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
Origin's décor is minimal, with earthy hues of salmon, chocolate, bamboo, and stone. Water runs down a glass wall behind the sushi bar. The hiss of woks escapes an animated open kitchen. Smoke rises from a bowl of steamed edamame beans, placed before us shortly after being seated -- along with a mouthwatering menu of Thai, Japanese, Korean, Cambodian, and Chinese elements adeptly and minimally described, albeit with few geographic clues as to what comes from where. So pan-roasted salmon is defined as being "with crabmeat, spinach, and scallion pancake in saffron green curry," absent any hint that this is a Korean "burbong" sauce. The menu also won't tell you that the stack of lamb ribs glazed with savory "Asian BBQ sauce" tastes just as good as China Grill's pricier version, and a Nobu-ish "blackened" wad of codfish, almost large enough for an entrée, is as effusively juicy as a fish can be, hugged with steamed bok choy and a gentle ginger, sake, and soy sauce. The menu, in other words, is humble, allowing diners to discover on their own as they eat, and with delight, just how virtuous the cuisine here really is.
Origin's menu does trumpet the origins of a few dishes, like the starter of "Vietnamese lobster ravioli": three steamed dumplings wrapped in thin rice paper, each delicately plumped with moist morsels of lobster meat and minced carrots, water chestnuts, and shiitake mushrooms, with eminently dippable nuoc nam sauce on the side. Crispy shrimp-laden spring rolls, and soft summer rolls of crab, tofu, and avocado in tandem with tamarind apricot dip, are meritorious as well.
5920 S. Dixie Highway
South Miami, FL 33143
Region: Coral Gables/South Miami
So are raw fish options, from salmon or fluke carpaccios to scallop tartare with masago, capers, and chili-lime vinaigrette; to sashimi slices of tuna, yellowtail, and fluke; to boutique sushi rolls like smoked salmon with (hold your breath) onions, capers, cream cheese, papaya, avocado, jalapeños, and mint, and an oyster tempura roll with sweet peppers, pickled daikon, and wasabi saffron cream (yes!!!).
Salads maintain the momentum, thick wedges of ripe, coral-colored papaya encircling a nest of shredded green papaya aswirl in lime juice, nuoc nam, and crunchy bits of roasted peanuts. Papaya likewise frames a crisp heap of lettuces and fresh herbs beneath charred slices of rare filet mignon dressed in stimulatingly spicy chili soy sauce.
Prepping our palates with pickled, peppered, and piquant appetizers was just a perky prelude to praiseworthy entrées. Crispy whole snapper, impeccably fried, flakes into huge, white chunks of fish to be plunked into sweet and hot tamarind, garlic, and chili sauce. Half a dozen sea scallops, fat as doorknobs, get steamed in a banana-leaf boat lined with napa cabbage and moistened with a swell sauce of kaffir lime leaves, lemon grass, and mild red curried coconut -- with a basket of sticky rice on the side. Pan-roasted tofu steak was nicely crisped, but blandly seasoned; my sole reservation concerning Origin's cuisine is that many dishes could use more oomph.
Way one of "duck two ways": The leg meat, prepared in mock Peking fashion by having the Long Island ducks hang in the walk-in overnight, is slow-cooked, then wrapped into crispy spring rolls of fried wheat-flour skin. Way two: The crunchy-skin breast is pan-roasted, sliced, and fanned on the plate -- not rare or even medium rare, yet tender in its medium to well-done state, with soft wheat skins on the side for rolling the duck moo-shoo style. Dips come two ways too: tamarind and spicy mango.
Rolling things up at a restaurant can be fun. Cooking things yourself at a restaurant, on the other hand, has always seemed to me contrary to what you're there to do -- which is to have someone else work. So I'm afraid I didn't start out with much enthusiasm for the "hot stone" options, whereby you cook your own squid, shrimp, or filet mignon on a very hot rock. We chose the first, but the flame beneath the searing stone seemed to do a better job of burning the skin on our waiter's wrist as he attempted to place it on the table ("Yeow!" he said sharply but relatively quietly, all things considered) than it did cooking our calamari -- the hot rock was simply too small to accommodate more than two little slices of fish at a time. I am regrettably not yet Zen enough to sit idly and watch my squid slowly sizzle while those around me are consuming their steaming hot meals, chopstick by gluttonous chopstick. Small square dishes of steamed rice, chayote kim chee, and lemon grass and wasabi dips sided the stone, as did lettuce leaves for more wrapping and rolling, which, I suppose, were all supposed to add to the fun. As I said, I prefer to let the kitchen crew do their own cooking.