Time was, around 1966 to be exact, when La Terrasse was practically the only French game in town, and food buffs from all over made the hike to the campus of the University of Pennsylvania to eat there. The kitchen was a training place for many chefs who have gone on to other positions, and it was in the forefront of Philadelphia's first restaurant renaissance (I say "first" because I think another one started about last year). La Terrasse built a devoted clientele, but, as many good things end, it closed in 1988. Bill Hoffman (of Carolina fame), former general manager of the restaurant, renovated and reopened in 1997. It is now owned by a consortium, Bastille Associates.

Coming into this bi-level space, still hard-edged and no warmer than it was 11 years ago, is a journey back to simpler times. I remember when we didn't know as much, and didn't expect as much. Would La Terrasse withstand the onslaught of more sophisticated palates? I'm happy to say that it does, and Andre, the maître d', smooths the way.

White tablecloths and mellow jazz help to soften the exposed brick and wood-paneled room, and the black metal chairs with rush seats are more comfortable than the old ones. There is a long, welcoming bar area along one side, where smoking is permitted. The waitstaff is young and eager, but untried—my glass of Chilean Sauvignon Blanc ($7) finally arrived when one of my companions was on his second Scotch ($5.25).

The bread basket came by, carried by a smiling young lady, and we chose from the selection of sliced batard (firm, thick loaf), sliced baguette (the French bread that everyone carries around) or a sourdough roll. One of the best things there is is good bread and butter with a plate of quality charcuterie. My companions agreed, and ordered the assiette de charcuterie ($12 à la carte, or included in the prix-fixe menu).

The prix-fixe ($45) is a terrific value, because it offers three choices each of appetizer, entree and dessert, plus a four-glass flight of the Beaujolais Nouveau. The assiette included two slices of duck galantine, garlic sausage and saucisson, with a nice toss of mesclun in the center. The sausage and saucisson ( a smaller, drier, very typical sausage) were fine, but it was the homemade galantine that shone. It had the right, slightly coarse texture, the right gamy flavor and a rim of amber aspic to provide yet another dimension.

My pumpkin soup, another choice on the prix-fixe, was a deep bowl of dark russet warmth. It had a hint of ginger and cloves, but was light years away from the all-American pie. The French, and Italians too, eat a great deal of pumpkin, but they treat it more like a vegetable than we do. Soup is an integral part of the French diet and therefore its preparation is a serious thing. "A soup like this is not the work of one man. It is the result of a constantly refined tradition. There are nearly a thousand years of history in this soup."—a French missionary extolling his native cuisine in Willa Cather's Death Comes for the Archbishop.

So far, the foods we tried were classic combinations with the wine, which is the greatest incarnation of the Gamay grape. The first Beaujolais poured was Georges duBoeuf's brand new 1998 vintage, a frothy, fruity, fun wine; the second, a Beaujolais-Villages Nouveau, a blend of wines from some of the villages in the area, is tastier and more pungent. We drank the next two with our entrees, and they worked as well.

One of my companions ordered the veal porterhouse ($26 à la carte), a 12-oz cut of veal that neither of us had encountered before. It is simply cut from the end of the loin so it includes a piece of the filet (as in porterhouse steak) and lends itself to grilling. It was delicious, just doused with a bit of veal jus, pink at the center, and served with a creamy, earthy wild mushroom risotto. Just right, too, with the Beaujolais-Villages, some of them crus (growths), which were softer than the two that we drank first. Beaujolais-Villages is not released until at least the spring following the primeur (new wine), and can last for a year or two longer.

The fourth wine, a Morgon, is one of the best crus of the Beaujolais area, and had many more levels to correspond to the venison (prix fixe, $24 à la carte) which another companion and I ordered. The farmed venison we are served today does not have the gaminess we expect from hunted venison. It is low in fat, and has a mild flavor that is much more palate-friendly. It can also be served rare, in thin slices as it was here, and is a natural ally of sweet-and-sour cabbage. We got mashed potatoes, too, and it all produced a hearty and comforting dish.

We were enjoying desserts of ice creams—butter pecan, chocolate, and my latest favorite, pistachio, and a huge crème brûlée with the crunchiest topping ever, when the chef, Yonn Chupin, stopped by. He is a young Breton, quite pleasant, who worked previously in Boston. With him came a plate of mignardises (little cakes) with very intricate chocolate piping around the border of the dish. These halted conversation for a while. There were puff pastry swans filled with chocolate mousse, tiny fruit tarts, strawberry mousse cakes, small squares of chocolate cheesecake and slices of chocolate pecan pie—all sweetly delicate, and a lovely end to the evening.

La Terrasse is still doing its thing right—the food is definitely French, but not so that it would dissuade less adventurous or calorie-conscious eaters. The service is irregular, but with good humor, and will not keep me from coming back to try more of Chupin's cuisine—divers scallops, foie gras, etc. And I will be back.

La Terrasse, 3432 Sansom St., (215) 386-5000. Dinner: Monday-Thursday 5:30-9:30 p.m., Friday and Saturday 5:30-10 p.m., Sunday 5-9 p.m. Lighter fare: 2:30 p.m.-midnight. Lunch: Monday-Friday 11:30 a.m.-2:30 p.m. Bar Lunch: Monday-Friday 11:30 a.m.-2 p.m. Sunday Brunch: 11 a.m.-2 p.m. Wheelchair accessible.

Join the
City Paper
Mailing List