in mind, I tend to play it safe by just not doing anything. I cannot possibly hurt anyone if I do not go anywhere or see anyone, right? So far, my trip to New York was my big adventure out into the world, and we certainly did not eat in or at any restaurants. It was all about home cooking with a touch of takeout. That has been my only excursion. None of my friends live nearby, so I have not seen any friends in any capacity in over six months. This is not a finger violin situation, I know what I am doing. My friends live in various cities. Many of my friends are essential workers. I am making the conscious choice to not risk it, to not make the trip, to not bring any added potential stress into their lives. I really miss them, but I want to do the right thing.

This makes the concept of going out to eat a huge dilemma. Reports from the CDC and city guideline restriction lifts simply do not add up. Nothing makes sense. I was not sure what to do. Dining is allowed, and there are a lot of mandates in place to make it safe. With the promise of doing it as safely and smartly as possible, we finally decided to make a reservation. My largest concern is not putting anyone else in jeopardy. On the bright side, considering I do not leave my house, I am probably very unlikely to be radioactive, so to speak.

And it did feel really good to go somewhere. I do not have an indoor personality.

Of all the places to go, Parc's protocols did make me feel a lot better. There are a lot of markings on the floor for where you can and cannot stand, strict mask mandates, and plexiglass partitions everywhere. New foot handles were installed on the doors so you can open them with your feet rather than your hands. Hand sanitizer stations abound, and they take your temperature at the door. I was pretty nervous to eat out. I do not want to do the wrong thing in regard to handling this pandemic. Parc took every precaution I could think of though and, if restaurants are going to be open, they need business to keep their lights on. I want to support them.

Since my last review took place in a different lifetime, I thought when I got the chance to go back I would explore how Parc is doing.

Cliff Notes: very well. Details below.

We started the party off with the timeless hit "She's a Bad Mama Jama (She's Built, She's Stacked)" by Carl Carlton. I wanted to make sure all attendees understood that this was a Good Vibes Only Function. We had a nice little dress up & cocktail hour before heading to the car for our trip into Philadelphia.

This time a year ago, roads were empty. We were settling into hibernation, unsure of quite how long this whole thing would last. It has lasted, but traffic has picked up, which is how we found ourselves in that familiar Friday night standstill, patiently waiting in the queue for our turn to drive across the Ben. Lucky us, the radio DJs were doing the most. We had a car karaoke to Britney Spears' hit song, "Oops!...I Did It Again." It was incredible. Yes, I do have a video. No, I am not going to share it. I want to stay in good graces with my family as best I can.

In other news, I needed to get a picture of myself. I admit, I feel kind of weird putting photos of me on the blog. Pictures come with the territory of the career I have chosen, so when it comes to my professional Instagram it is just like, whatever I have to post every week or so. I do it and don't pay attention to it. It its just a part of the job, not the end of the world. Here though, I focus on food pictures, which are much more interesting to me, so it feels weird to be like, "Hey. Look at my face." The thing is, I only put up pictures because I need you to look at my hair, not my face. In normal times, this would not happen. I don't need you all to perceive me. This is a special time though. I did something to my hair and I need proof! My family could make fun of me for trying to get the right angles all they want, but it had to happen. Plus, it is difficult work! And uncomfortable. I get so shy taking pictures of myself when there is an audience.

Here is the thing though: a few hours prior, I had died my hair rose gold. I am pretty sure if you made the spontaneous decision to become MAGENTA, you would want a picture too.

I did not get THE pic on Friday night - the sun just was not doing it for me - but here is what we got. I just need you to know that my hair is PINK. Can you see it? The lighting is tough but I think you can see it a little, right? I'll do better next time.

By the time we got to the restaurant, I gave up my attempts. I am here to have fun, not worry about my press release, ya know?

We got seated at a great table that my sister and I really appreciated for its location near high ceilings and the entrance - there was great air flow. Our waitress, Katie, I believe, was fabulous. She was so nice and friendly and the service was great.

My mom let us in on a little secret: if ordering wine by the glass, red is usually better than white. Wine bottles are usually so overpriced at restaurants and you want to avoid that, but if you are getting white, a bottle is the better bet. For whatever reason, they are less likely to pour glasses of white from the good stuff, so it can be difficult to drink. This is sad for me, because I do not really drink red wine. For better quality and overall taste however, Mamma Magee recommends you make that your beverage menu pick if you are going by the glass. You should be able to enjoy wine when you are out to dinner without giving your wallet a panic attack, after all.

Shannon and I dodged the issue by ordering cocktails. Shannon's Romarin is the big favorite of the Parc waitstaff. Katie told us she bartends too (though there is no bar to tend with Covid) and her friends always come in asking for that drink specifically. Her dad also always wants her to show off and make it for people and she has to explain that it is an infused drink. It takes time and work. You cannot just whip it up at your average bar cart. You can taste that too. Made from rosemary-infused grapefruit vodka, St. Germain and lemon, this cocktail is zippy and refreshing, and looks oh so glamorous! Look how chic Shannon looks. I tried The Hummingbird, made from sparkling wine, St. Germain and Perrier. I always like the sparkly drinks. This was super light and delicious with a nice bit of bubbly. I was very pleased with my choice. Also, with The Hummingbird you basically get two drinks for the price of wine. Katie came over, poured my drink from a tumbler into my glass, and then left the tumbler with the remaining cocktail on the table so I could add more later. When everyone else had to order round two, I was already good to go. I am all about that life.

Anyway, I saw they have frosé on the menu so I will need to go back when the weather really warms up. I love frosé. It always reminds me of P.J. Clarke's on the Hudson, a cute restaurant Shannon and I visited in our early Brooklyn days. I would like to go back there one day, but I trust Parc can bring me just as much joy, Philly-style.

Everyone please ooh and aah at my dad's pocket square. He is Fashion. A trendsetter, dare I say. His Roasted Carrot and Beet salad with avocado, goat cheese mousse, and toasted walnuts was also quite the conversation starter. Bright and colorful, it struck a nice chord with its sweet produce glowing under the salty cheese mousse. That salad is the One to Get. Meanwhile, my mom and sister each ordered an adorable plate of deviled eggs. Stuffed with sweet crab, they were almost too pretty to eat. Almost. They were also too creamy to not enjoy. I opted for the mushroom tart, which, in my brain, arrived in an adorable ramekin-like style. Instead, I received lunch. The tart was beautiful, by the way, I just did not realize how large it would be. I still had a main course to get to, and I had hopes for dessert. How to handle the situation... hm.

I decided to eat one triangle, bites given to my mom and Shannon as well. That proved that this tart tastes awesome and I definitely did not want it to go to waste. I could not eat all of it though. I worried about offending the chef by asking to take it home barely touched, but then I thought, well, I'm taking it home. I'm not sending back an uneaten plate, I'm just taking it to go. Isn't that a compliment, if anything?

I am so glad I made that choice too. I reheated it for lunch on Sunday and it was so lovely. See all that cheese dancing on top of the tart? It all melted in the oven, so each bite was a gooey, hot delight with salty cheese nestling into the deep flavor of the mushrooms. The crust itself was buttery and flakey, offering a nice crunch with every bite. This tart elevated my lunch game high above my normal midday meal. I am so grateful I did not have the room on Friday, because it made this the birthday dinner that kept giving.

I would like to have gotten a completely aerial shot of the table, but even I am not that obnoxious. “Miss, people are just trying to enjoy dining out for the first time since covid began. You're causing a ruckus. Please sit down.”

Around the time our main courses arrived, my dad told Katie how much we love the bread here and asked her about the cranberry-walnut bread, his favorite. Sometimes I think my parents go to Parc for that bread specifically. My dad discussing bread with the waitress might seem like an inane comment right now, but it is going to prove important. Keep walking with me and all will be revealed.

Back to the table, which was suddenly glittering with gorgeous plates. My parents both ordered the trout amandine, which comes with haricots verts and arrives dripping in a gorgeous lemon brown butter sauce. My mom cannot help herself from ordering it every time we come here. It is a winner.

Shannon, meanwhile, went nautical. She ordered the moules frites that come in a lovely white wine, shallot and garlic sauce. These were big mussels too. These mussels went to the gym! (I am so sorry but I really could not help myself.) The point is, Parc does not rip you off. This was a nice bowl and Shannon was very pleased. There are no mussels in lockdown meals. It was a great treat. Her dish somehow inspired a long conversation about James Joyce taking his family out to eat in Paris and how Hemingway would walk by and be totally enamored with the scene. He looked up to Joyce so much. Hem is my favorite writer, and that whole Lost Generation is my favorite literary time period to learn about. We also love Joyce but I think he exists kind of above it; he was in Paris at the same time, but a bit apart from the Gertrude Stein set, doing his own thing. That is just the way I see it from everything I have read. Feel free to disagree. My point is, when I read Hemingway write about Joyce, I get the impression Ernest Hemingway absolutely idolized the Irish genius, and I think that is really cute.

I could probably talk about the expats in Paris in the 1920s for several hours, and my sister has an old cover of Ulysses framed and hung in her apartment, but we were not the only ones at dinner, so we could not talk about books forever.

I had a gorgeous salmon to eat too, and I had to get to it before the dish got cold. This salmon! Ah mon Dieu. First off, I love les petits pois and fava beans. The legumes soak up the juices and are such a sweet touch. I also learned at this dinner that fava beans and lima beans are the same, or at least according to my mom they are. I wouldn't know because lima beans are banned from our home. Rebecca will not cook them. Rebecca does not care for them. It turns out, I really do. See, kids? No matter how old you get, you never stop learning. Legumes aside, the roasted salmon totally steals the show. The skin is roll-your-eyes-in-the-back-of-your-head crispy, the filet inside is so perfectly soft and sweet, and the beurre blanc just melts into the fish. C'est parfait. I am in love. I would marry this dish if that meant getting to have it for the rest of my life.

The conversation turned as well, from the romance of James Joyce and Nora Barnacle to the romance of Dan and Rebecca Magee. We talked about their awesome wedding reception and how my mom showed up to the airport the next day in oversized sunglasses, a cute blue skirt and high heels. On one hand, I see her point. Your honeymoon is a big deal, you have to do it in high fashion. On the other hand, that is not the kind of outfit I learned to travel in. Cute leggings and sneaker will do just fine.

My mom wore high heels.

And, as it turned out, my parents had to run to the terminal.

So my mom had to run through the airport. In her high heels.

I think they were new.

Ouch.

What gets me, though, is that then everyone decided, “That’s something Mary Kate would do!” They were all unanimously in agreement that it was a page right from my book.

I would just like to point out:

I am the child.

It is something my mother would do.

I came from her.

We cannot help that we are so fashionable. Sniff!

Oh look, time for dessert!

My dad really was in rare form. As dessert rolled around, he was regaling us with an impression of what my dance workouts look like. He has never seen them, but my bedroom is right above his office, and he has gotten pretty good at associating creak with choreography.

This is what isolation has done to us.

Having just finished his impression, I was laughing so hard I could not sit up straight, let alone speak. At this moment, Katie appeared and asked for our dessert order. I am so glad we had discussed it beforehand, because I was not capable of delivering my choice. My dad had to order for me. Then he enjoyed an espresso and a cute little cookie while I tried to pull myself together. It took some time.

The fact that my abs didn't crack shocks me.

They sang to me! The food runner brought out my little cup of joy with a candle and a frosting happy birthday inscription and the table sang to me and it was so cute and exciting. Merci beaucoup!

Here is a photographic play by play of the pot de crème that Shannon ordered. This one is our dessert go-to. Sweet chocolate crème, coffee anglaise and dark chocolate cake make a lovely base that ensures this dessert does not get too sweet. The pillows of Tahitian vanilla foam pile up like a big, beautiful sugar cloud, frothy and delightful. It is just gorgeous. Shannon had aced the game with this dessert.

Meanwhile, I was falling in love with this moelleux au chocolat. Loyalties to that salmon had to be reconsidered. Sorry boo, but when you put warm chocolate cake that melts on your tongue and adds a twist of milk chocolate and hazelnut crunch, how can you expect me to say anything but oui! And wee! There was just a touch of saltiness that brought this dessert to the top tier on the sweets tray and my goodness, that praline ice cream. Watching it melt into the molten cake was pure beauty. It was like a lava of chocolate love. As you can see, not a bite of magma perfection was left behind.

Remember that bread conversation? My Dad charmed the waitress into giving us both a baguette AND a loaf of the cranberry-walnut bread. Look at him skipping through Rittenhouse Park like a kid who just got away with something. The next morning, I found him having a breakfast of Irish butter on Parc toast, the aroma of buttery craisins wafting through the kitchen. I have to say, I really was happy for him.

Editing this, for a moment I would say I overused the word 'perfect' and its variants. I loathe redundancy in writing. I am constantly looking for ways to spice things up with varied word choice and sentence structure. The fact of the matter is, I did not overuse the word 'perfect' and its variants because every single time, it was the only word qualified for the job. Remember our pal Hemingway? He had this thing about 'le mot juste,' which basically meant that when writing, there is only one correct word for expressing what you want to say. For example, 'hint' and 'imply' might be synonyms, but only one really captures what you mean in a specific instance. This went along with how he created the lean prose that made him an American literary icon. Say less, but make each word count. Some people call him pretentious for this. Some people call him genius for this. I don't know, but I know I love his writing. I also know, nobody paid to come to my Hemingway lecture, so let me be concise:

Perfect is 'le mot juste' for Parc. Everything at Parc you’re just like, oh right. This is what perfection is. Parc is perfection. I feel very lucky I got to celebrate my birthday at such a five star establishment.

Merci, et bonne soirée!

XX,

MK