Hog Wild

Tried-and-true bistro tropes flourish at Queen Village's Cochon.

by Trey Popp

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Published: Dec 18, 2007

Michael T. Regan PIG OF THE LITTER: Cochon chef Gene Giuffi's slow-roasted pork shoulder entrée, served with lentils, Brussels sprouts and a poached egg. (CLICK IMAGE FOR LARGER VERSION)

How many hexagonal floor tiles can one man take? How many zinc bars? How much pressed tin?

Sooner or later, the city will have an answer to these questions — and at the rate new bistros are opening, I'd put my money on sooner. The latest is Cochon, which took the place of Queen Village's Sud in October. It opted to skip the traditional zinc bar, but vintage French piggy posters make up for the lack. And the six-sided floor tiles are burnished with the warmth of what might well be a century's worth of footfalls.

The recipes, too, might go back 100 years, but then that's the whole point of bistro fare. Even if your grandfather supped on the same dishes as a boy, things like steak frites and mussels in broth never get old. The trick is keeping them from getting stale. Cochon chef/co-owner Gene Giuffi pulls that off gracefully, breathing just enough freshness into old classics to win a shy standing ovation from another pair of diners the night I went.

Shy sounds like an odd description for upright applause, but Cochon's atmosphere is just too splendidly low-key to permit much of an outburst. The service is attentive but relaxed, the courses evenly paced. And it's all of a piece with the cooking, which is more about sinking into your seat with gratitude than springing you to your toes with excitement.

That began with a piping bowl of perfect French onion soup. As yummy as the top layer of molten cheese was, I'd recommend this offering even to the lactose-intolerant for the delicate beef broth and sweet, paper-thin onions steaming beneath. Also squarely in the traditional mold was an appetizer salad of green beans dressed with almonds, shallots and a tangy mustard vinaigrette. This was a straightforward crowd-pleaser — though I do wish our server had mentioned that it already came with one of the main courses we ordered.

In a more creative vein, seared scallops were speckled with lardons and roasted peppers under a gentle lemon-thyme dressing — which worked particularly well with the tasty fingerling potatoes mixed in. My companions had equal praise for a stack of fried oysters. These were breaded a little too thickly for my taste, but I loved the shaved fennel scattered at the base of their little tower.

Side dishes and garnishes also shone brightly in Giuffi's uniformly hearty main courses. Cochon means pig, served here as a slow-roasted shoulder or a grilled chop. I tried the former. The meat was slip-from-the-bone tender and very full-flavored, but what really bewitched me were the lentils and Brussels sprouts that came underneath. Or maybe I should say the crowning poached egg, whose runny yolk enriched everything once I pricked it with my fork. This is the kind of dish that almost makes you welcome winter.

I'd trade the pig for the game hen any day, though. It took a while for this dish to make its way around the table to me, so I got only a hint of the preserved lemon component, but once I dug in, I couldn't stop. The skin was so perfectly crispy it almost seemed as if the whole bird had been dropped in the deep fryer for a flash. But that would have been a crime against the delicate flesh of the fowl — which puzzled and enchanted me at the same time. Its flavor was spectacular, but gamey it wasn't.

Later, I asked Giuffi where the bird came from and how he'd made it so delicious. "I got lucky," he laughed. "I started out using Chef's Choice game hens, but then I found out that's a Perdue brand." So he switched to poussins (more like a young chicken than a Cornish hen) from Griggstown Quail Farms. Mystery solved: I've been evangelizing for Griggstown ever since they began peddling poussins at the Headhouse Square farmers market earlier this year. Now I know to roast them exclusively skin-side-down in a buttered pan, as Giuffi does.

The kitchen's only real misstep was unfortunately a big one. A special of ono, a thick-fleshed white fish also known as wahoo, just didn't have much flavor at all. Dessert did, though — especially a stellar pumpkin cheesecake dotted with curry-infused dollops of thick cream.

With understated flourishes like that and a few others at Cochon, I guess I can take more of the old bistro tropes after all — and with pleasure.

(t_popp@citypaper.net)

Cochon

801 E. Passyunk Ave.

215-923-7675, cochonbyob.com

Hours: Tue.-Sat., 5:30-10:30 p.m.; closed Sunday and Monday.

Appetizers, $7-$12; Entrées, $18-$23

Reservations recommended.

Wheelchair accessible.

 

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