Philadelphia Weekly

Waking up from a dream. Lying there in bed, trying to fit the fuzzy brainwaves together into a sensible narrative. Unsuccessful. That's what this fall has been like for me. Piecing together scraps of September weddings and October baseball. A blur of cote de boeuf and dollar dogs, black tuxes and white uniforms.

On comes the brutal assault of the holidays, the underthrown passes and oversung carols. The only thing getting me by is David Katz and the chicken he serves at his Fitler Square gem M�M�.

The air-chilled, naturally raised Gianonne bird smelled like fall. Actually, every snug corner of the BYOB did, aromatic smoke and steam wafting from the open kitchen. Brown butter and cut wood and crispy animal skin.

Katz's always-changing chalkboard menu clings to embers of autumn, while moving us gingerly into winter's all-day braises and root vegetables: soft cubes of butternut squash aside two perfectly seared scallops; with a Canadian maple halo ringing a divine foie gras tart layered with caramelized onions and Fuji apples.

Katz's weather-appropriate recipes are a big reason that his solo debut--you may remember him from M at the Morris House Hotel--rings clear and honest. I can deal with the plate's contrived size designations ("Small-ish," "Larg-er") when the food on those plates are this good.

Back to that chicken, from the menu's "For Two" category: Katz cooks the breasts and legs separately, roasting the latter in duck fat and butter, doing the former sous-vide before crisping them to order. Served alongside dreamy Anson Mills grits, together the distinct techniques create a perfect storm of sublimely juicy meat and brittle, buttery skin the color of crystallized amber and charred apricots.

Also for two--though downright skimpy compared to the chicken--the garlic-and-anchovy-rubbed leg of Colorado lamb arrived off the bone, sliced into rosy pink ovals that were tough in parts. Served lukewarm, the meat quickly went cold, contrasted by earthy, soulful ratatouille hot enough to melt a polar ice cap.

Aside from the lamb snafu (and two appetizers arriving nearly 10 minutes apart), the rest of my M�M� experiences rocked like the restaurant's soundtrack (Chaka Kahn, Stevie Wonder). Not a streak on the superior stemware. Not a fingerling potato out of place.

I loved the watercress salad sparkling with ruby red grapefruit and the super-tender Wagyu skirt steak. Cumin, curry and Kecap Manis (a sweet Indonesian soy sauce) sent the tenderloin tartare surfing faintly sweet, subtly spicy Asian wavelengths. Served with paper-thin chips, it was lighthearted and seriously delicious at the same time.

The sizzling mussels popped, not only for their bright, lemony flavor, but more for the way Katz serves them: steamed, deshelled, sauteed and finished in a hot cast-iron plate that spit and smoked on its way to the table. Soft in the center, singed and toasty around the edges, you've never had mussels this way.

You've never had chocolate cake this way, either. Topped with a snowball of creamy vanilla gelato, the dense, bittersweet brownie shapeshifted in my mouth back to its warm, thick, liquid ganache state. A reverse hot fudge sundae, if you will.

Katz's other desserts equally impressed: sleep-depriving espresso pot de creme awakened with orange zest; moist, nutty brown butter cake balancing pumpkin gelato; baked Fuji apples over toasted pound cake with honeyed creme fraiche ice cream.

I didn't take advantage of the four cheeses, nor did I get the St. Canut pork, from the naturally raised, milk-fed piglets that enjoy cult status in their native Quebec. Black-and-white photos of the little oinkers hang on M�M�'s buttercup walls, souvenirs of Katz's most recent trip to visit family in Montreal.

I'd planned on the pork shoulder, but on my second visit it was all sold out. Guess I'll have to make a trip back, which is just fine by me. I'll put the fall to bed and make some new memories for winter.