▼ Café House-made charcuterie is the way to start a meal at Persepshen. Jackie Mercandetti Photo From Deep Scratch Persepshen is already an important restaurant BY CHRIS MALLOY taurant he opened in October with his wife, Katherine Dwight. Once, in Chicago, Jason ran a butcher shop for Paul Kahan, one of the city’s biggest chefs. At Persep- shen, the menu quickly morphs as Jason works through the limited cuts that each steer can provide. Recently, when he got to the shoul- J ders, flatiron steak blipped onto the menu. And then the cuts were gone, so the steak went off. A few weeks ago, Jason was rich in chuck, so he did a burger. Katherine, a baker, baked the buns. But soon the chuck was history, meaning so was the burger. At Persepshen, the Dwights approach every ingredient like they approach beef. They put themselves at the whims of local supply chains in a way that few other places do, plugging deeply into local grow- ing and ranching cycles, into what the land and its agriculturalists can provide. Their menu doesn’t change along neat seasonal lines, but along the bounds of the produce seasons, what their providers have, and what they as chefs need for their style of sustainable, from-scratch cooking. The phrase “from scratch” is overused to the point that it has lost meaning. At Per- sepshen, the scratch is real and deep. The Dwights, for one, make their own bitters. They make their own chorizo, harissa, tor- tillas, mostarda, and charcuterie. “If we don’t make it, we don’t serve it,” Jason says. “Right on down to the ketchup.” Before opening Persepshen, the Dwights sold food at the Uptown Farmers Market. Jason has chops not only as a butcher, but as a chef. Katherine, having ason Dwight carves up steers. Not half steers or quarters, but whole animals. These days, he breaks them down in Persep- shen, the central Phoenix res- baked at L20 in the Windy City and MJ Bread in Phoenix, knows the ways of dough and ovens. The oven is the center- piece of Persepshen, a quirkily furnished space with a vaulted ceiling and a giant window onto Central Avenue, light rail trundling past at long intervals. Lately, the oven has burned with Arizona citrus and pecan wood. Tables are made from re- claimed local woods, including the com- munal slab that runs across the dining room, salvaged from a beetlekill ponderosa pine. The room is warm, sylvan, rustic, rus- tic, rustic. Above the main chamber of the 65-seat dining room, a dead juniper hangs, strung with lights — an Ent of a chandelier. Waitstaff suggest you permit the kitchen to send food out scattershot when- ever it’s ready. Since the thrust of the menu is small plates, with only three large-for- mat dishes, you might as well agree. The Dwights’ food is New American with far- reaching global touches: Mexico, China, India, Italy, France … To start: Go for bacon-wrapped dates. Yeah, I know. This is a somnolent combina- tion. But at Persepshen, the dates are stuffed with an intense house-made cho- rizo, its creamy dissolve just about melding into the meaty glide of the dates. All that sweet, heat, and umami gets a soft fiery kiss from harissa. Lots of small plates star vegetables, cooked in the wood oven. Sunchokes are heartily blackened and almost burned in places, with nutty perfume and softness inside. Slender carrot strips also get an aggressive char, plus a lacy topping of fried onion strings. These roasted vegeta- ble small plates are well made and evoke primal, campfire ages of cooking. They can feel overly simple, but that’s kind of the point. Okra is different. The Dwights pickle and fry red okra from Crooked Sky Farms. Seasoned in the same rub they use for capi- cola (wait for it!), breaded partly in semo- lina flour, the shatteringly crisp golden lengths tumble across the plate like a spilled quiver of darts. You don’t even need the yellow remoulade. Larger-format dishes have more parts. Unfortunately, a tandoori chicken plate was a letdown, the only letdown I had here. Billed as a large plate, the chicken ar- rives as three spice-jacketed legs on a bed of okay biryani. Duck, though, was on the other end of the spectrum. Jason gives it a 24-hour salt cure, a 24-hour sous vide, and then a final roasting in the oven. You get half a duck per order. As you saw it into parts, mahogany lacquer from the orange reduction glistens. Some bites are so rich, so meaty, and so iron-tinged that you might feel like you’re eating something other than poultry. Jason says his last meal would be this duck. My favorite menu item, though, is his charcuterie board. In a town where too many charcuterie boards are middling, here’s one with rare intention and character. But to fol- >> p 27 Jackie Mercandetti Photo Jason and Katherine Dwight make a great team. 25 Jackie Mercandetti Photo A ponderosa pine table and juniper tree chandelier. phoenixnewtimes.com | CONTENTS | FEEDBACK | OPINION | NEWS | FEATURE | NIGHT+DAY | CULTURE | FILM | CAFE | MUSIC | PHOENIX NEW TIMES DEC. 26TH, 2019–JAN. 1ST, 2020
