Two Americas

The cuisine bespeaks what is fast becoming South Beach's universal language: Mediterranean. Warm, crusty bread in a cloth-covered basket arrives first, and goes hand in hand with appetizers such as a whole steamed artichoke with vinaigrette, fresh anchovies with harissa and tomato, and a dazzling salad Niçoise with two planks of seared tuna and invigoratingly sharp Dijon vinaigrette (although somehow I was more in the mood for mache and chanterelles). A charcuterie plate teased the palate with prosciutto di Parma; slices of mild Rosette de Lyon salami (a classic French pork sausage); coarsely textured, duck-speckled country pâté; a small knob of Burrata mozzarella; olives; and cornichons. Our glasses of Rosé Barbeiranne from Côte de Provençe positively glistened in the sunlight.

The jewel of the menu's crown is grilled dorade royale — two thick white fillets expertly extricated from the bone and skin tableside, and served with a gooseneck pourer of light, lemony, tarragon-perfumed butter sauce. The delicate dorade is chaperoned with a dish of classically prepared ratatouille, for $39. Other entrées are surprisingly moderate in price: A bountiful bouillabaisse is $28.50; sprightly, mango-threaded tuna tartare $19.50; and herby, full-flavored hangar steak, smothered in sautéed shallots and sided with a pile of skinny frites, $25.50.

The cuisine is clean and zesty, ideally suited for our sun-kissed climate. Service, though generally strong, is not quite polished enough for so posh a venue. During a busy weekend afternoon, there was a mixup that left half our table with entrees, the other half without. Turned out the dishes given to us belonged to another group, so it took quite some time for the rest of our food to arrive — and in the interim, to be polite, those with meals in front of them waited. The proper solution in this case would have been to remove the plates, bring over a light snack for us to munch on, and then serve all the main courses together.

Because the food here is lean, there is always room for dessert. Try the tarte Tropezienne, "from Saint-Tropez," a large, light, not-too-sweet round of genoise (foamy French sponge cake) layered with luscious vanilla custard and dusted with powdered sugar.

La Piaggia has been operating quietly since 2002. Very quietly. There is, in fact, a plaque by the entrance that clearly reads, "Private Club, Members Only." The establishment exists mainly for occupants of the soaring, architecturally boring condos that cluster around it. Outsiders — meaning those who present themselves in respectable fashion (or else are well connected) — can gain entry via reservations. If, however, you get rebuffed at Piaggia's wooden entry gate, I advise letting it go: The security guy looks as though he has bulked up on more than his fair share of S&S breakfasts.