Aw shucks: Selections from the raw bar are especially good.

Sexy Bistro

Coquette has the ingredients for citywide success.

by Kirsten Henri

There’s a terrible affliction people get when a new restaurant opens near their home. Perhaps you’ve fallen victim to it yourself. Do any of these symptoms sound familiar?

1) Extreme boosterism. A hysterical enthusiasm for the new restaurant followed by a compulsion to inform everyone you know about it.

2) Dining at the new restaurant with alarming frequency, elevating your customer status to that of a “regular,” usually followed by delusions of grandeur about your importance to the success of said restaurant.

3) Insisting your friends trek to your neighborhood to try this restaurant.

4) The most insidious symptom of all: a complete disconnect between your tastebuds and your brain.

I’ve seen neighborhood restaurant fanatics with their eyes rolling back in their heads as they hyperventilate over the magnificence of the short ribs (which invariably turn out to be world-class stinkers).

Or otherwise sane people inhale forkfuls of gluey gnocchi and insist it’s marvelous even as it cements their molars together. And all because the restaurant is around the corner from their house.

Coquette, the new French bistro from Sansom Street Oyster House proprietor Cary Neff, is everything a neighborhood spot should be: attractive, lively and friendly with well-prepared, uncomplicated food at reasonable prices. And a liquor license. (Actually it doesn’t have the liquor license quite yet; Neff expects it to arrive Oct. 1.)

Neff has taken one of Philly’s inexplicably cursed restaurant corners (Fifth and Bainbridge) and banished the bad juju—freshening it up with lots of pressed tin, big windows and tall mirrors painted with witty culinary quotes. An enticing raw bar is piled high with sparkling ice and oysters. An interesting mix of families, old folks and young couples fills the room.

From the complimentary scoop of chicken liver pate served alongside the bread and butter to classic dishes like nicoise salad and steak frites, the food—from Neff, who’s working in the kitchen alongside chef Jeremy Nolan—tips its chapeau to France.

Oysters from both coasts were especially good—nicely shucked and bathing in their own liquor. Beavertails from Rhode Island were a bracing slurp of New England brine, while Quonsets from British Columbia were delicate and creamy. The cocktail sauce was just how I like it: dense, chunky and worshipping at the gnarled feet of the horseradish root. A tart, shallot-y mignonette offered a more elegant option.

A lyonnaise salad—the bistro classic that pokes fun at the health-conscious by wrapping itself in bacon and poached egg—was a pleasant mix of textures. The crispness of the bacon, the silkiness of the egg and the soft, salty addition of sauteed cubes of potato made the discipline of tough, bitter frisee seem necessary. Links of boudin blanc sausage were as velvety as custard and served alongside a generous portion of sliced cornichons, tangy mustard and lentils.

A salad nicoise involved traditional ingredients: black olives, haricot verts, sliced potatoes, hard-boiled eggs, tuna and tomatoes, plus a fan of Bibb lettuce with an emulsified sherry vinaigrette. It was perfectly pleasant. I might’ve said the same for a crock of tender artichoke hearts stewed with onion, tomato and strips of ham—had the ham not been ridiculously salty.

Salting is an issue Coquette needs to work out. As wonderful as a tender hanger steak was, expertly cooked to medium rare, it was missing that vital sprinkle of salt. Accompanying fries were well prepared, but also salt-free.

Roast chicken—recommended by a friend who lives nearby—lived up to its reputation. The pairing of moist meat and crisp skin served over opulent potatoes whipped with Comte cheese was an ideal comfort food dish.

Flavorwise, fish fared as well as the meats (with fewer seasoning problems). Plump, firm skate wing sat alongside a salad of summer’s last tomatoes and croutons, which became more enjoyable as the croutons soaked up the caper brown butter and softened. Rainbow trout was delicate and fresh, daintily lined with sliced potatoes and haricot verts and lightly dressed in an anchovy-almond sauce.

Desserts could use some work. A strawberry-pistachio tart was rock hard and ice cold, and profiteroles were stuffed with a dense, grainy chocolate paste that didn’t do the leaden pastry any favors. Espresso ice cream was intense with bean flavor, but the texture was off.

With some tweaking, Coquette can become a beloved neighborhood restaurant, earning the loyalty of both fevered neighbors and those from farther afield.