On one level, reviewing the newly expanding Floridian — formerly a Treasure Island landmark in a single location — could be an exploration of what happens to the food and feel when a simple restaurant is turned into a chain. Does it devalue the historical impact of the original? How do the compromises that come with multi-unit distribution affect the product? Should hardcore, local-centric consumers start avoiding the new and old locations?
On the other hand, reviewing the new Floridian could easily be just about the sandwiches and sides. There's plenty to talk about there without even bothering with the fundamental issues at stake. And, to be honest, what's more fundamental than some kick-ass french fries and a gooey, crunchy Cuban?
Those Cubans are what made the original Floridian a destination joint, and allowed it to rack up an armful of awards over the past 15 years. That was also the draw for Harold Seltzer, the mastermind behind the Sam Seltzer steakhouse chain, which he sold back in 2004. Seltzer was looking for a new challenge, and cannily realized that the Bay area has a culinary creation that's as unique, simple and portable as the ubiquitous Philly cheesesteak. He started a partnership with Floridian owners Val and Ted Dilar, and incorporated as Floridian Restaurants of America.
Don't think of Seltzer as merely a suit-and-tie money man, though. Six weeks after the opening of the first expansion Floridian and he's still working behind the counter, slapping meat and bread onto a press and swiping credit cards in his Cuban shirt. That's a good sign.
An even better sign is Floridian's devotion to fresh ingredients. The bread comes in daily from a local bakery. Soups are made in-house. OJ comes from Bearss Groves. The tiny shop even roasts its own turkey as needed. And the fries, well, that's another thing entirely.
We've all gotten used to the standardized, capable French fries hawked by Sysco and their ilk, primarily because they're ubiquitous and fairly tasty. But get a real French fry in your mouth, like those served at Floridian, and you'll remember why the fried potato is an exquisite food.
Floridian cuts their own potatoes fresh, then blanches, fries and fries again. These aren't the uniformly crispy sticks you may be used to, but each individual piece of potato here packs incredible flavor on its mottled and blistered exterior.
The sandwiches aren't bad, either. The award-winning Cuban with which Seltzer plans to conquer the national casual dining scene is tasty enough, but seems poised for the non-Tampa market. It's stuffed thick with meat to the point where pickles are more an occasional surprise than a regular occurrence and the mustard adds barely more than a splash of color.
So it may not be my favorite Cuban, stylistically, but that's not to say it isn't a damn fine sandwich. All the sandwiches here, from spiced pork to roast beef, are built on perfect technique. Start with fresh Cuban bread, load with ingredients (Swiss cheese near the bread, please), brush the top and bottom with butter, then press, hard, until the surface is crisp and the cheese is gooey. Floridian gets all that right, every single time.
Soups — black bean and garbanzo — are both simple and seasoned just well enough to be crowd pleasers, the dense and decadent napoleon is wonderful, the stuffed potato is fabulous in spite of the nebulous meat filling and the devil crab is absolutely atrocious. That's no slight on Floridian — is devil crab ever good?
Seltzer is also canny when it comes to pricing. The basic seven-inch sandwiches — more than enough for most folks — are a mere $4.99, in tune with fundamental Tampa-area Cuban sandwich economics. But you'll need some fries, I assure you. And that local orange juice is easily the best thing in the place, even though they don't make it themselves. With all that and a napoleon to share with friends, your $5 sandwich lunch is suddenly topping $10. But that's your fault, not Floridian's.
The restaurant's opening press release says "The Floridian looks to become synonymous with the Cuban Sandwich across the State and beyond." It's a good idea, Seltzer, and if you can keep up the quality at future locations I doubt I'll even mind if folks in Iowa or Oregon start associating the Tampa culinary scene with crunchy sammies. It may be our only hope at true national culinary recognition.
This article appears in Apr 29 – May 5, 2009.