This retirement-community meal was best I’ve eaten on the Main Line

The intimate dining room is hushed but for the clinking of glasses and silverware clattering on gleaming plates. There are only 32 seats. The polished wooden chairs are plushly upholstered. The paintings and a stylized metalwork map that adorn the room are tasteful. A glass wine room, lit golden from within, casts soft light on the silver damask-swathed tables, as do the Napa winery-esque modern chandeliers.

This is Carlton Commons, the heart of senior-living, life-planning community Waverly Heights in Gladwyne.

The mansion in which this dining room is housed was once the elegant Main Line estate of a railway baron. Now, it has the air of a very quiet cruise ship, complete with a dress code: dresses for women, dinner jackets for men.

This is a restaurant that has a waiting list that’s ostensibly 710 people, about as long as Royal Sushi’s notorious Resy waitlist. But it‘s arguably far more difficult to get into. You need to be 62 years of age to be a resident (who can bring guests of any age), and the cost of admission for a one-bedroom dwelling requires a $336,000 minimum down payment. (Deluxe apartments start at over a million dollars — not a surprise for wealthy Gladwyne.)

An osso buco collapses into a tangle of tender fibers at the prod of a fork, melting into the slightly tangy goat cheese polenta puddled beneath. Crunchy fried potato slivers add pleasing texture to each bite. A butternut squash risotto is just as satisfying, a master class in texture, with creamy squash trapped in distinct grains of arborio, beset with balsamic-scented curls of slow-cooked sweet onion.

If I closed my eyes, I could very well think I was dining at Le Virtù.

There’s a perfectly al dente rigatoni alla vodka upon which a crisp chicken cutlet is nestled, then topped with an oozing cloud of burrata. (It’s almost identical to the thoroughly satisfying one I just had at Center City’s Wine Dive.)

The specialty of the house is a curiously delicious tomato aspic, served with a tiny slice of cucumber and a dollop of Hellman’s mayo. No staff member was able to explain its origins, as it predated all of them. “It was always here,” said Waverly Heights’ white-toqued executive chef Michael F. Tiernan, 47. “And it is a fan favorite.”

When Tiernan interviewed for the position in 2017, he was expressly told to not touch the tomato aspic. He could change the shape — the kitchen’s cookie-cutter collection forms it into hearts, circles, and triangles — but he was not permitted to riff on the recipe, which consists of unflavored gelatin, tomato juice, vegetable juice, celery, onion, and olives. “It’s a very traditional, Old World-style recipe,” said CEO Tom Garvin.

Tiernan has worked at Waverly Heights for eight years, with a cumulative 18 years under his belt cooking at continuing-care facilities. In addition to managing Carlton Commons and changing its menu every three months, he cooks for a packed calendar of special events. On one of my visits, he was preparing for New Year’s Eve with poached lobster and filet mignon for a dinner that would be a prelude to dancing. The only major difference between a New Year’s party at Waverly Heights and a typical one: Their ball drops at 9 p.m. “We celebrate like we’re in Australia,” Garvin quipped.

I dined at Carlton Commons twice, once as a guest of a friend’s parents who are residents and again after I contacted the life-plan community (the preferred term over retirement community, as I was informed by Garvin), who indulged my request for an interview with no small amount of incredulousness. But I loved my first meal there.

And I was deeply curious. A bookshelf in the community’s library is stacked with books written by residents, including volumes on psychology, cardiovascular disorders, and politics. Carlton Commons’ regular diners had careers as physicians, ambassadors, and scientists. How does one cook for residents like those of Waverly Heights?

Well, first, by changing the menu every 90 days, and then by packing it with global influences, frequently rendered into Italian-rooted comfort foods. And hosting lots of themed parties and events.

The back of house is, by necessity, an institutional operation. Carlton Commons and Waverly Heights’ other dining rooms and cafes are executed in partnership with Unidine, the life-plan community’s version of Aramark, though Carlton Commons’ chef has significant creative control over the menus. The pasta that winds up on my plate tastes far less institutional at many places I’ve eaten, including the 100-layer lasagna at Borromini in Rittenhouse.

The prices for me, a single guest, are shockingly low. It’s $37.50 plus tax for a full meal, including an appetizer, soup or salad, entree, and dessert. No tipping is permitted. I am unable to pay more than $5.75 for a glass of chardonnay, and a nip of Maker’s Mark costs $4.75. (There’s no sommelier on staff, but there is a wine committee consisting of opinionated residents.)

My first dinner there had some slight hiccups. One of my dining companions ordered a steak “still pink inside” that arrived well done, but it was swiftly replaced by an appropriately cooked one. Another dining companion was startled to discover that her iced tea was presweetened, which took more than a few minutes to rectify.

My edamame dumplings swam in a too heavy-handed pour of bracingly salty soy sauce that would have worked better as a dipping sauce, but the dumplings themselves were delightful crispy golden pockets of gently mashed soybeans. My miso sea bass was pristinely roasted, flaking apart into succulent morsels with a gentle nudge.

Overall, the food is comforting, gently refined, and on trend in every which way, even to the surprise of Waverly Heights’ staff (down to the baked potatoes, available as a side every night). And the very early reservations — Carlton Commons seats diners between 5:30 and 7:15 p.m., and everyone is asleep by last call — reflect recent data that indicate diners are eating out earlier than ever. And I assure you, many of those residents listen to vinyl records, just like in Philly’s listening bars.

Dining at Carlton Commons reminded me that sometimes, the best meals aren’t found in the places you’d expect.