The Making of Zahav

They say that the public shouldn't watch sausages and laws being made. Too ugly.

I'd add the creation of a restaurant to the list. So many moving parts, so many easily bruised egos, so many things that can break down.

After nearly 15 years of covering restaurants, I have been privy to many fiascos: The restaurant that was right on schedule to open when a sewer line burst. The restaurant that had all sorts of permitting issues with City Hall -- until a magic man showed up, "requesting" gift certificates; problem solved. The restaurant whose husband-wife owners had a happy relationship, which disintegrated over seemingly trivial matters such as china patterns. The restaurant whose chef quit two weeks before the opening. The restaurant that opened on time, but closed 9½ weeks later (quick story: it was an African American-themed restaurant owned by a Jewish book publisher and run by a restaurateur of Middle Eastern descent).

I also know of more than a few successes, where the contractors, investors, chefs and operators -- and even the city -- work in step.

But I have never seen the whole thing firsthand, step by step, from the beginning. Michael Solomonov (at left, above) and Steven Cook, both of whom have put together two well-received restaurants in the last few years, have agreed to open the process of the creation of Zahav, an Israeli-Mediterranean restaurant. Since I hear frequently from people who want to open their own restaurant, or who are just fascinated with the restaurant life, I figure that many will get something out of this. I'll also get a chance to play with multimedia -- video, still photos -- to tell a story.

Solomonov and Cook are saying "four months" for the opening of the restaurant at 237 St. James Place in Society Hill. (The address is a bit of a misnomer; it's really in front of Society Hill Towers, across the cobblestone courtyard from Positano Coast and the Ritz Five. It used to be the Copper Penny before its last incarnation, Sfizzio.)

I've been assured that they will hold nothing back from me, a point I found crucial. Journalistically, I have to decide what information to use and what not to use -- same as any other story. It's also important to say that if something bears further scrutiny or confirmation, I will scrutinize and confirm. The partners -- and Profile, their public relations representatives -- have no control over the content of this project.

I was not there on Nov. 1 when they sat in their lawyers' office all day to dicker over and sign the lease, but I will be around for other key events in this creation, whose budget is about $700,000. Solomonov and Cook, the operating partners, said they own about 10 percent of the deal; a silent partner has 90 percent.

They will take possession of the space on Dec. 1. Meanwhile, a designer/architect is on the drawing board and their liquor lawyer is trying to find them a license.

The restaurant will have 70 seats in the main dining room, a 10-seat bar, a 10-seat chef's counter, and a separate, 24-seat fine-dining room. Plus outdoor seating. Today -- Thursday, Nov. 8 -- they plan to go to a store off Roosevelt Boulevard called Material Culture. They need chairs. They figure they won't find the exact ones they'll use, but they'll at least get ideas.

Check back here for more. Meanwhile, they say their web site will be up shortly. And here's a quick video of the partners, meeting over breakfast yesterday at their "office," the Pho 75 restaurant on Washington Avenue.

Photo: Ron Tarver / Inquirer Staff Photographer

Spice-smuggling?

Steven Cook and Michael Solomonov aren't satisfied with the spices available in Philadelphia and New York. Enter their buddy Rami. That's all we know about him, other than that he's known Solomonov for some time.

Rami arrived from Israel on Wednesday, and whipped out a newspaper-wrapped stash of what the partners swear were bags of spices they will use not only at their other restaurant, Marigold Kitchen, but in testing recipes for Zahav.

He pulled out baharat (a blend of cinnamon, allspice, cumin and mace), tahini (sesame paste -- but the raw, unhulled version), zataar (dried wild savory with sesame seeds and sumac), some kind of Yemeni curry, and Turkish coffee (need that caffeine).

Cook and Solomonov are still in pre-demo. That is, they're in that neverland between signing the lease and getting the keys, which is Dec. 1. They're also lining up the financing (10 investors, plus a bank loan). Cook says he's wrestling with a Catch-22. The investors are waiting for the bank to come through with money, while the bank is waiting for the investors to cough up dough. Cook has faith that it will work out soon.

Like boys about to turn 16 and get their first cars, Cook and Solomonov have been stopping by to borrow the keys from the Society Hill Towers management office. On one visit, they brought along their kitchen designer, plumber and electrician -- all of whom worked on the Italian restaurant Osteria and other local projects. "Checking out the bones" is how Solomonov described the trip. Most of the kitchen equipment inherited from former tenant Sfizzio is in good shape, they think. One grill will have to come out, as will a reach-in fridge. The wood oven seems usable. The refrigeration seems to be in working order. One question for the plumber involves the moving of the bar. It's a one-story building with no basement, so they pulled up the carpet in search of a trap door. "We'll have to do some more digging," Solomonov said, hopefully.

Next up: A visit to Conshohocken to research stone floors.

Here's a video, shot yesterday.

If you need a liquor license, you need a lawyer. The two names most often found on orange signs in this area are Edward A. Taraskus, a solo practitioner in Center City, and Barry Goldstein, out of Goldstein, Friedberg, Goldstein & McHugh in Bensalem. Goldstein bristles at the term "liquor lawyer," because these men do much more than simply deal with the maze of confusion that is the LCB.

Zahav hired Goldstein, and last week he looked to transfer the license from Sfizzio -- the previous occupant. Easy. No. Goldstein says he found tax liens on the license; before this license can be transferred, the liens need to be satisfied. Goldstein is debating: Go through the hassle, or find another license? He's weighing his options.

In Pennsylvania, the number of licenses per county is capped, and licenses are sold on the open market. If Goldstein chooses to find Zahav a clean license anywhere in the city limits, he can transfer it in. Price tag: about $65,000.

Also last week, the Zahav owners began looking over rough ideas for a logo.

Scattered around this post are some candidates. Any reactions, people? Cook and Solomonov are looking for feedback. Cook says the logo has to capture "a lot of meaning in a single word."

Steven Cook and Michael Solomonov finally exhaled, as the city Department of Licenses & Inspections ironed out the mystery of the restaurant's address and issued the crucial construction permits for Zahav. Saturday, Dec. 1 is the start of their lease, but they hope to get the keys today (Nov. 29) -- with the understanding that the contractor will start demolition next week. Solomonov is cooking up a visual for next week -- something involving a sledgehammer -- that I'll videotape and post.

Of course, in between anxiety pangs, the partners are always working out all those "little things" that will go into Zahav. Take the dishes. They'll use two sets -- one for the fine-dining section and another for the casual section. But which pattern? Which china factory? And therein lies a story.

Solomonov's mother's family is from East Liverpool, Ohio a town on the Ohio River across from Pennsylvania and West Virginia. Its claim to fame is fine English pottery. Solomonov says that anyone who's spent time in East Liverpool develops the habit of flipping over dinner plates to see the insignia of the china maker.

Way back when, Solomonov's grandfather Alexander Fisher was a pediatrician in town, and one of his young patients, Dick Blatchford, had a heart condition. A med school chum of Dr. Fisher was a renowned cardiologist in Cleveland, who suggested treatments for Dick that likely saved the lad's life.

Solomonov went home for a cousin's reunion, and talk turned to Zahav and the need for china. Solomonov reached out to Homer Laughlin, one of the remaining giants of the china world, and inquired about patterns. Its national sales manager was only too glad to help. A guy named Dick Blatchford.

Two designs are being considered. Above is Kenilworth Altra (for the fine-dining side) and below is Homer Laughlin Fiesta white (for the casual service).