La Terrasse may not be everyone's cup of cafe au lait - the place is very European (or at least the SoBe version of a hip continental hangout) - but we not-so-trendy locals had a very tasty meal there recently. The restaurant doesn't rank among the greats, but if you haven't tired of toney South Beach bistros, it is worth a try.
Situated in the middle of Espanola Way - the block that makes up Miami Beach's most beautiful commercial street - La Terrasse's storefront windows look out on the artfully restored Spanish-style architecture of the neighborhood. A few tables on a deck outside give the place its name, but on a particularly muggy evening we opted to dine inside and were seated right near a window. Espanola Way is one of those curious areas, like Bourbon Street in New Orleans, that looks different at night than it does during the day. In the searing heat of a Miami afternoon, the block is something of a visual oddity in South Beach, an eclectic mix of boutiques and artists' studios. But darkness transforms it into a romantic avenue, a more relaxed and less voyeuristic atmosphere than nearby Ocean Drive. Here people do promenade, but not with the intent of seeing and being seen. With no parking along this much shorter street, hoofing it is the only means of getting to where you're going.
The restaurant's decor certainly suits the neighborhood - warm, subtle colors with an aged feel, terra-cotta tile floors, gauzy white cafe curtains, and an open clay oven visible behind the bar. Tables are utilitarian, with white wrapping paper over the white tablecloths, and waiters are simply attired in jeans, black T-shirts, and white aprons. A huge white-on-black sketch of a male nude surveys the inviting dining room.
As soon as we were seated, the waiter brought a plate with tiny slices of a roasted onion pie called pissaladiere. Having never experienced this particular gastronomic treat, I was not as instantly enamored of it as was my dining companion. He claimed the dish tasted like white pizza sans cheese, but I thought it tasted like lard. A friend who'd grown up in war-torn Europe told me about subsisting on bread spread with lard and topped with sliced onions. I kept the story to myself.
An unexpected treat is, after all, one of the nicest gestures a restaurant can make, but I'm told that the freebie is not always forthcoming. Some friends who dined at La Terrasse shortly before we did were left completely pissaladiere-less as those around them munched on the onion pie. And things only went downhill from there. After the waiter hurriedly poured the wine they'd ordered, he cruised along with a basket of bread, which they said looked suspiciously like the Pepperidge Farm variety. When he finally returned, the waiter condescended to ask, "You're having pizza?" Sure, they figured, why not? They chose "La Pizza Champignons" ($7.50), described on the menu as being topped with "wild mushrooms." But the mushrooms they got were as domestic as a mushroom could possibly be. "Where exactly do these `wild' mushrooms come from?" they inquired when the waiter came back to clear the table. "From the forest," he replied.
Perhaps that waiter has moved on to greener pastures (or forests) since then; we had a very different experience. Not that there aren't a few basic amenities La Terrasse might adopt. The cafe's European roots were evident in the lack of bread plates on the table. While it was by no means repugnant to put bread on the paper tablecloth, a dish would have made it easier to deal with the butter in those silly foil packages (which, incidentally, also might be improved upon). The bread itself, however, was the marvelous staff-of-life variety - some rye, some wheat, all of it substantial and crusty, not heavy or dry. And by no means Pepperidge Farm. I like to think it was made just hours earlier in that adobe oven, and it certainly tasted fresh enough to have been.
Although the surroundings here are simple and appropriate, the menu itself is confusing. The headings are in French, les this and les that, but the dishes lean heavily toward Italian. In fact half the menu consists of pizzas, carpaccios, and pasta dishes ("les pates" on this menu).
Having already indulged in the pissaladiere and hearty bread, we skipped appetizers (which include offerings such as polenta served with roquefort cheese, and artichokes stuffed with mushroom sauce) and moved right on to the salad course. My "Salade La Terrasse" ($7) overflowed with artichokes, celery, mushrooms, Belgian endive, red cabbage, chicory, slivers of sweet red peppers, and black olives. Strips of a smoky, nutty fontina cheese topped the mix, which was coated in a vinaigrette rich in olive oil. I have seen prettier salads but few that had the variety and flavor of this one. Other salad options include goat cheese on greens; mixed grilled vegetables; and a three-color melange of arugula, radicchio, and endive.
As soon as the salad plate was empty, the waiter brought forth our main dishes. My companion had passed up two more pedestrian pasta offerings (penne with tomato, basil, and mozzarella; and fettuccine with tuna, capers, and olives) in favor of black pasta with spicy tomato sauce. The squid-ink pasta in bright red, chunky tomato sauce was studded with black olives and garnished with fresh sweet basil. One bite and the infusion of Tabasco was evident - we happily enjoyed the total sensory experience of hot, sweet, and salty. The concoction tasted a bit like puttanesca, which we adore; but the black pasta was much more subtle in its fishy taste than the anchovies used in the classic Italian dish, and the sauce was far less salty without the capers.
