Village Whiskey

I had issues with the popcorn shrimp (too heavily breaded) and the sauce for those crispy melt-away tater tots (Vidalia crème fraîche is too sweet). But few letdowns irked quite like the duck-fat fries, which rarely had a crisp and lacked much flavor payoff. I'd order them simply as a vehicle for dipping the faux-trashy cheese sauce made with Sly Fox beer, aged cheddar, and genuine Whiz. But when layered beneath that cheese and an extra heap of braised short ribs, they were just a soggy pile o' food uncharacteristic of the usually elegant tapas king.

These nits are so glaring because Village Whiskey's kitchen is capable of such highs. The Cobb, for example, is true a gem of saladry, with amazingly tender blackened dark meat, a perfect avocado, and hard-boiled egg over lemony romaine. The raw bar is small but ideal, with expertly shucked oysters (both West and East Coast) and briny top neck clams that make for a bracing sea-cleanse. The roasted oysters, puffed in garlicky tarragon butter and lightly warmed beneath a lacework of Parmesan, are as good as any I've had. The Kentucky-fried quail (KFQ), with its buttery corn succotash, is a delightful game-bird riff on the Colonel's zesty crust.

Meanwhile, the menu's ode to pickles, with mason jars of truffled artichokes, peeled cherry tomatoes, or anchovy-laced cippolinis, is a novel way to whet a steady thirst - or a throwback to salty saloon-era nibbles.

The black-and-white tiled decor, with turning fans and pendant lights dangling from the pressed-tin ceiling, certainly evokes a speakeasy mood. And ultimately, its greatest assets beyond the bun flow from its awesome parade of bottles - aggressively priced, but special nonetheless.

Bourbon is its natural focal point, with classics from Pappy Van Winkle, Four Roses (go single-barrel), George T. Stagg, and special-edition Woodford Reserve (Four Grain is my fave). But Scotch lovers should be equally pleased with drams of Bruichladdich, Highland Park, Glenrothes, Springbank, and Japan's Yamazaki.

There is also some impressive cocktail wizardry, from outstanding classics (a spot-on Sazerac) to contemporary flights of fancy such as the unnamed off-menu experiment (tequila, mezcal, and "chocolate mole bitters") that I dubbed "Day of the Dead." Its bittersweet cocoa notes swirled into agave smoke, nuts, and a lingering chile heat, and it could have been dessert had the spice not left my lips numb.

Then again, at Village Whiskey, a little pain, it seems, is usually required before its pleasures.

Next Sunday, Craig LaBan reviews the new Marigold Kitchen. Contact him at 215-854-2682 or claban@phillynews.com.