Philadelphia Weekly

Right angles. Numbered streets. This is what I know. Outside the city limits, it's more like six-one-oh-my-God-where-the-hell-am-I? Jug-handles and highways. Seatbelt laws and cell phone bans. I couldn't tell you the first step of getting to Blue Bell or West Chester, or where Newtown Square is in relation to Kennett Square. And don't get me started on Jersey.

Considering this, I don't know what made me think it was a good idea to review a restaurant in Wayne.

Actually, it was a Sly Fox sales rep I met during Beer Week. In hushed tones, he'd whispered tales of a Main Line alehouse with great food and a better-than-Monk's beer list. Ergo, I'm en route to Teresa's Next Door, sitting in traffic on 76 with nothing but a stick of Orbit to tide me over.

If you're suburb-challenged like myself, Wayne is reached off an exit somewhere between the Zoo and KOP. Sans traffic, the ride is only about 35 minutes, but Teresa's strict no-rez policy ensures you'll still be waiting even after you arrive.

In the foyer that joins Teresa's Next Door and its sister restaurant, posh pizzeria Teresa's Caf�, the hostess drops the bomb like a jaded oncologist. Forty-five minutes to an hour. No sympathy. No apologies. No call-ahead list either, which is just plain mean.

Inside, co-owners (and co- executive chefs) Michael Ellis and Andrew Dickerson have transformed an old paint store into a handsome pub of cherry and stone. TND is far too pretty to really be a gastropub--Standard Tap dancers would be aghast at the incandescent lighting and blue granite bar top--but for the well-heeled Wayniacs crowding the long, narrow space, it feels just right.

The menu is Belgian-influenced with a touch of Mexico, but many dishes fail to deliver on the big flavors their descriptions suggest. Cinnamon barely registers in a rub for crispy whole roasted wings. The dry chicken-apple sausage sandwich tastes like neither chicken nor apple, nor does the violet squiggle of currant mustard taste like currant.

In a yummy special of oak-grilled kangaroo loin grilled with buttery, garlicky bok choy and oyster mushrooms, the inedible stems of the 'shrooms (think nylon rope) are left on the caps. Most of the carnitas tacos wind up on my jeans as the overloaded blue corn tortillas split like a fat guy's pants beneath the weight of decent queso fresco-flecked pork.

The red grape sorbet is as icy and sugary as Welch's juice. The Gruyere, cheddar and mozzarella cheeses in the undercooked kaas frite lack in melty gooiness, and the sausage sandwich's overwhelmingly large baguette fits like a king-sized bed for a 4-year-old.

This is what I drove all the way to Wayne for? Stupid Sly Fox man.

Fortunately, there's plenty of spicy Sly Fox Saison Vos in which to drown my sorrow. Organized by country into a user-friendly list, Teresa's beer bottle count exceeds 200. Of the 26 taps, half are dedicated to Belgian nectars and the rest to domestic microbrews. TND stocks all the necessary glassware too--more than 70 vessels, from iconic Chimay chalices to slender flutes for Cantillon Gueuze, a hazy, blended Lambic.

Clean-cut servers look like Villanova freshmen, but they're much more likely to suggest a Kwak than a Keystone. There's an affordable selection of offbeat and interesting wines--Sancerres, Argentine Malbecs, lively Falanghinas and fruity Nero D'Avolas from Southern Italy--that could have easily been an afterthought.

Mussels, gastros' great staple, are done six ways. Both styles I try--the tangy, bacon-studded slurry of Danish bleu cheese and Hoegaarden ("Dirty") and the saffron-tinged cream and white wine broth ("Crocus and Cream")--are winners, especially soaked up with the crisp, well-salted frites (rather than the stale brown rolls). The top butt steak is remarkably tender and a perfect follow-up to a crunchy salad of apple, goat cheese, endive, radicchio and watercress dressed with Lindemans Cassis vinaigrette.

The cheese menu is another pleasant surprise. As if I haven't drunk enough, many of the cheeses incorporate booze: Guinness porter in the Cahill Irish cheddar; Sauternes in the Fourme au Saturernes, a wine-washed tangy-sweet bleu. Even the accompanying dried cherries get a thorough Hoegaarden soak.

Chocolate-cherry bread pudding topped with bourbon-spiked vanilla ice cream makes a sweet finale, though I might prefer a city-bound ticket on the nearby R5 train.

Teresa's Next Door

126 N. Wayne Ave., Wayne. 610.293.0119
Cuisine: Belgian.
Hours: Mon.-Thurs., 4pm-1am; Fri.-Sat., 11:30am-1am; Sun., 11am-1am.
Prices: $3.75-$26.
Sound advice: Eardrum bursting.
Atmosphere: Urban gastropub's well-mannered Main Line cousin.
Service: Speedy and smart.
Food: Crapshoot.