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ye olde london grille
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by jennifer estaris
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TRUE! Nervous, very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why WILL you say that I am mad? It was a dark and gloomy night. I was surrounded by the death of Philadelphia. The Philly Art Museum area. Lanky graduate students. Aging yuppies. Refined seniors. Evil ghosts of the nearby Eastern Penitentiary. And....excellent, excellent dining options. One of which was the London Grill, a melded bar and restaurant run by chef Michael McNally.
The place's environment was dark Victorian meets the loud early Nineties--as though Jack the Ripper were going to stop by at any time for a drink, to laugh it up with the rest of the bar-goers. But not I! Not on a night such as this! I requested to sit at the dining room. I had to do it. There was no stopping now. The patrons looked at me for a brief moment, assessing my sanity. I scarcely breathed. I smiled, -- for what had I to fear? They knew nothing. My MANNER had convinced them. I was singularly at ease. However, as for the beautiful beautiful wait staff--and not in your common superficial sense, but in that innocent, happy, friendly sense of the word. Perhaps too friendly. Perhaps they knew too much! Especially my waitress. It was all a sham, a charade, smiling at me with raven hair swaying as she handed me a menu. I closed my eyes tight, and the next thing I knew, her pounding footsteps faded away. My heart, however, had a different tale.
I read the menu. Whether or not London actually has this same cuisine is doubtful--I would like to proffer the opinion that hanging at the Grill is much better than eating in London. Perhaps because they served what I like to call Creative American Continental as opposed to British cuisine, which always forces a pop-up of greasy fried fish and chips. The insanity of knowing such grease had sharpened my senses, not destroyed, not dulled them. Above all was the sense of taste acute. The selections were quite quite titillating to read, with entrée prices ranging from $16.50 - 23.00--very normal. True, their menu changes seasonally (and will be going online soon), but that means nothing. To give you a sampling of their mischievous entrees, Hearken! and observe how healthily, how calmly, I tell you the whole list: Grilled Chili-Rubbed Pork Tenderloin. Roasted Free Range Chicken. Barbeque Salmon. Grilled Duck Breast. Veal Tenderloin with Sea Scallops. Roasted Sea Bass. Sesame-Crusted Calf's Liver. Yes, it sounds quite diabolical. And evil has never tasted so good.
For the young urchins, my recommendation is to go to the slightly less-sophisticated and urbane bar. Like the nearby Rembrandts, the people are younger, the food is cheaper, and the beer medley is exquisite. I adore their devilish sounding drafts on tap (in fact, I think one of their drafts has the word "devil" in its name). But based on my previous escapades to the Grill's bar: I recommend the duck quesadillas; I don't recommend the all-too-salty fried squid. The results were a bit blander and pricier than expected. You can order dinner at the bar, but you may as well saunter over to the pretty dining room, for that innocent look. As I was doing.
So, a word of advice for my fellow murderous friends. There's always the heavenly (in the most sinister way possible) dining room. The restroom being an excellent place to get rid of the evidence. And you could go back to the bar for a drink later, to forget your woes. And then, when the action gets started, hide away in the back of the dining room. Sesame-Crusted Calf's Liver does have that cannibalistic deviltry to it, doesn't it?
I ordered, and was beginning to feel at ease. But then, noise from the other side of the Grill. O God! At once, there was live music coming from the acoustically concentrated bar, which seemingly took all of the bar-goers' attention. But from their side looks...What could I do? I foamed--I raved--I swore! They clapped -- they suspected! -- they KNEW! -- they were making a mockery of my horror! -- this I thought, and this I think. But anything was better than this agony! Anything was more tolerable than this derision! I could bear those hypocritical smiles no longer! I felt that I must scream or die! -- and now -- again -- hark! louder! louder! louder! LOUDER! --
"Villains!" I shrieked, "clap no more! I admit the deed! here, here! -- it is the castration of Poe's hideous words for a filthy review!"
~THE END~
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