The Personal Logic Behind Provenance’s Precision

That philosophy is embedded deeply within Provenance’s approach to sourcing, presented to diners as engaging rather than pedantic, and as a clear explanation of why a meal costs what it does.

“That nuance [at Provenance] is imparted to the guest. This is something I think about a lot. It’s a trust relationship. It’s a faith-based relationship. If you’re spending X amount of dollars, you should trust that you’re going to be satisfied. But many people are led falsely into experiences,” Bazik says.

The story that Provenance tells on its menus is Bazik’s biography. “This is a sauce restaurant,” Bazik told me when I first dined at Provenance, shortly after it opened in 2024. The techniques and obsession with sauce work stem from his French culinary training, while the Korean ingredients come from his marriage to his wife and their half-Korean family.

At the time, I had the sense that Bazik was cooking with unusual freedom, creating a dining experience unlike any other in Philadelphia, in part because he was not yet concerned with cooking for MICHELIN.

For Bazik, who has wanted his own restaurant since the age of 20 and had never worked in a MICHELIN-starred restaurant, Provenance’s recognition marked the first time he had even cooked in one.

It took a while for Provenance to find its footing, as with most new restaurants. In October 2024, my husband and I celebrated our wedding anniversary there, seated alone at the intimate counter as Bazik and his cooks worked in the bright, stainless steel kitchen. With no one else in the room for a good hour or two, we drank, joked with the staff, and felt like the luckiest people in the world, receiving the kitchen’s full attention.

When else do you get a team of chefs catering to just you? That moment, of course, no longer exists in the same way. Provenance is now fully booked for the foreseeable future.

“There’s a difference in attitude now. Prior to MICHELIN, people were still skeptical. Even if they came in excited, they were still skeptical. But they came away pleasantly surprised,” Bazik says.

Back then, there was no pressure to earn a star. The MICHELIN Guide had not yet announced its arrival in Philadelphia. A year later, just before Bazik stepped onto the stage at the Kimmel Center and donned a white coat to credit his wife, Eunbin Whang, as the inspiration for Provenance, I dined at the restaurant again.

This year, the crisp white toques that line cooks wore in Provenance’s early days were gone. On the plate, there was a playfulness to the tasting menu that I have very rarely seen.

The experience Bazik creates at Provenance is MICHELIN bait: upon being seated, my purse was given its own stool. Each time I got up to go to the restroom, my napkin was replaced with a fresh, clean, starched, and folded one on a wooden tray.

Provenance’s counter is intimate enough that, on one visit in the weeks before the MICHELIN announcement, I spoke with most of my fellow diners about where they were from and what had brought them to the restaurant. Half were Philadelphians celebrating anniversaries and birthdays. The other half were from mainland China, in Philadelphia for school or work, and for whom fine dining functioned almost like a sport.

They watched closely, comparing dishes like plays, and debating Bazik’s single mussel stuffed with marcona almond, a custardy whipped tofu peppered with pepitas and topped with a spoonful of Golden Osetra caviar, and a razor-edged cube of smoked trout belly. Together, the dishes illustrated Provenance’s playful precision.

“We’re so lucky to be here. We love what we’re doing, we’re providing an experience that is based on my joy,” Bazik says.