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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