That sweeping staircase has been compared in design if not quite in scale to the great staircase at the Philadelphia Museum of Art. And combined with the walls of mirrors, the long mahogany bar, the progression of hardwood floors and clunky chandeliers and towering ceilings, it gives the room a sense of easy handsomeness; some of the best natural bones in the city.
Grandeur does not quite describe it. The space has enough old wood and occasional crannies to give it claim to intimacy. During its incarnation as Odeon, my wife and I would order flutes of champagne and a magnificent sauteed crab cake ($3.50) with lemon - or was it lime? - butter, and sit at one of the cafe tables tucked on either side of the entry.
"Did we only do that once?" she asked the other night, waiting for our blackened cod po' boy (bad bread!), and nicely roasted Chilean sea bass with ginger rice.
"No," I said, "didn't we make something of a habit of it?"
That was the late '80s, nearly a decade into the shop's new life as an eating space. First had come London - offering in 1983 a menu of "hobo steak," Cajun shrimp, and "fresh, locally available ingredients."
Its own cast-brass name is set into the pavement outside the front door. (If it ever disappears, might I suggest the authorities seek out Terry McNally, owner of Fairmount's London Grill, who has had her eye on it for years.)
Odeon was next up, featuring playful takes on regional French cuisine: "The duck breast with Szechwan peppercorns and Chinese scallion pancake," co-owner Gary Bachman told food columnist Jim Quinn at the time, "is a pun on steak au poivre."
There were sliced sweetbreads with hazelnuts and a side of asparagus mousse. And red snapper over chopped fennel and a thin, fresh tomato sauce.
