Though I love food, I am not one to frequent many restaurants. When I do, they tend to be large chains that specialize in salad entrees topped with fried bits of chicken and candied cranberries, or nacho dip cleverly renamed “South of the Border Three Cheese Soup.” That is not to say I’ve never enjoyed extraordinary food. Rather, I’ve gathered my gastronomical experience outside the four corners of a white tablecloth. The best food I’ve ever eaten has come from home kitchens, outdoor markets, and any hole in the wall where a mother’s meal is recreated by sons and daughters far from home. This is how I like to eat.

It is for this reason I am leery about reviewing a restaurant. Right off the bat the establishment is at a disadvantage. The dish did not warm the server on a cold night in Peshawar. It was not cooked in the grandfather’s Schlemmertopf. If the food has history beyond the industrial kitchen, the story is hidden. Presentation too, unfairly sets the restaurant back a few paces. The look of the dish has to keep up with the times. If that means frothing grandma’s short ribs with light potato foam, so be it. Further, the décor of a restaurant has the uncanny ability to make a thin broth feel rich. I’ve often wondered if, when eating in Windsor palace or anywhere the Queen of England might host a gathering, the food tastes better. Would the same carrot taste better in such company? If not the company, would the carrot seem decadent in the context of an opulent grand hall? If the grand hall failed to make your carrot sparkle, would you at least try to taste the carrot’s subtle flavors you might have missed before placing it in your mouth with the golden utensils the crown, and professional tasters, favor over common silverware for gold’s non-reactive properties? I’m quite certain that would be the most exceptional carrot I’d ever eat, even though the English prepared it. 

The question, when reviewing a restaurant, therefore becomes; do I refashion my old and beloved method of gradation to fit all gastronomic experiences, or establish a fully new set of guidelines unique to dinning out?

I have never seen a couture garment proudly touted as “one size fits all.” As convenient as elastic waste-bands are, they rarely accomplish what is intended, to fit. In the battle of street food versus elegant dinning, one is left with only the most elastic question to answer: does it taste good? Fortunately, resources like Zagat and Michelin ratings exist to answer that question. The field of food criticism is dominated by people like Jeffery Steingarten, whose whit and creative questioning equally explore the complicated and overlooked aspects of food. Mr. Steingarten leads his devoted following, myself included, on a unique and delightful journey we might never hope to enjoy without suffering the rigors of his ungodly obsession for what we put in our mouths. With seemingly limitless knowledge of food, Jeffery The Rotund still snipes at fellow judges on the hit food network show “Iron Chef” for their Shakespearean analysis of the dishes before them. Hemmingway of the gastronomes, Steingarten asks, “does it taste real good?” He knows his job and executes it correctly. What then is my job if not to grade all food equitably by limiting my analysis to; was the dish successful? Are there stories, unique to restaurants, which have yet to be explored?

To sashay down the runway in Milan, a garment must be tailor made. So too must my scale for grading restaurants. With precepts and bias firmly intact, I will look for attributes unique to restaurants like El Vez, the chic Mexican restaurant I ate at Friday night. I was there for my friend’s birthday dinner. As a manager for a Steven Starr restaurant, he chose the establishment as it is under Starr ownership. People in the network of restaurants under the same ownership get discounts and complimentary dishes. Right off the bat I must strike cost from my review. The joy of getting free food is always palpable. What then of the next restaurant I patronize? Will it not taste as good because every bite of Kobe beef porterhouse equates to one degree lower on my thermostat this winter? No. Money cannot be a factor.

The atmosphere was fun, relaxed and stylish. The sort of place you can wear jeans, wear a blazer, or both. Around the table were friends I hadn’t seen for years. We rehashed high school memories and caught up on the latest wives and girlfriends over a fantastic blood orange martini. The frozen martini had a slushy consistency and perfectly balanced sweet and tart flavor. The pitchers were filled to the brim, and a friendly waitress with a sarcastic sense of humor was always ready to refill our glasses, rimmed either with salt or sugar, even if we were not. Sadly, I am again at the chopping block. Friends can make an unbuttered Idaho potato delicious. There is something salvageable here though. Is the restaurant conducive to good times? Do you feel out of place alone at the bar or in a rowdy group of 15? El Vez possesses that magical ability to make everyone feel welcome. The mood is light. The staff is friendly. It is located in an area loving known to un-PC Philadelphians as the “gayborhood.” Does this mean that granddad will feel uncomfortable with too many people embracing an alternative lifestyle, and each other?  No, this is a restaurant for all. Young and old, men and women, crotchety and flamboyant all blend seamlessly into the playful interior, and often find themselves stuffed in the photo booth memorializing their happiness. 

One of my favorite aspects of El Vez is the ability to sample many dishes even if there are not many in your party. Our table got a trio of their magnificent guacamole variations ranging from goat cheese to truffle oil. By the time our entrees rolled around I was worried I might not have room. The fear was short lived as I had ordered the succulent short ribs served with a fresh slaw and crispy taquitos. The presentation was elegant and the portion hardy. It was so filling that I hadn’t any room for the fear of no room for desert, let alone desert itself. Just the excuse I need to return to El Vez.

Still unsure how to grade restaurants, I’ll take a stab at what this wonderful Mexican establishment on 13^th and Sansom taught me about dinning out. El Vez is fun. The mood is light and the staff friendly. Whether it’s lone wolf at the bar or grandma’s 90^th you will feel at home. A romantic date makes as much sense here as a party of 15, and due to the seating arrangements and music, one will not impede the other’s progress. After dinning there are countless hot spots for drinks or dancing only a short walk away as the restaurant is nestled in-between Rittenhouse Square and Old City. El Vez has helped me to understand that restaurants may not preserve a family’s history through flavor, but certainly a good restaurant can lend great flavor to the moment you are living.