"What do you mean I have to bring my own?"

It's a question out-of-towners frequently toss Mary Ann Ferrie's way as they arrive at Chlöe, the Old City restaurant she opened with her husband, Dan Grimes, 12 years ago. Like so many independent restaurants in this region, the coolly hued jewelbox operates sans state-appointed liquor license — simply bring your own bottle, or BYOB.

Outside Ferrie's interactions with unfamiliar visitors "completely confused by the concept," BYOs are everyday parlance for budget-minded and cellar-rich locals, as common as cornichon-laden cheese plates in today's Philadelphia. So common, in fact, that it's easy to forget that unscrewing our own corks was an
offbeat idea as recently as a decade ago.

When Chlöe opened in 2000, Ferrie and Grimes could tally their competitors on one hand. By many estimates (no one seems to have the official count), that figure has swelled to well over 200. Though the number of players scrapping for Philly dining dollars has grown exponentially, the economic and artistic motivations behind the BYO, and all the benefits and rigors that come with it, have remained the same.

To anyone who's attempted to bushwhack through state bureaucracy, the most attractive aspects of BYO ownership are obvious. The application and approval process for a new liquor license, controlled by the Pennsylvania Liquor Control Board (PLCB), is arduous, expensive and can be tripped up easily by red tape and citizen opposition. Transfers of existing licenses, from one operator to another, often boast scary price tags and inflexible real-estate caveats. Since customers are providing their own alcohol, the PLCB has no influence on how BYOBs operate, as long as they're not peddling booze. (They are permitted to give it away for free.)

The first BYOs to make an impact on the Philly dining landscape, the ones Chlöe's owners could tally on their fingers, include Queen Village's godfatherly Dmitri's, which opened in 1990; Audrey Claire, feeding Rittenhouse since 1996; Pif (now Bibou), opened by David Ansill in 2001; and the defunct Django, which Aimee Olexy (Talula's Table, Talula's Garden) introduced that same year. Inspired by proof that the quicker, cheaper BYO startup process could translate to business success, numerous first-time restaurateurs, many of them chefs, followed the examples set by these early adopters, leading to the BYOBoom of the early aughts through present day.

But these entrepreneurs were also lured to the alternative model by the culinary clarity it provides. At BYOs, "people strictly come for your food," says Ferrie, who co-chefs Chlöe with Grimes. "People in Philadelphia definitely like to drink, and they can easily become distracted by what's behind the bar."

Joncarl Lachman, who's working on opening Noord on East Passyunk Avenue, says there was never any question as to whether he'd seek a liquor license for the concept, which will focus on Northern European cooking traditions. "I find [BYOs] more charming and more honest," he says. "More of a personal expression."

Originally from Philly, Lachman put in his most recent chef/owner work in Chicago, where he opened two BYOs, Home Bistro and Vincent. "It's still kind of a phenomenon among young people," says Lachman of that city's consumption of the subcategory. Back in his hometown, he notices "a good mix of clientele" — including diners of all ages with a "sophisticated" understanding of food and wine.

"There would be an uprising," says Chadd Jenkins, chef/owner of the 24-seat Little Fish, when asked how regulars might react if he applied for a liquor license. Guests are fond of busting out high-end bottles at his tiny Bella Vista BYO, and Jenkins cooks accordingly, with a clever, seafood-centric menu characterized by mains in the mid-30s. 

"I could dumb it down, but that's not my style," he says. "I could charge $16 or $17 for an entree, but you'd be getting tilapia and rice pilaf. People pay for quality."

Bibou, in the Italian Market, is another storied destination for well-stocked oenophiles turned off by harsh wine-list markups — in 2010, Wine Advocate founder Robert Parker called it the best French bistro in the States, matching Pierre Calmels' food with mythic bottles like 1982 Chateau Haut Brion.

But that doesn't automatically mean the restaurant is jacking up prices to recoup the income lost by a license-less existence. "A client not willing to pay three times the cost of wine will not be willing to overpay for food, either," says co-owner Charlotte Calmels, Pierre's wife. "It's a tight ship, but it works out well."

The tight-ship descriptor aptly summarizes the biggest challenge facing Philly's BYO operators. Without highly profitable liquor sales padding the books, food transactions become the sole revenue stream — which means all costs must be painstakingly monitored. 

"The bottom line is that it would make it a lot easier to get the numbers right if we did have a liquor license," says Carla Goncalves, who owns Portuguese BYO Koo Zee Doo with husband David Gilberg. (Prior to opening in 2009, the couple worked at Center City's Matyson, another BYO pioneer.) "Up front, it's a huge expense, but ultimately, it helps with the margins, because the markup on booze is so much higher than food."

Little Fish's Jenkins applies hawk-like attention to ingredient prices and labor costs — and it's him working the line, with the help of a single sous chef, every night. 

"If one of those two things is out of whack," he explains, "I'm pretty much screwed." The flip side of such hyper-focus benefits those servicing the table as much as the people sitting at it. "I get to see everything come in and go out of the kitchen," adds Jenkins.

However tenuous a fiscal proposition it may be, Philly's BYO scene continues to build momentum, with ambitious owners pulling the trigger on new projects every day. "It's become a more exciting food scene — more people can find a location without the hassle of a liquor license and make it a great spot," observes Ferrie. "But as a business owner, I hate the competition."

Philly diners, meanwhile, continue to love the unadulterated options. "When you just focus on the food," says Lachman, "it makes it more pure of an experience."

DREW LAZOR is a native Marylander and longtime Philadelphian who writes about food, drink, movies and music locally and nationally. Contact him at [email protected] or on Twitter (@drewlazor).

Photographs by MICHAEL PERSICO

Noord food photos courtesy of Noord