There's something to be said for writing a review of a place that could care less what I have to say. I'm not suggesting that I'm overly influential on the Bay area food scene, but people — restaurateurs and restaurant regulars, for the most part — manage to take offense at almost every negative thing I say in print. I doubt that will happen this time. The Columbia has weathered far worse things in its 100-plus years than the ramblings of a gifted and erudite writer like myself.
Actually, when it comes to the food, I'm not sure there will be much to take offense at. The thing about Columbia — behind all the history, past the masses of tourists and bemused locals, through the decades of awards and accolades plastered to the lobby walls — is that the food ain't bad.
Sure, there are other joints in Tampa that do a better job with our city's trademark Cuban-influenced cuisine. Hell, there are even places that can string together a resume that can rival, but in no way surpass, Columbia's. But come to this Ybor stalwart for dinner, and you're going to get exactly what you expect.
Scallops ("Casimiro," $8.95) are tough and chewy, but shrimp ("Al Ajillo," $7.95) is better than the average scampi. Devil crab ($7.95), which is rarely something to seek out anywhere, is about as tasty here as these little fritters ever get. The mussels ($9.95) are even better. This version is loaded with chunky veggies and the bare minimum of garlicky broth, but the real flavor comes from large discs of intensely flavorful chorizo. Just a few bites of that sausage will send you scanning the menu for other recipes that feature it.
Black bean soup ($3.95) manages a hearty, herbal meatiness without the use of meat (according to the menu), worth the price even though the black gems are crowded out by a massive scoop of white rice. Caldo gallego soup, stained a pretty red with paprika, has a rich broth that tastes fresh and homemade, with bits of veggie and poultry to give it some texture. It's the Cuban version of liquid antibiotic, and Columbia's still manages to taste like someone's mom made it just for you.
Arroz con pollo ($17.95), dished straight from a steaming pot by the waiter, is moist and perfectly cooked, the rice a vivid saffron yellow, meat falling from the bone. Columbia's combination of roast pork and boliche ($19.95) looks beautiful and tastes like it came from a steam tray lunch counter (not a bad thing), complete with a ladleful of bland brown gravy for the beef and a solid lump of tender but flavorless yucca crouching at the side. Better are the other sides: an empanada stuffed with picadillo tasting strongly of vibrant green olives and tart brine; yellow rice and those hearty black beans; plantains caramelized a deep, rich brown.
With one bite of the fish — snapper "Adelita" ($21.95), overcooked but easily forgiven when paired with bright artichoke hearts, powerful sun-dried tomatoes and pungent garlic — I start to realize that you can't look at the Columbia experience as fine dining anymore. The fare is on the level of home cooking, middle of the pack as far as Spanish-Cuban cuisine in these parts.
The service? While largely efficient, the well-trained, snappily dressed staff seems constantly harried. There are, at last count, about 1,700 seats in the joint. The Columbia is open approximately 11 hours a day, 365 days a year. That's a lot of tables to turn for both the waiters and the kitchen. After a hundred years, I'd be tired too.
Wine has always been a focus for the Columbia — there are Wine Spectator and DiRoNa awards plastered across the lobby — but it's as if the restaurant has been grandfathered in. This is how important wine is at such a historic place:
Me: "Can I have a wine list?"
Server: "Well, the featured wines are on that sheet. There is a longer list, but it can be pretty difficult to find."
Me: "Huh? Uhm, I would like to see it if you get a chance."
Server: "Well, I can keep my eyes out for it."
Not surprisingly, I never saw the wine list. Maybe both of us were so embarrassed by the exchange that we each decided to drop it.
That night I settled for a glass of the Columbia's satisfying private label Don Cesar Crianza. With its rich fruit and New World-style oak, maybe most folks don't even need to peruse the wine selection that garnered Wine Enthusiast's Ultimate Award of Excellence.
If you do get a chance, which I did after a half-hour wait on another visit, you'll see what the fuss is about. The wine list is massive, with a major focus on — surprise — Spain. The selection is astounding, whether you're looking for a great buy under $30 or a hefty splurge. That is, of course, if they can find a list to show you.
These days, Columbia's cuisine and service seem geared more toward the Ybor tourism machine than the artistic and moneyed aristocracy of the restaurant's past. Even so, the history is still here. The front of the building, which now takes up an entire city block, looks better than it ever has, the impressive, brightly colored mosaic mural in pristine condition.
Inside, the building has the ramshackle but lovable layout of a restaurant that has literally grown over a century, a maze of dining rooms and bars and archways that makes the place seem a lot more cozy than 1,700 seats would suggest.
Live music seems to spontaneously occur in certain rooms. There is also flamenco in the front room, twice a day, the exultant whoops and pounding footwork of the dancers echoing throughout the other rooms. I imagine the kitchen works to the dancers' rhythms when the show is on.
For visitors from out of town, a trip to the Columbia is like a pilgrimage to a bit of old Florida, with a sample of the Bay area's distinctive cuisine to boot. For locals, well, maybe an annual meal will serve as a reminder of both where Tampa has been and where the town is right now, two things that often manage to slip our minds.
This article appears in Mar 21-27, 2007.
