Turn off the Tapas

sensory overload: Salmon with barbecue sauce, mashed blue potatoes and broccoli rabe is one of many dishes Lulu treats with a heavy hand.
Photo By: Michael T. Regan

Lula is weighed down by hyperbole and too-too-full plates.

by Elisa Ludwig

It's a rare occasion when, as a consumer, you wish you'd get a smaller portion of something you're paying for, but I had that kind of experience at Lula, the new Mediterranean spot on 12th and Locust streets. For a place that bills itself as a tapas bar, everything seems to be suspiciously oversized. For one thing, there's the cavernous space Lula now occupies, in the possibly doomed location next to More Than Just Ice Cream and across from Planned Parenthood, where restaurants and concepts come and go on a practically yearly basis. Throughout its various incarnations, this dining room has never looked inviting, and much of that is structural. The 12th Street entrance opens into an L-shaped room with a bar and extends to a series of banquettes and tables facing the Locust Street sidewalk. The ceilings are high and bare, and the lighting is not so much intentionally, atmospherically dim as out-and-out inadequate: Visitors at dusk may find themselves squinting to see a companion across the table. And rather than an open feeling, the large windows invoke the ambience of an airport terminal, where the world outside is visible but a distant distraction.

Then, as soon as we were seated, we got the big talk. We were greeted with a barrage of more information than we could process. The menu was explained in excessive detail. The chef's charms were extolled at every possible opportunity. Helpful, friendly service quickly became awkward and discomfiting when we were given a list of unsolicited recommendations for each course. It was, in all likelihood, sincere enthusiasm, but it felt very much like a sales pitch.

With expectations buoyed by all this praise, we were bound to be disappointed by what followed. From the bar, an orange juice-based white wine sangria and the house mojito martini were watery and skimpy on the alcohol. (That was especially surprising considering that Lula is owned by the proprietors of the watering holes Black Sheep and Dark Horse.) Next came the bread — sliced, unfresh dinner rolls, accompanied by a dish of olive oil afloat with whole parsley leaves and giant garlic cloves.

By then, we'd ascertained that the tapas were not going to be authentic. The menu, a long list of Mediterranean-inspired dishes accented by contemporary American standbys and a few Asian ingredients, lacks cohesion. It would have been nicer if Lula had started small, sticking to its stated goal of offering tapas, and built out from there. In fact, the "tapas" portion of the menu might more accurately be labeled "entrees without sides." For two people, two small plates here are more than enough to eat, which is a bargain but rules out the more appealing possibility of ordering as you go.

Some of the selections were right on target, like the fried lamb meatballs encased in a thick crust, their tender interiors tangy with yogurt, or the feathery baby crab cakes stacked in a pyramid on top of a faintly sweet orange pepper and coriander puree. We were especially taken with a house special gazpacho of cucumber and poblano pepper, which was both cool and smoky, and festively capped with long shards of blue corn tortilla and a sprinkling of microgreens.

Yet many dishes were sloppily executed. Grilled octopus with small shards of pancetta, red potatoes and roasted red onions had grown cold, leaving the ham gummy and the potatoes hard, undermining the aptly cooked seafood. Grilled chicken skewers were dusted with pepper but completely unseasoned on the inside — a problem their cucumber yogurt dipping sauce did nothing to remedy. In the Serrano platter, two waxy wedges of cheese and curled slices of ham were oddly accompanied by stale, cheese-mottled flatbread.

Other dishes suffered from a heavy hand and an overall lack of plate appeal. Salmon slicked with a gooey barbecue sauce had a second layer of sauce made from chickpeas and yogurt. The plate was further weighed down by enormous stalks of sautéed broccoli rabe and a raft of buttermilk mashed blue potatoes. Grilled vegetable stacks were giant, bland sandwiches of roasted red pepper, eggplant and squash, layered with semi-melted aged provolone. Zucchini fritters, surprisingly light, were salted to excess and made far less appetizing by a giant squiggle of thick roasted red pepper sauce.

Desserts held more promise. Our server highly recommended the tiramisu but we did not sample it. Instead, we waited several minutes for what we were told was a new creation, a blood orange bread pudding, which came topped with chocolate sauce and sliced strawberries. It was a warm and velvety dessert with an inspired combination of flavors, but with its almost crouton-like texture, it was decidedly more "bread" than "pudding." In another selection, fresh strawberries came nestled in a layer of Amaretto sabayon in a martini glass. Even though the almond flavor was hardly detectable, this understated dish made the most of simple ingredients. Like a fortune cookie, this Italian-style dessert contained a note of optimism. It suggested that a little less at Lula might go a long way.

Lula 225 S. 12th St. 215-925-5040