Philadelphia Arts Writer Review

Restaurant Review: Valley Green Inn
by Mike DelVecchia

On a snowy night, my wife and I exited the street lights of Chestnut Hill. As if dashing through a stage curtain into a backstage of rustic darkness, we delved into Fairmount Park. We were most hungry. From Springfield Avenue, we bore right at a fork and descended the ramp of Valley Green Road that curled along a stony ridge. We drove in low gear with brights ablaze, traffic lights now replaced by the purple fluorescence of snowfall. We approached a white wooden building that pretended to dam the slope of a fast escarpment, an advancing row of auburn window lights teasing us out of the trance that urbanites experience whenever their wariness of the headless horseman becomes inspired by their sudden engulfment by stalking trees whose black branches hatch the sky. We parked near the Wissahickon creek on the gravel floor of a parking lot. We walked past the long horse shelter and ascended the steps of the inn, our heels slowly drumming the ancient cedar drum of the porch in muffed basso profundo. A gray tabby started after the raccoon whom we had watched investigating a Buckingham side chair while pausing to alternate our attention between the bandit's prowling and upon a contemplation of the use of this creek-side clearing by native Americans.

We entered the reception area, a warm, square portico, where the matre d' stood behind a broad lectern. The chamber was co-hosted by a timbered, cigar-toting Cherokee standing cattycorner to a huge, antique highboy. We were shown to the Fireplace Room, a quaint hall with a mixture of Georgian and Shaker elements. Our order was taken promptly. The service was courteous, kindly and warm throughout the night.

Their Waldorf salad-the friendly combination of apples, grapes, nutmeg, and celery, egged me on for the main event. But every fine satyr play should be preceded with a scrumptious masque. A French onion soup contained sweet vidalia onions steeped in a rich broth, capped by a French bread crouton and an aurous concretion of melted cheeses. For appetizer, their "Country Style Pate," enjoined ground veal, pork, pistachios, brandy and spices and the peripheral peck of capers, red onions, wholegrain mustard and mango chutney. Next came the dreamy main course.

For dinner, we supped on the Roast Duckling, which is one half of a semi-boneless Long Island duckling. It had been slow roasted with a glaze of ginger, wildflower honey and soy. My taste buds had found nirvana.

Chicken Marsala, the irresistible poultry stock character dish, was handled like Mozart handled Bach-- respectfully and brilliantly. Lightly coated chicken breasts braised with Marsala wine and mushrooms were served with the freshest corn and red and gold potatoes on the planet.

For elixir, Cielo Pinot Grigio, 2001 was brought. This white's citrus body and light bouquet era non è troppo abboccato. A delicate poultry complement, it was served slightly chilled, exemplifying the restaurant's adroit enology.

At dessert, the "Passion Chocolate Cake," and "Chocolate Bourban Pecan Tart," were the stuff of confectionary legend. The former was three layers enclosing chocolate genach, chopped pecans and a hint of raspberry. The latter-- served warm, had a taste of southern pecans, embellished with chocolate morsels and spiked with bourbons and finished with an apricot glaze.

We give this place FIVE PAW PRINTS-our highest rating. It could easily have been won solely through this restaurant's ability to convince a diner that she is in the country

Reservations can be made by calling (215) 247-1730.

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