I took my wife to the Beach Bistro for our first date. She was not my wife at the time, of course, but even then I had aspirations. A couple bottles of Champagne and a first kiss on the beach have occluded my memory of the food, but I do credit that night with having played some small part in my current marital bliss.
You see, it's a beautiful place. Attached to a hotel brimming with sand-covered vacationing Northerners, the squat building right off a parking lot is nothing to look at. Inside, however, is an oasis of calm luxury. The dining room is tiny, crammed with tables, and has an extremely low ceiling draped with decorative cloth. The only illumination comes from individual spotlights shining on each table, creating little islands of light. Two mirrored walls give an expanded sense of space. The feeling is unexpectedly intimate and romantic even in the middle of this crowded room.
But what truly makes the Beach Bistro special is location. Sand laps up against floor-to-ceiling windows lining the west wall, with surf crashing into the shore a mere 50 feet away. Nothing obscures the view except the occasional passerby. At sunset, the vista is stunning. After dinner, moonlit walks are de rigueur.
The second time I took my wife to the Beach Bistro, we were entertaining a friend visiting from Boston. The sky was overcast, the sunset was just a bit of orange glow through the clouds, and we came away slightly disappointed by the food. Everything was, and still is, impeccably prepared. It just seemed a bit, well, boring.
Take, for example, the Bistro "Kicker" Shrimp, a staple dish that was offered as an appetizer ($12) and a special entrée ($34) on a recent visit. The simply grilled shrimp are coated in dried herb- and pepper-laced spices, a proprietary blend that borrows from Cajun blackening and Caribbean jerk. Drizzled with a key lime sauce scented with ginger, the shrimp taste like a dish from the late '80s, like the early days of Floribbean cuisine.
Most of Beach Bistro's seafood is dominated by this decade-old style of Floribbean influence – bell pepper jams, mango and papaya salsas, and citrus-laced sauces. It's the kind of food Florida super-chef and Floribbean pioneer Norman Van Aken improved upon or discarded years ago. It's been done.
A regular special, Floribbean grouper ($36), epitomized this. Crusted with savory coconut and cashew, the sautéed white flesh was crisp, the interior moist and steamy. Draped over the filet were a simple red pepper jam (sweet with a hint of spice) and a slice of grilled papaya, with a pile of mango salsa nearby. With creamy mashed potatoes and crisp green beans on the side, both unadorned, it was a dish that I've had dozens of times at dozens of restaurants. It left me wondering why this version was worth $36.
Before you Zagat readers and Beach Bistro fans rush to your computers to send me scathing hate mail, let me repeat that the food, even when tried and true, is quite good. The chef takes a hands-off approach to cooking on many of the dishes that allows the exceptional ingredients to shine. "Perfect blue crab" ($13) is just that, perfect lumps of barely cooked cold crab scarcely dressed in an effervescent champagne vinaigrette. The result is the freshest, sweetest, most buttery hunks of natural-tasting shellfish around.
Two other dishes were equally hands off, but considerably less exciting. The "Lobsterscargots" ($18) – little chunks of lobster meat cooked in the style of escargot – were overpowered by simple garlic butter and spinach. The Caesar salad ($13) had incredibly fresh, incredibly crisp romaine hearts doused in an unobtrusive and inoffensive bit of eggy dressing. Neither lives up to its price or potential.
Much of the menu feels as if, one day about a decade ago, the Beach Bistro discovered an ideal set of dishes and has just stuck with them ever since. Don't take my word for it. In the description of the sesame-crusted tuna steak special ($35), the menu reads: "because we were one of the first to "sesame crust" anything – we are still allowed to do it." Sure, sure, feel free. But why do you want to? If you feel the need to justify it, maybe even you aren't so sure about it.
The four permanent entrees tend toward the old-fashioned – tenderloin ($40), roast duckling ($35), rack of lamb ($40-$60), bouillabaisse ($45). Peppercorn sauces and flavored demi-glace are the favorite additions, these classic preparations seemingly more at home in a stodgy, big-city private club.
That said, the bouillabaisse was excellent: shrimp, mussels, lobster, calamari, and slabs of fish bathing in perfect harmony amidst a briny tomato broth tasting of herbs and the bright anise flavor of Pernod. Garlicky aioli and crisp bread complete this French bistro standard.
In the "food heaven" lamb special ($50), two chops were topped with thin slices of unctuous seared foie gras and angled against a crisp cube of vanilla-scented brioche bread pudding. A tiny glass of rosemary-infused demi-glace was so meaty, so luscious, I had to stop myself from picking it up and gulping it down. With a small lobster tail, bright green asparagus and sinfully rich dauphinoise potatoes accompanying, this was a platter filled with decadent morsels.
Beautiful ingredients, skillfully prepared – yet these dishes lacked any unique character to give the food a sense of place. Although everything we ate was a textbook example of ideal cookery – from the tender crisp green beans to the cold red center of the rare lamb – it's almost as if it were done by rote. With Beach Bistro's incredible culinary reputation – "tied for the highest Zagat food rating in Florida!", "invited to the James Beard House!", "Florida Trend Golden Spoon Hall Of Fame!" – it is hard not to be a little disappointed at the lack of innovation.
Thankfully, the service is as old-fashioned as the cuisine. My server knew that the young Guigal Chateauneuf-du-Pape ($50) I ordered should be decanted, and he did so at the table. The other servers swarmed as necessary to clear dishes or carefully place newly arriving courses, the meal paced perfectly to enjoy the company of my guests. Even the coffee cups were aligned so that it took minimal effort to reach the handles. It was the most impeccable, effortless pampering I've experienced in the area.
On this most recent visit, the details stood out – coffee served in a French press, the whimsical and striking Herb Ritts photographs of Jack Nicholson hanging on the mirrored walls, the tiny glass of sauternes that accompanied the foie gras-laden lamb. These details are important to the Beach Bistro.
Blessed with dynamic restaurateur Sean Murphy as owner, a highly skilled kitchen and floor staff and a gorgeous location, the Beach Bistro just needs to perform a menu makeover before the food can live up to its stellar reputation, sky-high prices and isolated location.
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 Apr 20-26, 2005.