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
Fat chance. This classic, upscale all-American seafood chain restaurant (one of 40 worldwide, of the genre I call "Parent Places" because they're the sort of conservative-fancy, not glamorous, restaurants where you'd take your parents for special occasions or vice versa) is still going strong, judging by my party's 35-minute wait to be seated for an 8:00 reservation, midweek in an off-peak season. But the wait wasn't too boring or too alcoholic since the maitre d's desk provides special high-tech gadgets that buzz patrons when their table's ready, enabling pleasant predinner dock strolls as an alternative to cocktails.
While our first visit's waiter forgot to bring us bread and butter (which you do want: The assorted-grain rolls are fresh and warm, and the butter's herbed), two of the three appetizers we ordered boded very well for the rest of the meal. Oysters on the half shell were not the usual blah southern belles from local waters but cold-water Canadian malpeques: firm and juicy, with an almost lettucelike crisp, clean aftertaste. Accompanying them, unfortunately, was standard red cocktail sauce which would've totally overwhelmed the beautiful babes, but which was easy enough to ignore once we finally got our waiter's attention to request some lemon sections. Clam chowder was New England-style but superior to many versions I've had in New England: thick but not too, packed with clams rather than filler, and tasting like the sea rather than like bacon or salt pork. Unlike many seafood soups, there's no hidden meat in the chowder's base.
A third more nouvelle-ish starter, seared peppered ahi tuna, was fine because the fish was fresh but was otherwise less satisfying than our more old-fashioned previous picks; the rare tuna slices were not quite rare enough, the lemon/mustard dip was neither mustardy nor lemony enough. But I should've known better. In Parent Places, the rule of thumb is to stick with simple dishes relying on top-notch raw ingredients rather than risking cutting-edge preparations.
Since the Chart House's menu touts the freshness of its fish, I wanted to stick to seafood for entrées. Though crab was that month's featured fish, however, the Alaskan king crab legs I'd planned on ordering turned out to be frozen (as they almost always are at all restaurants, with rare exceptions like Shoji Sushi). So when my native Floridian friend mentioned that the Chart House had always been known for its roast beef, I rather skeptically went for it -- and would again, any old time. The slow-roasted rib cut was fork-tender, genuinely rare (not bleu as requested, but close enough), and rubbed with just enough herbs and spices to accent the prime beef without overwhelming it. A bracing horseradish cream sauce was a perfect partner.
Almost as tasty -- and almost filler-free -- were jumbo lump crabcakes. With their light, custardlike base and super-thin coating, the cakes seemed held together by little but faith; almost no starch was discernible. Interior spicing was also suitably subtle, but the cakes' caper butter sauce was a bit much. Something less assertively pickle-ish, like a beurre blanc, would've been better.
Herb-crusted black grouper wasn't bad, but would've been better had it not been overcooked. This species of grouper, while firm, is also more delicate than, say, red grouper; the complex tenderness is a large part of black grouper's charm but requires relatively gentle cooking. Accompanying mustard sauce was different than that on the ahi tuna appetizer but, again, had virtually no mustard taste.
Since shameless eavesdropping on my first Chart House visit had revealed that many patrons were business travelers seeking the kind of tropical waterside restaurant that should be common in Miami but isn't, I decided, on a second visit, to dine alone. Eating out can be stressful for solo diners, especially women; I've more than once spent supper hours during business trips dodging waiters at the house's worst table (the one directly in back of the swinging kitchen doors), or, even less relaxing, been seated next to solo male diners by maitre d's playing Cupid. But Chart House's personnel couldn't have been more sensitive. Though the eatery was easily as full as on my previous visit with friends, I wasn't kept waiting in the bar by myself; rather, I was immediately seated at a table whose comfy banquette had a drop-dead gorgeous view of water, islands, and sailboats. Then, evidently recognizing that the period between ordering and food arrival can be awkward for people eating alone, my very warm waitress told me to help myself to the salad bar while waiting, even though the bar is normally a freebie only with entrées ordered between 5:00 and 6:30 p.m. (it was 7:30 and I'd ordered only two appetizers). No one tried to rush me through the meal, either, though I was occupying a prime table for four.