At Elements Global Cuisine in Gulfport, the waiter sets down a bowl of big New Zealand mussels ($8) doused in a broth redolent with sweet garlic and zinged with the occasional surprise of spicy red pepper flakes. It's an iconic dish, and this is a pretty standard preparation, except for one problem. Even from across the table I can see the dark black crust of burned crostini peeking through the iridescent shells and meaty nuggets. Someone in the kitchen must have noticed, but the dish made it to the table anyway.
Don't think I'm picking on Elements, because this type of thing happens all the time. Most food that makes it to the consumer at any restaurant is prepared exactly as intended, for good or ill. But when there is a mistake, it's been my experience that the majority of places — out of ignorance or expedience — will still send the food out.
Want to blow people's minds with your cooking? Don't send out mistakes.
Let me give Elements some due, because this restaurant does have its strong points. First off, the beef is extremely good. It has a pedigree — Creekstone Farms — and is naturally raised, although not grass-fed. The proof is in the pudding, though, and the filet ($25) has an intense, meaty flavor that is rarely found in this often insipid cut of meat, enough so that the trio of accompanying sauces becomes largely superfluous. Flesh this tasty doesn't need the help.
There's also something to the name of this restaurant, although it falls short of fulfilling the promise of "global cuisine." Scattered through the menu are ingredients from a wide variety of regions — ponzu, chipotle, curry, chimichurri. It's a rather mundane sampling of world culinary culture, to be sure, and the menu still has steak with sauce, crispy duck with fruit, shrimp with pasta and a grilled portobello mushroom. There's even chicken in peanut sauce over rice. A smattering of global ingredients, maybe, but the core of the menu is firmly grounded in standard American fine dining.
The dishes that do look unusual in print lose a lot when translated to the table. Instead of thin and crispy potato slices — the usual treatment for spud-crusted fish — Elements buries haddock ($19) in a pile of mash that Richard Dreyfuss could sculpt with ease. The golden brown disc crouches on the plate in the exact shape of the sauté pan that gave it birth, giving no indication that a filet of mild white fish is hidden somewhere inside. Taste it and you still might not notice the haddock; not surprisingly, when you sink fish in a mountain of starch, it largely tastes like a mountain of starch. This dish could be retooled — turn it into fish and potato cakes, maybe — but right now, it's broken.
Same with portobello ravioli ($17). The pasta itself is adequate enough, although it's a bit chewy and the filling's a bit bland, but the sauce is a mess: curry and cream with the consistency of wet sand. Every bite coats my tongue with the grit of poorly assimilated powder. Not sure why there's so much curry in there — even a little bit would have overpowered the innocuous ravioli.
Want another way to blow people's minds? Taste the dishes before you serve them. That would have worked on the fish and the ravioli, and likely would have stopped Elements' short ribs ($8) from leaving the kitchen.
It's a shame, really, because the meat has that luscious texture of a fatty cut braised to perfection, disintegrating off the bone at the touch of a fork. Perfect, if the beef didn't taste like late-night breakfast at the IHOP. Maple syrup, and plenty of it (or something that tastes like it), courses through the sauce and everything it touches. That works better with the creamy polenta under the rib, but by then, I'm already disappointed.
Straightforward dishes like the stellar steak or a salad topped by slices of grilled duck ($8) are the way to go at Elements. That duck is tender and flavorful, the greens crisp and dotted with creamy gorgonzola, and the raspberry vinaigrette tartly subdued. Sauteéd mushrooms ($7) are textbook, just a touch of sweet madeira and enough salt to accent the earthy flavor. Sea bass dusted with sesame seeds ($23) is cooked just right, with the barest hint of bright ponzu to accent the rich flesh of the fish.
Maybe Elements just isn't quite there yet. The restaurant is less than two months old, and husband-and-wife team Jose Luis (the chef) and Catherine Pawalek recently left the frigid winter of New Hampshire. Gulfport is a big change from the northlands. That extra heat in the kitchen may take some getting used to.
Gulfport should be an inspiration, but that hasn't been the case in the past few years. Pretty and quaint — historic, even — with the vaguely bohemian quality of a neighborhood a few years after gentrification, this area should be pulling in the crowds. Problem is, there's nothing much to draw people to the area after dark. Apart from the serviceable Backfin Blue, Gulfport's dining options are lackluster at best.
I was hoping that Elements might kickstart a new wave of destination dining in Gulfport, but with a menu that promises "global" but delivers largely familiar fare, as well as the troublesome execution of some of the dishes, the restaurant does not appear to be leading the revolution.
Brian Ries is a former restaurant general manager with an advanced diploma from the Court of Master Sommeliers. Creative Loafing food critics dine anonymously, and the paper pays for the meals. Restaurants chosen for review are not related to advertising.
This article appears in Mar 7-13, 2007.