The baked crab cakes were full of lump meat, but were dry. I loved the addictively spicy-sweet crunch of the Asian-glazed fried calamari ("Shanghai-style"), but the breading was so thick that the squid inside was incidental.
One of our stone crab claws (at $28 for two) was disconcertingly mealy and gray. And there's a good reason the thin, off-flavored "turtle" soup didn't taste right: It's filled with minced beef, not turtle, an unnoted omission that should have old Union Leaguers in a sherried froth.
For those who don't want beef for an entree, prepare to pay $35 and up for mundane renditions of grilled tuna (with gooey marchand du vin sauce), overcooked snapper a la plancha, blandly un-lamby lamb chops, and reasonably tender duck with cherry sauce and fried sage.
Del Frisco's seems to have toned down the oversalting that rendered a burger at an early lunch virtually inedible. The doughy onion rings from that lunch had become addictively crisp by my later visits.
But the gratin potatoes were covered in a Velveeta-like flow of cheap cheddar. The stickily sauced king crab gnocchi had a rubbery bounce that betrayed the frozen origins of both the dumplings and the crab. The creamed spinach was chewy for the same reason. Stick with the creamed maque choux corn, or the decadently hand-mashed Chateau potatoes. Because anything requiring culinary finesse, even our baked potato (Steak House 101), was a shriveled little leathery-skinned disappointment.
How is this even possible in the midst of Philadelphia's Golden Age of Grilled Meat? If the setting and sights and hard sell are grand enough, the embrace of such absurdities will continue to defy logic.
Next Sunday, restaurant critic Craig LaBan reviews MangoMoon in Manayunk. Contact him at 215-854-2682 or claban@phillynews.com.
