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
Aria, the Mediterranean restaurant in Key Biscayne's new Ritz-Carlton Hotel, happens to serve a deconstructed tiramisu, but we'll get to that later. Let's start with the décor of this sprawling indoor-outdoor 186-seat dining room, which includes arched portals, honeyed-wood accents, nautical artifacts, elegant appointments, an exhibition kitchen, and views of the Atlantic Ocean. The look they're trying for is that of a Mediterranean villa. It's a formal dining room, though less opulent and more accessible than other Ritz-Carltons. Service is formal as well, and quite strong but never stiff; the front-of-house staff was as friendly and accommodating as any I've come across lately. The tunes playing over the dining-room speakers were strictly informal and sappy at that. I prefer the music in fine restaurants, especially those named after a musical term, to be distinguishable from that in my dentist's office. Things improve a little on weekends, when a live guitarist strums away. Other ambient details fare better: The acoustics are soft, the lighting at a pleasant level, and the fabric-lined chairs more than comfortable.
Chef de cuisine is Jordi Valles, a native of Catalonia who has worked in Michelin star restaurants, including Spain's renowned El Bulli. The food is tabbed "Mediterranean," but the entrées in particular seem geared more toward the provincial side of French cooking: ratatouilles, ragouts, and stews.
And while it's true that no single dish had anyone invoking Henri Soulé or Alain Ducasse, neither was anyone dissatisfied with the big, bold, basic meals. Matter of fact, the waiter seemed to be removing a good number of cleaned plates from our table.
Nine items are listed as appetizers, but the only one that could be considered seriously in the traditional sense would be escargots, served in brioche with parsley, shallots, garlic, and roasted potatoes. Five other starters are salads, mostly Mediterranean selections like caesar, tomato and feta with pesto vinaigrette, and black-olive-dusted swordfish carpaccio over greens. The three remaining selections are soups: mussels with tomatoes and red peppers, mushroom cream with chanterelles and basil oil, and a steamy asparagus cappuccino with cubed crab fritters that had enough egg to waterproof them against the richly flavored broth in which they floated. A nutmeg-dusted froth of milk floated on top, an hors d'oeuvre-size puff-pastry cup filled with mushroom duxelle on the side.
The second menu category is limited to a quartet of pastas and risottos. If you're in the mood for the former, you'd better be a fan of either squid-ink fettuccine with seafood, or pappardelle with braised veal and sage. The pair of risottos comprises a vegetarian version made with carnarolli rice (a type of arborio) and baby summer vegetables (an unusual choice for a winter menu); and a wild-rice risotto (mixed with carnarolli rice) containing numerous nuggets of juicy rock shrimp, quarters of fresh artichoke bottoms, flakes of shaved Parmigiano-Reggiano, and a few teeny English peas that would make a suitable eye test -- if you can see them, you don't need glasses. The dish teetered on the cusp of oversaltiness but was undeniably full-flavored.
The braising method of cooking is generally used to break down large, indelicate cuts of meat into tender bitefuls, but Valles's signature entrée of braised veal cheeks offers four small, clean, fat-free medallions that taste somewhat like osso bucco without the bone. Under the delicious disks is a lentil ragout infused with a reduced veal stock so intensely meaty and gelatinous it can cause your lips to stick together.
On top of the cheeks were two "langoustines" (really just regular, slightly overcooked shrimp) that were unnecessary to the dish -- which by itself makes for a wonderfully robust bistro meal. I wouldn't have objected, though, had they included more than a (bare) "hint of Summer Truffles."
A trio of grilled lamb chops came leaning on a cylindrical mashed-potato pie ("polpetes"), with brightly colored, crunchy vegetables (baby squash, carrots, asparagus); a wedge of adeptly braised fennel; and a glossy, reduced brown sauce bursting with the flavor of fresh mint. The classic presentation looked, and tasted, like a dish one of my students at the French Culinary Institute in New York might have prepared -- a very good student, I might add. I would have taken points off only for the polpete, which tasted as though it had been made the prior day and reheated. Roasted bone-in veal loin, New York strip in Barolo wine jus, and filet mignon in another, unnamed red-wine sauce are the other options for carnivores. The meat dishes here are very wine-friendly, and Aria offers 280 vintages, including 29 by the glass.