Philadelphia Weekly

When it was announced last year that Sixth and Bainbridge's beloved dalmatian mural would be painted over for yet another French restaurant, fans of art and canines must have wept tears of Bordeaux. Opened in August, Bistrot La Minette ironically takes its name from the French for pussycat.

The beloved black-spotted facade has been transformed into red brick and wood-trimmed cafe windows. Owners Peter Woolsey and John Gonzalez spent two weeks on the walls, attempting to achieve the precise buttery yellow Woolsey saw in bistros in Lyon and Paris, where he worked for two years at the three-star Michelin-rated Lucas Carton.

After a major rehab, the Dalmatian's only survivors are the iron columns supporting the ceiling and the original floor joists fashioned into a 17-foot table for the private dining room.

Calvados cocktails and cheap house wine flow at the snug bar, a Belgian relic unearthed at Architectural Antiques Exchange in Northern Liberties. Beyond, marble tables flank a cushy banquette the color of a red velvet cupcake.

Gonzalez runs the floor while Woolsey flits about in the open kitchen, a Johnson & Wales and Le Cordon Bleu grad peering through black-framed glasses. Woolsey studied pastry in Paris, where he met his wife Peggy. Upon returning to Philly, he added La Mas Perrier, Striped Bass and Washington Square to his resume. Though the problems with Starr's star-crossed parksider could fill an encyclopedia, Woolsey's desserts were never one of them.

From the vivid cassis and spiced pear sorbets to the complimentary house-made chocolates easing the check's sticker shock, sweets are still Woolsey's forte, while the savory side of Minette's menu suffers some execution woes.

The raspberry-studded creme legere inside the feather-light millefeuille rocked, but the overcooked shrimp floating in the overpriced ($11!) garlic soup was like a rock. I expected coffee pot de creme's same silky, creamy qualities mirrored in the savory gratins, but both the cauliflower and potatoes dauphinoise arrived wet and soggy.

Woolsey baked the loveliest tarte tatin, honey-colored Gala duomos encased in buttery pastry, but his house-made tagliatelle clumped together like blond dreadlocks.

Redemption came in the form of rabbit nested alongside unpleasant pasta. Braised in Dijon for two hours, it was among the best bunnies I've had. Supple. Mild. Accentuated by the mustard's spicy tang. Watch your backs, little woodland creatures. Peter Woolsey is coming for you.

Meats are sourced from D'Artagnan, and Woolsey shines brightest when cooking them. Whether it's the crisp-skinned duck a l'orange with sunchokes and broccoli; the gloriously charred, hand-butchered, grass-fed rib eye; or the falling-apart lamb shank braised for three hours in the Gascony style with carrots, turnips, tomatoes, anchovies and gobs of red wine, he possesses a to-the-millisecond intuition for exactly when to pull cuts from the stove and the stock pot.

He does right by the rest of his menu too. The wild salmon tartare topped with toothy puy lentil tartare and ringed with an aurora of blood orange vinaigrette created a sprightly counterpoint for the wintrier offerings. The wonderful oeuf en meurette, a red wine poached egg decorated with mushrooms, lardons, caramelized pearl onions and buttered crostini, is just like his mother-in-law makes.

To get the right richness for his pate campagne, he vets Washington Avenue's Asian butchers for pork liver. Chopped, mixed with pork jowl and butt ground in-house and pressed into a bacon-lined terrine with a core of quick caramelized chicken livers, the pate is extravagant and humblingly rustic at the same time.

Golden baby brioches accompany as well as vintage mustard pots brimming with Maille Dijon and cornichons. Like much of Minette's decor, the pots were discovered during Woolsey and his mother-in-law's monthlong excursion through France's flea markets. Just another soupcon of authenticity in this charming homage.