Walking into the Hard Rock Casino and Hotel, it's easy to forget the humble beginnings of this Seminole "reservation." Fresh out of college, I remember coming to the smoky bingo hall and poker room with my mom. A few jangling slot machines were grouped off to the side and the only food available was served out of a kitchen that would be at home in a little league ball park. The place looked down on its luck.
Well, the big money has moved in. It's not posh, but the hotel and casino complex is pretty polished. Natural stone covers the entryway floors, rock music blares from the sound system, and you can buy clothing or get a hip haircut just off the lobby. The gambling area is immense, filled mostly with newfangled slot machines, although a large poker room caters to a multitude of bandwagon-jumping hold 'em players. Bingo, sadly, was sacrificed.
The best-looking part of the whole complex is the flagship restaurant – Floyd's. While not up to decadent Las Vegas standards, it is monumental, with skyscraping ceilings, giant expanses of windows, and huge installations of décor art. Above the open kitchen is a massive lighting display that changes by the minute. Near the back corner is a piece of art that resembles nothing more than a giant Tesla electrical transformer. Everything is big.
Except, thankfully, for the food, which is more sedate and Italian-influenced, with examples of high-end and lowbrow dishes. Comforting and classy is the goal, but in the end the food seems to meet in a culinary middle ground. The restaurant's more mundane offerings tend to travel beyond humble origins, while forays into fancy cuisine often underachieve.
Floyd's calamari ($6.50), covered in flaky breading that seemed to evaporate in the mouth after a couple of crunchy bites, was miles ahead of your average fried squid. Hundreds of the little guys must have given their lives for the giant platter of tender, fried cephalopod. The two sauces – mustard and garlic aiolis – were good, but so rich that they made the dish heavy; perhaps an acidic, tomato-based sauce would have provided a better contrast.
Another example of elevating a common dish is Floyd's Tuscan chicken ($16). By its description, it seemed like something you might find at any number of chain Italian joints. But pounded thin and cooked perfectly, this chicken breast was a rare discovery – boneless, skinless fowl that was actually flavorful, moist and tender. Bright diced tomato and bitter spinach provided a great counterbalance to the silky rich buerre blanc saucing the chicken and some angel hair pasta.
On the other side of the culinary coin, Floyd's fancy lobster cardinale ($7.50) had tiny bits of lobster that got lost in a sea of heavy cream, the whole mess barely contained in an underdone puff pastry cup. Another puff pastry item – essentially a parma ham, asparagus, and gruyere egg roll ($6.50) – was better; the pastry was buttery, golden brown, and baked crisp. Inside, though, the slender spears of asparagus were surprisingly tough and I could taste little of the prosciutto flavor through the cheese and the heavy butter sauce.
Why do people put caprese salads on a standing menu? Floyd's version ($6.50) is a classic illustration of why this is a mistake. Thick slices of red tomato were layered with thick slabs of pale mozzarella and topped with a confetti of bright green basil, pretty as a picture. It would have been terrific had the tomatoes been ripe and sweet, instead of tart and hard. C'mon world, make caprese a nightly special and only serve it when you know you have the sweet, luscious beauties that make this three-ingredient salad worthwhile.
Vastly more interesting was porcini-dust-encrusted grouper ($18), with a good crisp sear outside and steamy interior. Neither the crust nor the bright but innocuous asparagus puree that dressed the plate added much punch to the fish, but it was good enough on its own.
Likewise, Floyd's lamb ($24.50) was perfectly cooked and plentiful, with a ubiquitous rosemary-scented demi-glace, but the accompanying crispy polenta cake was dry and devoid of flavor. Still, there was more than enough lamb to drown my sorrow over the bland side dish.
Some of the Seminole Casino's humble beginnings pop up from time to time. We ordered champagne and had to wait while someone scrounged glasses from other parts of the hotel. When they did arrive, the staff had laced each with a strawberry, with more sliced strawberries on the side. Do I look like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman? Besides, the hookers I know tend to prefer their expensive champagne without any fruity flavoring.
Speaking of hookers, why do casinos feel the need to create absurd uniforms for female staff? Asymmetrical, golden brown, and cut too low, the Floyd's uniforms succeed only in making the very attentive and attractive waitstaff look like disheveled chorus girls from Eastern Europe. They (and more importantly, we) deserve better.
Further little problems: The large windows wash the restaurant with bright light near sunset; and the same bracing rock played throughout the hotel can get pretty distracting during dinner.
There are certain advantages, however, to whiling away your time on an Indian reservation. You can smoke pretty much anywhere (I love the ashtrays in the bathrooms), although at Floyd's you can only light up at the bar. You can also take advantage of the late-night dance club that the restaurant becomes on weekend nights. Exempt from Tampa's liquor laws, it stays open and serves alcohol until 6 a.m.
All told, I'm thankful for Floyd's. Normally, a few hours of pumping my money into the coffers of the Seminole nation, with nothing but smoky clothes to show for it, leads to a drive home filled with annoyance and self-recrimination. Now I've found a better way. I'll stop at the restaurant on my way out, enjoy some good food and a nice bottle of wine, and give myself a few hours to let the sting of loss and bankruptcy fade before heading home. Luckily, they take credit cards.
Brian Ries is a former restaurant general manager with an advanced diploma from the Court of Master Sommeliers. He can be reached at brian.ries@weeklyplanet.com. Planet food critics dine anonymously, and the paper pays for the meals. Restaurants chosen for review are not related to advertising.
This article appears in May 25-31, 2005.
