By David Minsky
By Jen Mangham
By Bill Wisser
By Laine Doss
By Bill Wisser
By Dana De Greff
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I'm not sure about that last part, though short of hanging fishing nets from the rafters they do make an effort to evoke a nautical atmosphere. The décor is a contemporary take on the traditional seafood house, the modernization mostly occurring up front, where an open glass-door façade allows fresh air to flow through the 200-seat room. Not exactly aromatics from the sea, but it makes sitting at the sizable rectangular bar nice and breezy and affords a picture-window portrait of Miracle Mile. The bar setup, with five TV screens hanging above it, mimics the always-happening Houston's a few blocks away. Tarpon's neon-lettered signage is likewise similar, a glowing blue signal of intent to lure a chunk of that chain's overflow. Perhaps it has already succeeded to some extent, for the clientele here clusters the same assemblage of hopeful sports fans and singles mingling at the bar, couples and families seated in booths toward the rear of the space.
As lounge area leads to dining room, the tall, black industrial ceiling drops to the sort of wood-slat design more common in seafood joints. Trophy fish and sepia-toned photos of fishermen hang on the walls, as do two blackboards: One lists some two dozen types of seafood, which at first (and rather ecstatically) I mistook for specials of the day; in fact Tarpon's owners are avid fishermen affiliated with the International Game Fish Association, and I had been salivating at the official fishing world-record board. The other blackboard was what I should have been focusing on, a detailing of daily specials: ceviches, fish, featured cocktail drink (on this night "Coyote Margarita"), and a concise compendium of raw-bar selections. The regular menu, a laminated rectangular affair, is short and straightforward. (Hey, what a coincidence, just like Houston's.)
65 Miracle Mile
Coral Gables, FL 33134
Category: Bars and Clubs
Region: Coral Gables/South Miami
The waitstaff, a group of sincere, down-to-earth, likable kids, would probably be an efficient crew if they were well trained. As it stands, Tarpon will not be appearing on official restaurant-service world-record boards any time soon. Too many mostly minor mishandlings to rehash here, but a highlight reel would include our waiter interrupting conversation to ask if we'd like more tap water, our empty glasses apparently not enough of a hint. It took at least half an hour for water to arrive, although our entrées were rushed to the table in the midst of appetizers. Another time our waiter offered a contorted explanation of how side-dish choices worked, leading one of us to end up with tabouleh salad rather than onion mashed potatoes, which was the accompaniment listed on the menu for his entrée; the waiter insisted he pay extra for a return of his rightful mashed potatoes. Then there was the busperson who needed two trips to carry four plates from the table.
One thing that distinguishes Tarpon Bend from other seafood houses is the lack of bread, usually a staple in spots like this. "Not included in our regular service" is how it was put, though upon request flimsy slices of sourdough were brought without charge. Wasn't worth the effort.
Appetizers were appealing, none more so than middle-neck clams (from Florida's west coast) pan-roasted in a spicy white wine-and-tomato broth, with grilled triangular toast for sopping up the garlic-and-herb-pepped liquid. We likewise savored a grilled white rectangle of Tuscan calamari steak, fairly tender from marination and further softened with light lemon-basil butter sauce, though I suspect it ultimately pleased more for what it was not -- the same old breaded-and-fried squid rings.
You needn't cast a very wide net to cover Tarpon's raw-bar options -- three varieties of oyster, peel-and-eat shrimp, stone crabs, and the aforementioned ceviches, which are presented as a trilogy of daily picks, each in its own clam shell. The lime-juice-marinated grouper rendition stuck closest to tradition, while strips of snapper were stimulating in a dark, ginger-flecked Asian sauce, and nibblets of shrimp in tomato-tequila-chili margarita sauce tasted of a bit too much ketchup.
Catch-of-the-day specials netted a quartet of filleted fin fish -- snapper, grouper, mahi-mahi, and salmon. The first was fresh and adroitly grilled, dressed with a wedge of lemon. Our side of choice was vegetable du jour, broccolini, the greens brightly but blandly sautéed and not, as was described to us by our increasingly unreliable waiter: "grilled and served with lemon butter sauce."