American cuisine hits a high note

Truly remarkable snapper soup is a rare commodity these days. Indeed, in this era of highly stylized takes on American standards—not to mention riffs on the beloved dishes of other, often more exotic cuisines—an actual, well-prepared version has the potential to be a real standout. And the Logan Inn’s soup is just such a success.

Complex enough to actually have a finish—like better wine, the flavor of the soup actually continued to evolve even after swallowing each spoonful. This was a preparation both deceptively simple and almost miraculously flavorful. The mirepoix upon which the stock was built—that holy trinity of aromatics: onion, celery, and carrot—was gloriously apparent, though more as an undercurrent than anything else.

The real focus here was turtle meat, moist and somewhere near the singular texture of pulled pork. And while the sherry—the standard condiment accompanying snapper soup—provided nice lift to the other flavors, it was certainly not necessary. If a bowl of soup can be underpriced at $8, then this one was it.

Stuffed clams ($9.75) also worked well because they were allowed to sing their own tune. The focus here was on the vaguely briny character of the bivalve instead of the other ingredients, as is so often the case. The texture was more akin to a French-style crab cake than anything else—mousse-like and light. But there were also smartly considered larger bits of clam, which broke up the texture and provided a much needed sense of differentiation to each bite. The use of red and green peppers, too, was notable: their sweet, roasted richness acted as fabulous counterpoints to the more dominant flavors of the composition.

Entrees, however, fell a bit short of the high expectations set by the appetizers, though it must be said that my sense of disappointment was just as much a result of the prices as it was of anything else. As long as the expression of stratospherically-priced ingredients is what I expect, I’ve had no problem with the outlay of cash they required.

Which is why I was so disappointed with the Kobe strip steak, which, for $58.50, should have been far more exciting than it was. Kobe, after all, should be just as much a tactile experience as a gustatory one, a flavor and texture tour de force akin to running ribbons of fat-marbled, buttery velvet across your tongue. And while both the menu and the waitress assured me that this was, in fact, actual Wagyu imported from Kobe, the beef was a touch under-seasoned and not at all transcendent.

Crab-stuffed jumbo shrimp ($31.95) were better, though the béchamel that acted as the base of the stuffing was just a bit overwhelming in the context of the other ingredients. Still, the cooking temperatures were spot on, and the flavors of both the crab and the shrimp were afforded full expression.

In the realm of desserts, the peanut butter pie ($6.50) actually rendered Ms. Martini speechless. She is a self-proclaimed expert in all things peanut butter related, and once she finally regained her powers of speech, she said, putting her right hand to her chest Linda Richmond-style, “In…my…life…” Which, translated into standard English, is the rough equivalent of, “Wow.” There was a gentle saltiness to the pie, which diminished the sweetness perfectly, and the overall sense of balance was remarkable. Just avoid the banana crème fraîche and raspberry coulis accompanying it, both of which were overly sweet and totally unnecessary accouterments to such a successful dessert on its own.

Hazelnut torte, on the other hand, was far subtler in execution, and a success because of it. The texture was all nutty and crumbly, and the naturally darker flavors were deftly afforded the opportunity to really—and paradoxically—shine.

(It’s worth noting that both of these—though not all of the desserts on the menu—were brought in from New Jersey’s Clinton House restaurant, which is under the same ownership.)

Service was professional and knowledgeable, and the options for how you’d like to spend the evening are plentiful: the quieter, more staid main dining room; the ski lodge-looking cottage with its exposed blond wood beams and more jubilant crowd; or the bar area, thick with cigarette smoke and the loud buzz of third and fourth rounds of drinks.

I just wish the wine list was a bit deeper—and more reasonably priced—especially by the glass. Luckily, the beer list is better than average, and the Chimay Tripel proved to be a very friendly match for much of the food I tasted. Funny how the best partner for such distinctively American cooking turned out to be a quintessentially Belgian beer. Or maybe it’s not so strange. Good cooking, after all, always opens itself up to a world of possibilities.

Logan Inn is located at 10 West Ferry Street in New Hope, and can be reached by phone at (215) 862-2300, and can be visited online at www.loganinn.com.