A crosstown jump hasn’t slowed Townsend, one of Philly’s best French kitchens

“All you have to do,” chef Tod Wentz told his staff during a stressful moment before opening the new edition of Townsend near Rittenhouse Square, “is nail the dismount.”

He jumped and then landed in a funny pose with his hands out for emphasis, as if he’d just stuck the landing from a pommel horse. And as general manager Harry Jamison tells it, that catchphrase — and Wentz’s look — instantly became an inside joke among his colleagues. It inspired one of the best cocktails there, Nail the Dismount, a balanced beam of whiskey, Calvados, and Cardamaro coming from the cozy bar inside their bright new space on Walnut Street.

But the phrase also captured the perpetual state of transition and reinvention Wentz’s crew has been living over the past several months as they closed the original Townsend on East Passyunk and relocated the acclaimed French restaurant to Rittenhouse Square. During that span, they also opened two other restaurants, including the more casual Townsend Wine Bar that just debuted in Townsend’s old space. There was also a holiday pop-up bar called Ebenezer’s above the Pearl Tavern, the former Irish Pub that Wentz bought last summer with plans for an American tavern.

The Pearl, where I recently ate random chicken wings and a forgettable burger at the only occupied table in the entire restaurant, clearly still needs to figure out its purpose before it’s ready to be considered worthy of buzz.

The new Townsend, on the other hand, with gorgeous sea scallops dusted in espelette served alongside black trumpet mushrooms — and crystal goblets of crisp Vouvray to wash it down — this kitchen is already purring in mid-season form. The baked oysters topped with creamy melted leeks. The sashimi riff on salad Niçoise whose ruby tuna is fringed with anchovy-dressed frisée. The warm gougères and cubes of pâté de campagne that come cradled in little spoons as compliments to start the meal. The culinary muscle memory of those well-regarded years on East Passyunk has clearly softened the challenges of this move.

“Opening a new restaurant is like trying to run a marathon at sprint speed,” said Wentz. “Nothing ever goes quite right. But you have to remind [the staff] of everything we’ve accomplished. All we have to do is give great food and service and connect with the guests, and we’ll be fine.”

» READ MORE: Townsend cocktail nails it with a twist on two classics

That’s easier said than done when there are so many external factors, like the aging gentrifiers who now have young families, and the parking hassles that compelled Wentz to move his signature restaurant to begin with. He’s landed closer now to the bull’s-eye of older, well-heeled patrons who made Townsend a destination.

There’s such a minimalist aspect to his new Rittenhouse flagship, a gallery white canvas of a room, that the quality of the food, drinks, and service is all there really is left to hold our attention. The service staff, anchored by polished veterans like Megin Mowry and a skilled newcomer in Beth Gordon, showed the unobtrusive grace and confident grasp of the menu and French wine list I’d come to expect from the original.

The room itself, despite its spare decor, is noteworthy for what simple but commonsense design choices can achieve. The once gloomy black box of the short-lived Talk has been transformed into an energetic hub by its bright paint and seating realignment. The mezzanine is an ideal hideaway for quiet conversation, while the bar, smartly tucked into a snug nook below the mezzanine, has become an oasis from the high-toned dining room, where a more casual neighborhood crowd gathers to nibble their seared foie gras and sip the well-crafted cocktails in low-key sweatpants comfort.

Fans of Townsend’s modern takes on traditional French flavors are likely to find the cooking remains a compelling argument for finesse and focus over flash.

Crispy-skinned branzino perched over white beans sparked with bacon and squash are ringed by a puddle of beurre rouge, the herbed butter sauce crimson with Port and orange. Tender plumes of pulled rabbit lace the buttery gnocchi with the woodsy snap of maitakes. Townsend’s duck, lightly brined before it’s roasted skin-side down then basted in its own fat, remains one of the best duck breasts in town, its rosy slices shingled over creamy parsnip puree, butter-braised cabbage with chestnuts, and the juicy crunch of apple salad.

“Sauce Albufera?! Nobody makes Albufera anymore!”

The cry from Georges Perrier could be heard across the dining room when Philly’s legendary retired French chef came to check out the new place and found Carême’s historic sauce paired with sweetbreads. It was a moment of pride for Eric Starkman, the 25-year-old chef de cuisine who returned to Townsend after a stint at Alinea and has also been channeling the culinary lineage of Jean-Marie Lacroix through Wentz, an alum of the Fountain and Lacroix at the Rittenhouse.

I won’t speak for Perrier, but every element of my dish was spectacular. The sweetbreads were perfect — poached to creamy softness in bay-scented court bouillon then sealed inside a shatter-crisp crust — like chicken nuggets for grown-ups. The Aligot potato puree was whipped with Manchego to cheesy silk beneath the tiny mushroom caps. And Townsend’s modern twist on the historic sauce, lightened with dehydrated peppers and smoked paprika instead of roasted pepper butter, lent the plate depth without weighing it down.

“Daube?! Nobody makes daube anymore!”

That was actually just me, muttering to myself as I dug into Townsend’s Franco version of osso buco, a veal shank deeply imbued with a red wine marinade and the aromatics (orange zest and fistfuls of thyme) of a Provençal accent over celery root puree. I was already buzzing from the pleasure of the stunning first course, a high-low masterpiece of risotto jeweled with nuggets of braised pig trotter topped with a checkerboard’s worth of shaved black truffles. Was there also a puff of smoke in the broth lending a whiff of ham hock Americana?

Wentz, whose given first name is Townsend, gave his protégé flak for the New World flair (“that smoke, Eric ... really?”) But Starkman’s youthful instincts paid off with a rustic-luxe combo I can still savor. And learning to push some boundaries has been beneficial as Townsend settles in to its new surroundings.

French touchstones, like the requisite snails with bone marrow, remain draws for the special-occasion couples who come for the five-course tastings ($85) in their crisp suit coats and sparkly dresses. I saw more than a few Champagne selfie toasts. But as Townsend embraces the subtleties of its shift from destination restaurant on East Passyunk to reliable standby in a neighborhood full of fine-dining options, it has adjusted to the more quotidian desires of regulars who come to dine à la carte.

There’s now a secret seasonal salad with chicories and honey-thyme vinaigrette, absent on the menu but always available. Simple soups are in demand, such as the lovely butternut squash puree poured over radish salad with crisped Iberico ham. The daube’s braised veal shank has segued into a more approachable duet of beef, though Townsend renders a potentially dull banquet trope with a wink of style, pairing the superbly tender short rib with a seared petite filet mignon that’s been flavor-boosted by a garlic-thyme marinade. A speck-wrapped halibut ringed by emerald green pistachio-Sauternes cream would have been another ideal crowd-pleaser had the fish not been overcooked in an uncharacteristic stumble.

Most impressive, though, was Townsend’s willingness to roam enthusiastically off menu for one of my guests, who is vegan. With a few days advanced notice, the kitchen had even prepared a five-course tasting. We opted to go à la carte, but still landed some of the best dishes on the table.

A farro risotto with maitakes thickened with olive oil-emulsified carrot puree was a hearty, dynamic starter. It was the pan-roasted celery root “steak,” though, that left me thinking. The plank-shaped rectangles had been cooked sous-vide for several hours with thyme and oil, infusing the tender (but not mushy) roots with flavor. Then came the earthy sweetness of parsnip puree, the citrusy freshness of diced apples, and then a dark gloss of porcini mushroom jus that had the depth and umami of any demiglace gravy.

The smile on my guest’s face — in a restaurant best known for its offal, snails, and roasted meats — said it all. The new Townsend, faced with a challenge, had nailed the dismount.