July 3, 2008
By: Brian Freedman
bfreedman@aroundphilly.com
Following a recent meal at Ashoka Palace, the new Indian restaurant that’s set up camp where Bootsie’s used to be, the owner asked that most common question: How was everything?
For most of us, the answer is a simple, “Good, thanks!” unless something went terribly wrong, at which point we proceed to rail against whatever indignity—overcooked steak, undercooked fish, ornery service—we were forced to suffer through.
And, indeed, following a meal of relative albeit modest success (but abundant effort), I offered up that old standard: Good, thanks.
To which she responded, “Great. But is there anything you think we could do better?”
It was an awkward question to pose a guest, to be sure, but the sense of honesty and earnestness that Ashoka Palace conveys—and that the question conveys—should be enough to get it through its early missteps, its searching for whatever will become its culinary voice.
And there are glimmers of potential here, unexpected highlights that seem to speak of ambitions greater than the occasional paper plates and unfortunate day-glo pink walls imply.
Vegetable samosas, for example, though humbly filled with potatoes and peas (I kept on imagining Oliver Twist on a field-trip to India) were standouts for their delicate, subtly aromatic seasoning and the homemade flour wrapper—fried to a perfect golden snappiness—whose flavor reminded me of some sort of savory cousin of the funnel cake.
Goat vindaloo, though perhaps more notable for its use of a meat that still goes inexplicably unheralded in this country, was a moderately successful workhorse of a preparation. The sauce itself was only a touch spicy and clearly toned down for the crowd, but nonetheless managed to send a gentle tingle through the tongue. Still, it could have used a greater sense of clarity—a more clearly delineated set of flavors—and cuts of meat that were a bit less marred by gristle or fat.
Shrimp with chickpeas was prepared in a similar style—tough-ish protein (in this case overcooked) and a pleasant if not terribly unexciting tomato-based sauce. Still, the chickpeas did provide an unexpected lift to the proceedings.
Breads, too, were hit or miss: Paratha, a pan-fried beauty that was impossible to stop picking at and which, dipped in any of the entrée’s sauces, made those preparations heartier and more overtly pleasurable than they were on their own, was a real success. Less so was the kulcha, which I’m fairly certain came from a bag of store-bought pita. Papadums, unexceptional but good nonetheless, were anchored by a backbone of black peppercorn heat.
What heat there was in the food was best cooled off by either a notably toothy rice pudding or a sweet, tongue-coating order of gulab jamun, those beignet-looking milk balls soaking up their surrounding syrup with aplomb and then give it right back with each sponge-moist bite.
Whether or not Ashoka Palace is appealing to the audience it’s aiming for is difficult to surmise this time of year, when so many restaurants seem to be suffering during dinner service due to either the citywide shore-town exodus or the overall state of the dollar, which these days is hovering somewhere between useless and…well, there’s no other way to put it, uselesser.
Ashoka should be more crowded than it is: The prices are reasonable, the service is earnest, and it’s located in a high-traffic area. I’m told, however, that lunchtime is when it really hops, which makes sense given the high concentration of business in the neighborhood and employees who constantly search for quick, inexpensive, easy lunches.
Maybe, then, that’s the role Ashoka is best suited to play. Not that dinner was unenjoyable—far from it—but it does seem uniquely suited to satisfy the needs of the midday crowd more so than the evening one, at least for now.
