Happy Rooster in Philadelphia something to crow about again

Before martinis got all silly and the advent of oxymoronic sports bars, there was the Happy Rooster, a gem of a hideaway at the corner of 16th and Sansom, its bar warm Brazilian rosewood, its aspect buttoned-down and, in the '60s, perfectly scripted for a Mad Man.

It was run as something of a private preserve by a romantic Francophile by the name of Abe "Doc" Ulitsky, and not only were jackets required, but ties as well, and unescorted women were unsubtly discouraged from taking a seat at the bar.

It was one of the few spots that served Russian caviar (30 grams of beluga for $75) and stocked Poire Williams brandy, and daring European pilsners, and the bartender wore a starched white jacket.

But for all the starchiness, for all the dull brass and the soft gleam from what were said to be the running lamps of an old Swedish stagecoach, the 38-seat (tufted booths with gently tilting tables) bar somewhat unexpectedly served an exceedingly pricey and ambitious, if unswervingly traditional, haute menu.

There was filet of the saddle of lamb with broiled tomato, and crab souffle; 24-ounce porterhouse ($38.50), and "sorbet au Kirsch: a lemon sorbet sprinkled with macadamia nuts and Creme de Kirsch." And, as you might expect, chicken Kiev and calf's liver (with bacon and onions), and "Smoked Scotch Trout."

It was a period piece, all right. Retro before retro was retro; when "certified Black Angus" was the creme de la creme; and "local" meant the R5 to Paoli, not the farm bounty beyond.

All that got stood on its head 10 years ago when Doc sold to Rose Parrotta, earthy and dark-eyed, a lifer in the restaurant business, happy to keep the clubbiness of the old regime (the faded menus from the likes of Savoy and Tour d'Argent tacked to the walls; the flock of ceramic roosters) - but decidedly on her own terms: Unescorted women were, of course, now welcome (she was one herself), and if the liquor shelves weren't so florid, the kitchen grew even more ambitious.

Let us call this the second coming of the Happy Rooster. In 2000 Kevin O'Kane, a young veteran of the Four Seasons, turned out plates rivaling the best in town - fanned appetizers of wafer-thin tomato carpaccio layered with slivers of English cucumber, grilled golden zucchini, radish, and tender greens tossed with a roasted shallot and sherry vinaigrette. There was parchment-baked snapper, and amazing eggplant ragout. The 8-ounce filet was seasoned with O'Kane's house-made salt blend (including sage, caraway, and crushed almond), set on a collar of bacony home fries.

After him came Jay Henson, a disciple of Tony Clark. I still remember a soulful white bean ragout he'd flavored with slowly braised oxtail and delicately diced vegetables (fresh carrots and zucchini, yellow squash, peas, and a shred of spinach), a blackboard special on an ordinary February night.

The Rooster had its groove on in those years, seven or eight years ago or so - the lively room a salon presided over by the ever-present Parrotta and a cast of regulars (off-duty chefs, aspiring makeup artists, wifty State Department consultants; gruff retired pilots and sport sailors visiting from France).

It could be alternately ribald or witty, electric with Parrotta's spirited liberal rants or the tales of a retired toy-store mogul, or Ralph Roberts, the Comcast founder, having his usual - caviar and scrambled eggs - tucked in one of the maroon-colored booths.

It had the air of a classier Cheers about it - customers could count on someone (usually Rose herself) knowing their name, and their drink, and that if you stayed too late a spasm of goofy dancing might break out in the aisle.

Then a few years ago, Happy Rooster got a little sad, Parrotta's attention wandering, the stellar food growing dim, the mood losing its fizz. In 2008, the party was over; Debbie Reid Jordan, a restaurant novice (her background is in real estate; her husband Norris is a bond trader) bought the place: "Because we love it."

And so it has come to pass that the Rooster is seeking its latest identity, a third act featuring windows looking on 16th Street (they'd been half-painted over before), and after months of sputtering, and a starter chef or two, a sure hand in the venerable downstairs kitchen.

It is hard to tell if the bar's scene will ever regain its vibe. (The beer list is still pretty anemic.) But it's clear that in its latest chef, Jason Goodenough (with experience at Lacroix, Morimoto, Brasserie Perrier, and Table 31), the Rooster has the makings of a return to its glory days at the table.

Goodenough has already brought a fine-dining sensibility to a menu determinedly under $20, the tab for its 10-ounce New York strip steak frites. One can quibble over whether the grilled octopus is al dente enough, or whether the juicy roast pork sandwich is too oversized.

But again and again, the menu succeeds - with the tender burrata cheese half-moon ravioli; with the plump house-made potato gnocchi with braised oxtail, raisins, and pine nuts; with a silky tomato gazpacho with parsley oil and watermelon granita; and, yes, a "local" heirloom tomato salad with sheep's milk feta and shaved red onion.

The signature twists, though, are saved for Goodenough's renderings of Southern dishes. (He spent time in New England - and puts out one of the city's finest authentic lobster rolls, $19 - but went to college in Jackson, Miss.)

So you will encounter on the menu crawfish fricassee, involving superbly crunchy fried green tomatoes; and a classic shrimp and grits, in which head-on shrimp pose atop a creamy heap of stone-ground cheese grits tweaked with Benton's bacon from Tennessee.

Whether the Rooster will reclaim the affections of its moping regulars is still an open question.

But for those who decamped before Goodenough's arrival, its lunch and dinner offerings are worth a second look. (And a first one for those who never got a taste of the good old days.)

16th and Sansom Streets

215-963-9311

www.thehappyrooster.net

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