By David Minsky
By Jen Mangham
By Bill Wisser
By Laine Doss
By Bill Wisser
By Dana De Greff
By Laine Doss
By Zachary Fagenson
In mid-August, however, a rock called Mark's Las Olas was thrown into our idyllic pond. Suddenly we were no longer unique, no longer the only city to lay claim to Militello's magic. What was worse, we'd now be sharing him with Fort Lauderdale.
Self-involved as we tend to be, Miamians found this a difficult concept. Among those I casually polled, some were concerned that Militello might spread himself too thin and quality at Mark's Place would decline. Others gloomily predicted that business would fall off in North Miami and they'd be forced to make the drive to Las Olas just to bask in the vibrant eating environment they'd grown accustomed to. A few actually resented that Mark's Las Olas featured lower prices. One person worried about Militello's health, another about his ego.
Broward County culinarians (no, it's not an oxymoron) were uniformly delighted.
I've dined at both restaurants after Mark's Las Olas opened. One thing became clear immediately: I'm lucky. The North Miami original served our party a typically exquisite meal, while the Las Olas version, in its first month of operation, strived admirably to meet expectations.
With its slate-and-tile floor and coral-and-plaster columns and walls, Mark's Las Olas is a geologist's dream come true, literally appearing as if it were hewn from stone. Judging by the crowd waiting for tables, though, the eatery certainly isn't sinking like one. In fact, that horde accounted for the most niggling problem of the night: Our reservation for ten o'clock, somewhat late for that area, was not honored until eleven.
One solution for the agoraphobic diner is to snack in the cozy bar area. Though service is limited -- ice water and bread (a sweet onion-rosemary focaccia) must be requested -- seats were available. We ran into acquaintances who said they were perfectly satisfied to share a couple of appetizers at one of the few cocktail tables. "And," one of them added, "from here you can watch the TV."
Craving the total Mark's experience, we chose to wait for our seats in the dining room. We started with a crock of fabulous Caribbean turtle chowder, creamy with coconut milk and spicy with curry seasonings. Meaty chunks of farm-raised turtle dominated the thick, bay leaf-scented broth, which also boasted carrots, onions, and potatoes.
The Caribbean flavors continued with another appetizer, fresh cracked conch. Medallions of the mollusk were dredged in flour and lightly pan-fried until they were moist and tender, a difficult achievement when dealing with conch. A mildly spicy black bean relish added vigor, contrasting with a fragrant vanilla-butter rum sauce that reminded us, despite its excellent preparation, of melted Lifesavers.
We also chose a pizza from the brick oven. The combination of fresh tuna, roasted garlic and onions, aioli, oven-dried tomatoes, capers, and tiny Provence olives loaded the thin crust with a variety of strong flavors. The texture of the tuna, pink and supple despite its high-temperature treatment, worked better than we'd thought it would, though the pungency of garlic, capers, and olives canceled out some of the seafood's subtleties.
A tantalizing pasta dish of grilled pancetta-wrapped loin of rabbit was hardly meek, complemented with a concentrated tomato-basil-olive sauce and a scattering of goat cheese gnocchi.
No one prepares rabbit better than Mark Militello, which is why we stuck with our decision to sample it as a first course even after our waiter informed us that the menu price of ten dollars for this dish was incorrect. Upping the ante another six bucks for a comparatively small plateful of food was risky, we thought, but the succulent pieces of lean, boneless rabbit surrounded by crisp, salty pancetta were worth it. The gnocchi were both airy and dense, the tart, semisoft cheese working with the potato flour to create absolutely wonderful dumplings.
Surprisingly, the entrees were a comedown. In order to serve healthier, slow-roasted fare that relies on marinades for flavor (as opposed to sauces), Militello installed an oak rotisserie; this Texan method of cooking also differentiates Mark's Las Olas from Mark's Place. But the end of the evening may not be the best time to order these dishes. A lovely presentation of duck with a tangy mango-honey glaze was stringy, over-roasting having marred any potential enjoyment of the bird. A sweet potato-vanilla bean puree was an almost marshmallow-flavored side dish, the touch of vanilla a bit too cloying against the dried-out duck.
Similarly, a delicious plantain mash provided little cover for a main course of suckling pig, also cooked on the rotisserie. The slices of pork, which had been rubbed with an nicely understated sour-orange-cumin marinade, were as tough as the duck. A side dish of black beans, which apparently had been stewed until the beans had absorbed the cooking liquid and disintegrated, was far too thick and unpleasantly salty.