Philadelphia Weekly

The bistro boomlet in Le Philly is only a few months old, but already I'm starting to suffer from Bordeauxverload.

At its best, French food is soulful and honest. At its worst, it makes me feel the way I feel after I watch I Love New York 2--violated and like I need a shower. The fare at Zinc, the latest addition to the Philly bistro binge, falls somewhere in between.

Located in the recycled La Boheme space, Zinc certainly looks the part. Woven rattan chairs. Chalkboard menus. Gilt mirrors. Tables--locked together like a game of Tetris--are populated by same-sex twosomes and graying winter-in-Boca types. Carved from cherry and capped with a counter forged from zinc is a small bar, salvaged from a Paris saloon by owner Oliver Desaintmartin, who also owns Caribou Caf�.

Storefront windows look out on an anonymous block of 11th Street you've probably never been to unless you live in the neighborhood. That's where Zinc belongs--squarely in the Wash West/Gayborhood/Midtown Village vortex. The matchbox-sized cafe is good enough for a quick weeknight bite or glass of wine. But right now, it doesn't warrant a special trip.

They're out of the soup. They're out of scallops. They're out of viognier and grenache. They might be out of leeks, but they can substitute spinach. Last I checked, the only thing leeks and spinach have in common is color. Thankfully, the springy stalks are in the house, sending a mild onion current through a smoky bacon hash surrounding three fillets of perfectly cooked salmon.

The kitchen finds its Gallic groove with similarly simple dishes like grilled Caesar with splays of Prince Edward Island mussels and succulent roasted poussin over sweet mashed parsnips. Studded with tangy Roquefort and walnuts, filet mignon carpaccio is shaved so thin it's like rose-colored tissue paper, its petals surrounding a lemony salad of arugula and frisee. Tender calf's liver is like a foie-flavored Crybaby, all sweet shallots and lip-puckering sherry vinegar. The pot de creme tucked into a dainty espresso cup produces lush spoonfuls of chocolate love.

This is French food. Full flavor. Fresh ingredients. No drama. It's Zinc's sweet spot, and when the kitchen tries getting cute, the results are lost in translation. Sitting on a crisp potato latke, the brick of baked brie is a hot mess. Toasted almonds and fruit preserves (apricot on the menu, berry on my plate) perish battling mightily to mitigate the overwhelming fat of the fromage. And how about some bread with this dish? Shoveling forkfuls of cheese into your mouth isn't as appealing as you might expect.

Timid garlic-almond butter and a fleeting licorice whisper of Pastis can't save chewy escargots (baked in coins of puff pastry) from mediocrity. Capped with creme fraiche, a dull apple tart needs cinnamon (and an EKG machine) to bring it back to life, while an interesting-sounding walnut torte proves to be an innocuous slice of cake with layers of mealy nuts.

The staff is what the French call les incompetent. There are genuinely endearing moments, like when one waitress confesses her love for the fried parsnips crowning the passable steak frites, but there's barely an apology (though no charge on the bill) when a fruit fly turns up in my glass of Cotes du Rhone. Delays are long, and no one seems to know exactly what's on the bizarre cheese plate. What one server calls brie is clearly not, and what's up with the raclette melted over a wedge of grilled radicchio-like pizza cheese?

Gratuitous French peppers one server's waitspeak, which would be charming if he hailed from Paris or Provence and not West Deptford. While describing specials, he refers to frog's legs as "cuisses de grenouille" three times, staring at our confused expressions expectantly after each utterance, like a contestant calling out clues on the $10,000 Pyramid. Things a Pretentious Waiter Would Say?

He offers a sticky "bonsoir" on my way out, like an Epcot cast member fresh from Orlando. Zinc has its glimmers of authenticity, but the faux French leaves a taste in my mouth that's painfully artificial.

Zinc
246 S. 11th St. 215.351.9901. www.zincbarphilly.com
Cuisine: French bistro.
Hours: Tues.-Fri., 4-11pm; Sat.-Sun., 11:30am-11pm.
Prices: $14-$25.
Sound advice: Eavesdrop on your neighbors.
Atmosphere: Honey, I shrunk the bistro.
Service: Sweethearts and smart alecks.
Food: Stick with the classics.