Craig LaBan | Zot

In a bevy of Belgians, this new one, with a native chef, stands out.

June 03, 2007|By Craig LaBan, Inquirer Restaurant Critic

You'd have to be a madman to open another Belgian pub in a city already swimming in chalices of Chimay and La Chouffe.

But then, if you know how to say "madman" in Flemish slang - that's "Zot" by the way - I suppose there might be something new you can show us about the subtleties of Belgian cookery, like a creamy waterzooi stew or mustardy beef carbonnade, or a few dozen more tricks to play with mussels.

After a couple of enjoyable meals at Zot (just suck in your cheeks and say "zult"), it seems that Brussels-born chef Bernard Dehaene really is the madman for the job.

Handsomely settled behind its yellow-and-black facade for nearly three months, inside the long space of the former Le Champignon de Tokio just east of Head House Square, Zot exudes a more sophisticated vibe than some of its grungier Belgian bar competitors (Monk's, Eulogy, Brigid's, Abbaye). The front entryway bar, framed by wooden beams that give it a farmhouse feel, occasionally hosts a live jazz trio that lends the room an authentically cool, post-bop, Euro-bistro mood. In the middle and back portions of the 110-seat restaurant, meanwhile, Champignon's old drywall has been removed to reveal distressed brick walls and weathered joists that, in the low light, exude just the right combination of urban chic and intimate romance.

Order up a charcuterie plate and any pot of the 30 or so different kinds of beer-steamed mussels to begin - perhaps the classic Bruxelles style perfumed with smoky slab bacon, leeks and goat cheese; or the harissa-spiced Red Devil to get your lips smoking - and the scene is set for a splendid meal.

Not that the service staff always quite knows how to handle the ripe mood. With the exception of one bright, dynamic waitress on my final visit, Zot's waiters seemed to float around the room in a daze of confusion, disappearing for long stretches between courses, letting our water glasses drain to empty, mixing up orders and splashing hot bouillabaisse on my pants. (Ouch!)

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