Turn off stove; here's raw pleasure

If you don't cook it, they will come.

Call it the chef's crudo credo. And it's been working to make 2014 high time for tartare, that retro, raw-meat Escoffier relic that has suddenly become Philadelphia's daring dish du jour. (Move over, marrowbone.)

It makes sense, considering the current French esprit. But the dish's reach is broader than that. Whether it's a neighborhood pub, a wood-fired New American kitchen, a glittery bistro, or the rustic patio of a sustainable farm where the grass-fed beef on your plate was recently grazing in the fields just beyond, hardly a kitchen opens anymore without some sort of mound of raw flesh, minced and seasoned, on a plate.

And guess what? If the right techniques and ingredients are in play, few dishes showcase primal carnivorous sensuality as well as a good tartare. Here are a few of my favorites.

Ex-Le Bec-Fin chef Pierre Calmels has long had beef tartare on his menu at Bibou, but I crave the rendition he serves at his newer Le Chéri near Rittenhouse Square, where he hand-chops the beef tenderloin tail just a little finer and adds a dash more Tabasco heat to the Dijon-egg yolk dressing sparked with cornichons and shallots. Tod Wentz's tartare is even more finely minced at Townsend ("when you think you're done, keep chopping it for another five minutes"), and I love its boldly piquant zing. But Townsend's toasts for spreading are ho-hum. Le Chéri's delicate gaufrette potato chips tip my favor. Just as good, maybe even better, is the Wagyu beef tartare at Volvér, its traditional garnishes served deconstructed in gleaming stacked compartments, then blended tableside. Add some Champagne for pure luxury.

Yes, tartare is raw. But a whisper of heat and smoke can add another dimension. The fire-minded cooks at both a.kitchen and Petruce et al. give their meat a warm kiss on the grill before mincing and also blending in a gloss of smoked fat. Both are sublime. But the addition of a mushroom aioli at Petruce triggers a deeper groan of umami pleasure. The apple-smoked beef tostadas at Lolita, dusted with cuminy chile spice and drizzled with jalapeño-cornichon crema, offer more textures and a worthy Mexican twist.

Yes, tartare is minced. Unless you're George Sabatino, who once helped jump-start the tartare resurgence years ago at Stateside. He's been putting it all back together at his just-opened Aldine, literally - meat-gluing tenderloin strips together into a log, then slicing them into surprisingly tender discs decorated with fried quinoa (too crunchy) and a vivid green caper-herb aioli. It's a fascinating work in progress, maybe creating a hybrid all its own (carpaccio + tartare = tar-paccio?).

Tartare is really all about the purity of the flesh, so there is something intense and thrilling about the rendition served at Wyebrook Farms in Chester County, where the sustainably raised cattle are off grazing on the rolling hills just beyond your plate. The setup with capers and mustard is fairly classic. But if you're curious what true grass-fed beef tastes like - firm, minerally, intense - this is your chance.

Larousse Gastronomique  says some purists consider horse to be the meat of choice for steak tartare (also known as "filet Américain"). Ironically or not, horse isn't happening on American plates. But I've had a number of alternative meat tartares that I can't stop thinking about. A longtime favorite, recently tasted, is the kibbe naya at Zahav, the classic Middle Eastern mince of finely ground raw lamb with mint and bulghur, brightened here with apples, pomegranate, and schoug Israeli spice. My alt-favorite, though, is at Pub & Kitchen, where chef Eli Collins featured the ruby richness of raw venison against warm, earthy petals of fried Jerusalem artichoke and creamy white onion soubise.

With such great, satisfying flavors, who needs a stove anymore?

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