Loch Bar, a new high-end seafood spot on Broad, swings big and misses

When then-Mayor Ed Rendell launched a plan to transform part of South Broad Street into the Avenue of the Arts three decades ago, the focus was on creating a corridor to showcase world-class orchestra, theater, and dance.

World-class culinary arts? Not so much.

Overpriced steakhouses, national chains, and soulless hotel eateries are the only restaurant species that have survived the high-rent district of South Broad Street. While independent restaurants of all sorts flourish in the neighborhoods on either side, Broad Street’s traffic-choked lanes have proven to be more of an east-west city dividing line than a magnetic destination for quality dining in its own right.

The Garces Trading Co. cafe just closed in the Kimmel Center lobby after just one year. Can the glittering new Loch Bar, yet another upscale chain, be an exception to the curse?

Things weren’t looking great the other night when a $79 Dover sole the size of a guppy was delivered to my booth beside the entrance, where gusts of frigid air from the front door kept bursting up my back and an acoustic guitarist across the room was doing the Jimmy Buffett songbook rough justice.

“Wastin’ away again in Margaritaville, searchin’ for my lost shaker of salt ...”

Speaking of salt, someone might actually want to hide it from this kitchen, where the food is often so overseasoned it radiates a sodium halo. But more on the cooking in a moment. Because, with some more work, Loch Bar has an opportunity to change the narrative of restaurant disappointments on South Broad Street. All the essential elements are in place, including a crab cake that is the single best reason to visit, if you can afford it, at $64 for a plate of two.

The restaurant anchors the ground floor of Arthaus, Carl Dranoff’s soaring new 47-floor luxury condo at Broad and Spruce, whose modern glass tower is tastefully contrasted by Loch Bar’s classic fish house features of tufted booths, brass, and tile. The airy dining room thrums with one of the most diverse clienteles in town, with its 95 seats, plus 50 at the long raw bar and back rail facing tall glass windows that look directly across to the Kimmel Center crowds.

It’s no wonder Baltimore-based Atlas Restaurant Group wanted this corner, which is also across from Steak 48, another corporate chain whose controversial dress code and $11-per-shrimp cocktail have proven there’s big money to be made at these culture crossroads, no matter how mid the offerings.

Loch Bar’s all-day fish house concept has more of an air of accessibility, if you can get past $19 cocktails that ranged from passable to undrinkable, like the Ring of Fire mezcal-rita that took its name too literally with a heavy hand on the habanero. (”Sorry, we have two new bartenders tonight who are still training,” said our server, who had promised the drink’s spice was moderate.)

Success always hinges on the details of execution. In theory, I always value live music. But the fact that Loch Bar books performers specializing in lounge-grade covers of Toto and Ed Sheeran — on the same block Gamble and Huff once pioneered the soulful Sound of Philadelphia — speaks to another missed opportunity to sync its vibe to some genuine Philly DNA.

Atlas did make smart moves in hiring seasoned local veterans to helm its operation. Lynn Rinaldi, the former chef-owner of Paradiso and general manager of Dolce Italian, runs the front of the house with genuine warmth, while chef Michael O’Halloran (Bistro 7, New Hope’s Stella) leads the kitchen. But they can’t do it all in a place that serves 400-plus customers a day and with a staff that varies in polish.

For example, it’s not a good idea for a server to warn, “Careful! This plate is very hot!” at the exact moment they reach across the table to insert it into a diner’s hand. Ouch. It’s also bad form for servers to offer various price options tableside (be it two sizes of stone crab or a Restaurant Week deal), then say, “Oops! Sorry ...” The more affordable option is suddenly no longer available.

When it comes to crab, Loch Bar delivers on its Baltimore pedigree with Maryland-style baked cakes bound with moist white bread stuffing that let a bountiful portion of sweet jumbo lumps shine. A single six ounce cake costs $32. When paired with a lemon wedge and mediocre frozen fries, it’s not a stellar value. But it was good. So good I kept thinking about it and returned for a follow-up lunch to try it on a soft brioche bun in a sandwich laced with celery root slaw. The single cake was perfectly portioned for a lunch splurge, and also had an option for salad instead of fries.

The creamy crab soup is also sometimes delicious, when you taste it on one of its less-thick days. But then you could also skip straight to maximum richness mode and dive into an old-fashioned crock of cheesy crab dip, which was not so different from any other chain restaurant’s version, but elevated with more sweet lumps of crab.

“Generous” is not a word I’d use to describe the smallest Dover sole I’ve ever been served (supposedly it is usually 10 ounces of meat, but certainly not on my plate). Or the half-lobster on our raw bar platter that was so petite I could fit it in my pocket. Even the oysters seemed smaller than usual on the raw bar platter, except for the house Loch Bar Salts from Maryland, which were bland and flaccid, although properly shucked and pooling with briny liquor.

The cooked oysters were promising, but the oysters Rockefeller were mostly just crusty broiled cheese, and not enough spinach puree. The fried oysters’ breading was so aggressively seasoned I could feel my ankles beginning to swell. It’s a similar breading used for the thick buttermilk crust of the pressure-fried half chicken, which was juicy enough. At $28, it’s the least expensive entree (aside from the burger), but not a reason to come. Neither are the Korean-flavored skirt steak lettuce wraps with daikon kimchi, or the maple-glazed Ibérico pork ribs, which were perfectly fine but also a completely nonsensical jumble of randomly themed bar munchies. The chicken and sausage gumbo is a solid alternative to the crab soup, but its French-style butter roux was too sweet and a shade too pale, as opposed to the darker, oil-based roux typical of Louisiana gumbo.

One should want to come here primarily for the seafood. And there were a couple of solid hits beyond the crab cake. O’Halloran does plump Jersey scallops beautifully over beluga lentils and cauliflower puree scented with an aromatic vadouvan curry (a subtle callback to his vadouvan chicken at Bistro 7). Loch Bar’s fish and chips is also notable, a massive tranche of moist hake sealed inside a sheer crust whose delicate snap is crisped even more by vodka in the batter. If only it was served atop a mountain of better fries.

I was intrigued by the more luxurious seafood offering of Loch Bar’s one-pound halibut chop for two. And the thick bone-in fish would have been glorious, simply served with chanterelles and lemon-herb butter. But it was both overcooked and so harshly oversalted, that my taste buds were finally starting to go numb. O’Halloran’s crew of line cooks, recruited from some of the city’s busiest kitchens, may be skilled at cranking out volume, but finesse is not their forté.

The issue of high prices — and whether they are fair — is a sensitive one at a restaurant that depends on delicate ingredients like fresh seafood, where quality simply costs more. Lower prices likely aren’t in the cards for Loch Bar’s future, but the experience could improve dramatically simply by paying more attention to details. I also look forward to spring’s warmer days when Loch Bar can set up the 60-plus outdoor seats it has dedicated for its wide sidewalk, on display only briefly for the restaurant’s fall debut. It will be a good opportunity for O’Halloran to tap the special menu for dogs he perfected for Stella’s deck in New Hope (my pup Buttercup, a big fan, will be first in line). Even more importantly, in the way outdoor dining once helped transform Rittenhouse Square, it can help foster the magnetic public display of boulevard dining that has eluded South Broad Street to date.

The Avenue of the Culinary Arts? A Philadelphian can always dream.

301 S. Broad St., 215-267-8272; lochbar.com/philly/

Full menu served daily, 11 a.m.-11 p.m.

Seafood entrees, $29-$79.

Valet parking $28 (good until 11 p.m.)

Wheelchair accessible.

There are several gluten-free options, and much of the menu is adjustable. (Though not the crab cakes).