Philadelphia Weekly

Starch de triumph: Noble’s risotto, as well as most other items on the menu, is getting a serious price cut.

Photo by Michael Persico

Like a pat of butter on a sun-warmed biscuit, the foie gras melted on the tongue. Late sunlight washed across the sidewalk bar, through the glass awning (actually a counterweighted window) and into the corduroy-trimmed periwinkle dining room of Noble American Cookery. I swear, it was like angels on high had come down to see what the fuss was about. 


It was a moment, a moment for sure. But three bites, and—flash—the sliver of liver (and seraphim) was gone, leaving behind trace evidence of its grape (fresh, verjus and saba) and almond (puree and scone) accents. If the $16 Doublemint stick-sized foie gras were in high school, bullies would beat it up and take its lunch money. This might be fine for a tapas spot, but this is Noble American Cookery, a star-spangled resto with steep price tags. 


Noble comes courtesy of the trio from now-shuttered (but still talked about) Blue on LBI: Todd Rodgers, Bruno Pouget and chef Steven Cameron. The Jersey boys are equal partners in this Keystone endeavor, having turned a claustrophobic trattoria into a chic urban silo filled with a bounty of American ingredients.


In this economy, though, you need to find a way not to charge $13 for two scallops, even if their ocean-scented sweetness and Barnegat Light address make them extra-desirable. No short rib—not even the succulent grass-fed one Kansas-
bred Cameron plates with orgasmic 
onion rice pudding—should cost $25. 


But hey, this is a capitalist enterprise. What’s more American than that?


The good word from Cameron, though, is that Noble is slashing prices like a GM dealership, with just about every item having come down a few dollars since my visit. What a relief, because Cameron’s smart, seasonal approach is the truth.


Take those scallops, freshened with a green bouquet of peas, watercress, lime, mint and avocado. As for the aforementioned short rib, even though I paid too much for it, I have to confess I haven’t had a better one. 


Typically a rich, wintry cut, Cameron’s rib registered as surprisingly summery with the brightening, bittering addition of halved lemons to the meat’s 12-hour braise and loads of sweet, sloooow -cooked Spanish onions in the unpretentious rice pudding with the million-dollar mouth-feel.


Cameron compensates for outsourcing the black sable (Alaska) and cape gooseberries (Florida) by getting hyperlocal on the rooftop herb garden, home to potted herbs, lettuces and vegetables. Through expansive skylights, the windswept stems of heirloom tomato plants seem to bend and ogle you eating their relatives in the slender second-story dining room.


Downstairs, highbrow highballer Christian Gaal mans a handsome bar cut from a naturally fallen 400-year-old African Rosewood tree. With his Monopoly Man mustache, sleeve garters cinched just so and apothecary of vials and tinctures, he looks like a circa-1930 pharmacist who might bootleg on the side. Gaal handles fragile thyme sprigs (the woodsy note in the hauntingly herbaceous aquavit-and-pisco-based Alaska Man’s Luck) with kid gloves, and disrobes a lemon as effortlessly 
as 007 disrobing a Bond girl. 


Fitting, since the curl of citrus unleashes its essential oils in the Vesper, a martini coined by Sir Ian Fleming in 1953’s Casino Royale . Smooth and subtly floral, the lemon-accented blend of Bluecoat gin, Penn 1681 vodka, Lillet Blonde and orange bitters was as beguiling as its namesake, Bond babe Vesper Lynd, and among the most beautifully balanced cocktails ever to pass these lips.


If I sound more evangelical about the drinking—there’s also an all-American craft beer and wine list—than the eating, it’s because I am. Kitchen missteps included undercooking an otherwise wonderful white chocolate bread pudding; the conceptually odd, chilled mussel “chowder” crowning the perfectly cooked, pumpernickel-crusted wild sable; and spinning the sorbets kid-sweet when the savory flavors (basil, cucumber) should have been emphasized for Noble’s adult audience.


Also, the pacing of the meal was about as graceful as an obese ballerina. The bread service, appetizers and cocktails all arrived within seconds of each other, and after a considerable delay. Entrees came out just as we were finishing apps. Dessert took forever. 


The new, lower prices will no doubt remove some of the sting from these clumsy moves. The intelligent, well-versed staff already helps in that respect. Awesomely attired in gingham and denim, they’re urban cowboys and girls­—guides along a postmodern American range Noble 
really, really wants to till. ■