At Kensington Quarters, a variety of cuts, all sustainably raised.

Having a working whole-animal butcher shop within a restaurant is a boon for chef Damon Menapace.

House-cured pastrami and parsnip ravioli at Kensington Quarters.
Neal Santos

Painted onto the whitewashed cinder-block wall in the industrial dining room of Kensington Quarters, an earnest motto in sturdy black type delivers a promise: All goods and services proudly bonded by trust.

Beneath, butcher-block tabletops slide back and forth on floor-mounted I-beams, two-tops becoming fours and eights with gentle nudges as salumi mavens, teachers and tattoo artists meet for sustainably raised snacks and bourbon cocktails on Fishtown's hottest strip. When they entered, they passed under the restaurant-cum-whole-animal butcher shop's logo, a disembodied handshake tattooed on the building's façade above a fringe of sea grass in up-lit oval aluminum planters.The motto and the logo are the old-timey stuff of a bygone era, when a gentleman's word meant something.

"The whole concept is us forming relationships with farmers," explains Michael Pasquarello, who owns Kensington Quarters with wife, Jeniphur, and butcher Bryan Mayer. "We didn't have them sign documents, they didn't make us guarantee to buy 300 head of cattle — we shook hands with them. You as a customer coming through the door, you're trusting us. The handshake is the ultimate agreement."

I thought about that promise as I sipped a Thompson Sour, a walk-in-the-woods rye-and-maple cooler, and started in on baker Michael Olone's chewy house-baked sourdough. Earlyish on a weeknight, the neighbors had yet to convene in Kensington Quarters' main dining room. By dessert they would settle in for appetizers, turning over their trust to the Pasquarellos, Mayer and chef Damon Menapace, a Vetri refugee with knacks for charcuterie and pasta-making.

Eating at any restaurant is an act of trust: I will give you money, you will give me food and service that does not suck. That's the innate agreement of dining out, whether it's a seven-course tasting at Laurel or a sandwich at John's Roast Pork. Most restaurants operate under this agreement; I've never seen one state it outright. Kensington Quarters promises to make you happy and promises you can trust that they're sourcing meats in ways that are healthy for animals, humans, the local economy and the environment. And they do so without the zeitgeist-mandated dose of farmer worship. Curious about the contents of the butcher case? Mayer, a veteran of Fleisher's in New York, will be happy to explain.

Having a working whole-animal butcher shop within a restaurant is a boon for chef Menapace. "I'm there to help maximize the whole use of the animal, but I'm also the first customer," says the 28-year-old. "I can get a couple giant ribs on Friday night if I want to [put them on] special, but I can also get 30 pounds of trim to do a Bolognese."

One of those specials involved pork tenderloin, cured a week with chile, black pepper and a splash of Fernet, smoked and shaved into gossamer pink slices that melted on the tongue. Bitter frisée and fermented turnip added bite to the smoky pork. It was encouraging because Menapace's small plates, 'Starches, Grains & Greens' (author shakes head) and entrees could not have sounded less interesting. "Spelt and bacon" doesn't exactly scream, "Order me!"

A few more specials would have been nice, but I did find plenty of surprises on paper, including fragrant pastrami draped around candied butternut squash, red cabbage kraut and the most delicious little pâte à choux zeppoli.The ephemeral parsnip ravioli were nearly see-through and seasoned right to the edge, the salt playing against the sweetness of the pureed roots inside. Falling-apart brisket followed moist-inside, crisp-outside pork-and-beef sausage, all tingly with garlic.

There's no doubt Menapace can cure and cook meat. What needs more tinkering are the supporting roles, like basic Brussels sprouts and sticky grits for that brisket; and parsnips, cabbage and not-sweet-enough "apple butter mustard" for that sausage. They felt phoned-in and dreary as winter rain. His free-form lasagna should be baked in small crocks instead of on sheet pans where it dried out and disintegrated like ash on the edges. Millwood Springs blue, a favorite local cheese, saved an ill-conceived dish of arugula salad, caramelized onion tartlet and maitake mushrooms grilled to desiccation.

But I could find things to enjoy in all those dishes (especially when paired with pours from the smart on-tap wine list). The desserts, however, were lost causes. Piped full of over-smoked chocolate ganache, the fat cocoa profiteroles tasted like a bakery that caught on fire. The pear tart looked like something out of Bon Appetit, its fluted cocoa crust filled with lavender mousse, but that mousse was rot-your-teeth sweet and nauseatingly flowery. Chunkier pears in a more prominent role might have balanced, but the fruit element was a measly smear of pear jam under the mousse — cause of death: suffocation.

Two months in, Kensington Quarters is about halfway there. Menapace promises more charcuterie and more pasta in the near future, and in the second-story classroom, Mayer's butchery workshops have just begun.

Come spring, a giant backyard will bloom with seating for 60, a shipping container smoker and a rooftop herb garden. I trust Kensington Quarters will become a great addition to Fishtown; I just hope they don't grow lavender.

KENSINGTON QUARTERS | 1310 Frankford Ave., 267-314-5086, kensingtonquarters.com. Restaurant: Sun.-Thu., 5-10 p.m.; Fri.-Sat., 5 p.m.-11 p.m. Butcher shop: Tue.-Sat., 11 a.m.-8 p.m.; Sun., 11 a.m.-6 p.m. Appetizers, $11-$16; entrees, $24-$26; dessert, $9-$10.