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 truth both chefs have ultimately done much the same thing in terms of influencing American restaurant cuisine and scene: took a traditional culinary genre (Mediterranean in Puck's case, Japanese in Matsuhisa's) and made it multicultural, creative, now, exciting, as well as fashionable, thereby revolutionizing and reinventing tasty but tradition-bound dishes for America's progress-oriented tastes. When I found that the tour for my second book would hit Hollywood, I demanded that my publisher reserve at Matsuhisa before scheduling readings and TV appearances; the dinner date was much harder to score.
What I found at Matsuhisa, though, in 1996, was the usual when chefs become empire-builders: The food that had seemed so mind-blowing in 1991 was still good but less good than that at the newer New York Nobu, where the chef was personally concentrating his energies. So naturally I wondered what I'd find at South Beach's Nobu, now that Matsuhisa's empire has grown to twelve restaurants worldwide.
1901 Collins Ave.
Miami Beach, FL 33139
Region: South Beach
Initial impressions, be warned, are not impressive. After fighting hideous construction on Collins Avenue, one arrives at ... well, let's put it this way: To someone expecting the tasteful and/or striking décor of Nobu's other eateries (Matsuhisa is peacefully Zenlike; Nobu Next Door has wallpaper made from seaweed), Nobu SoBe's look is a shock to say the least. Walls are bare blond-wood slats. The ceiling is very low and constructed of some material as unattractive as acoustic tile yet apparently absorbing no noise whatsoever. And the support beams are sheathed in bright green tile reminiscent of the universal high school locker-room shower.
Prices also are a bit of a shock, if one is expecting South Beach to react the way restaurants elsewhere have to our nation's economy, by offering some bargains like the NYC Nobu's $30.01 dinner. Individual "special" (in other words, much smaller than "main") dishes and salads average $14 to $22, and sushi runs $4 to $6 per piece -- and up: Otoro, our graciously scandalized waiter reported, costs $11 per piece. "Awfully expensive," he hyperventilated, as I salivated. Fortunately for my budget, Nobu had just run out, since I could not resist ordering this buttery "filet mignon" tuna belly, unavailable anywhere else in Miami at anytime, at any price. But hey, as some of us have just realized, life is short -- plus when you consider that double rooms at the Shore Club start at about 500 bucks, $11 sushi nibbles and $12 to $15 cocktails seem like bargains (especially when Nobu's Peruvian specialty, pisco sour, is better, according to my dining buddy, than any she'd had anywhere in South America).
The further good news is that Nobu, overall, is better than any I've found at any Japanese restaurant in South Florida. This is not to diss traditional old favorites like Maiko, whose fish items are always reliable if predictable, or innovative "new Japanese" spots like Shoji Sushi, where certain individual dishes surpass some of Nobu's in creativity and/or taste. It is rather to say that Matsuhisa has decidedly gotten his management skills down; both the food and the service at SoBe's Nobu are absolutely extraordinary, despite the head honcho's absence in the actual kitchen.
More good news: It is possible to get out of Nobu without having to mortgage the kids if one listens to Nobu's servers, who are impressively informed without additional attitude. Ours advised skipping both main dishes ("good, but not what Nobu's known for") and the almost irresistible omikase multicourse menus ("wonderful, but smaller portions") in favor of a "do it yourself" three-item family-style, meaning shared, menu.
To start we had a sashimi salad. Our waiter: "It's very tasty and very big -- enough for two, easily." And it was. The mountain of mesclun was fresher and more interesting than typical gourmet market mixtures (enough frisée for a change); the sashimi was barely seared, impeccably fresh tuna; and the dressing was a subtle ginger-soy vinaigrette, much more complex and less obvious than usual Japanese restaurant fare.
Next came the Nobu signature dish: black cod with miso. At this point you've doubtless had a version of this at numerous hip spots, but chef Matsuhisa did it first and still does it best. Here the perfectly broiled black cod is, correctly, not cod but far richer and more unctuous sablefish (yup), and the white miso/mirin/sake marinade is more savory and less sugary than that of imitators. The portion was much bigger than I remembered from Matsuhisa or the other Nobu, but be prepared to fight with family over the crisp-skinned bottom crust.
Arctic char with crisp baby spinach was almost as swoon-inducing. Coldwater char, a little-known but far finer-flaked member of the salmon/trout family, arrived moist, delicate, and accompanied by crunchy leaves of deep-fried spinach.