The first surprise at Rickenbacker Fish Company Restaurant and Market was the pack of barking, teeth-baring dogs that welcomed us as we exited our cars in the self-parking lot by the eatery's entrance. A tall, white iron fence separates customers from those careening canines, but the experience was jolting just the same; you may want to park via a complimentary valet service a little farther away.
Conch fritters
Location Info
Details
Related Content
More About
Once safely ensconced indoors, where the dining room was abuzz with a robust Friday-night crowd, there was another unexpected development: We'd made reservations and arrived on time, and there were still seats available, yet the hostess led us to a cocktail table in an empty bar lounge. I politely asked why, if the restaurant was fully booked, nobody let us know when we'd made reservations. Without saying a word, she did a turnaround and switched us to a spot in the main room. It was, physically, the same tiny, round cocktail table as before, but at least we were in with the action.
Rickenbacker's room has been remodeled since the last tenant moved out. The new space features seafaring photos, boat propellers, and a few other nautical knickknacks hanging here and there, but it isn't of the funky driftwood/fishnet genre of fish house. Instead it is a warm, handsome room defined by large picture windows lined with the slats of dark wood blinds, an opening to the kitchen, and shiny, laminated tabletops set closely together atop light grey carpeting (I would quickly learn that these tables are treacherously slippery and the carpet absorbs liquid fairly well — but more on that later). "Breathtaking views" of Biscayne Bay are touted, but the bay isn't visible from indoors, and most of the outside seats on the wood party deck face boat yards. Sitting outdoors at night yields a glittering vista of downtown skyscrapers, but you have to endure the incessant howling of hounds.
A predinner serving of one warm, crusty roll apiece was a long time coming. This gave me more than enough time to peruse the somewhat compact menu. The selection of starters (most cost $10 to $13) is fairly standard for a seafood house; it includes steamed mussels and clams, fried calamari, and ceviche in a martini glass. But it's a bit short on raw-bar picks: just clams and Blue Point oysters on the half shell, and peel-and-eat shrimp. Other appetizer choices such as bacon-wrapped shrimp with mango barbecue glaze and coconut-battered shrimp with orange marmalade seem overwrought.
We settled with less fussy fare such as a crab cake of lump backfin (mostly shredded) and a quintet of conch fritters. The plump patty of crab was lightly breaded and pan-fried, with a mustard/horseradish bite to the otherwise mellow flavor. A redundant mustard dip came on the side along with mesclun greens. Disk-shaped conch fritters were moist and imbued with pleasing shellfish flavor, but the "homemade sauce" of ketchup and mayonnaise certainly didn't enhance.
Clam chowder tasted an awful lot like potato chowder, the velvety-textured soup flush with spuds but with neither a clam nor even an oyster cracker in sight. The Caesar salad arrived woefully underdressed, but the crisp romaine lettuce was fine once a side of lemony dressing was delivered.
Entrées are, as one would expect, mostly seafood, and the fish we sampled was undeniably fresh (all but one range from $24 to $27). But unlike many fish houses, there is no option for straightforward grilling or frying of items although they will surely do so if asked nicely. Composed plates include grilled mahi mahi filet blackened and capped with pineapple salsa, crab-encrusted salmon pooled in pineapple beurre blanc, and wasabi-coated tuna with balsamic glaze and pickled ginger. The owners proudly tout their focus on serving "the freshest locally sourced fish," and rightly so: The sweetness of a recently hooked snapper is easily discerned. But when buried under such garish garnishing, the pristine product might as well have been imported from Disneyland. That's the sort of coverup treatment you give fish when it isn't fresh.
There are, to be fair, a few simple preparations. Chilean sea bass comes steamed, with grilled vegetables. Chilean sea bass, however, is in danger of extinction and seems a strange menu choice by those who boast of sustainability. "Oven-roasted" snapper, which comes pan-seared, is served straight-up with a lemon butter sauce. And whole yellowtail snapper is straightforwardly deep-fried, plated with rice pilaf and a "garlic seafood broth." The fish was beautifully fresh, and the battered crust was greasy; the rice was reminiscent of lunchroom cafeteria versions and the "broth" was thin, seafood-based tomato sauce.
It might be noted that the shrimp, clams, oysters, crabs, squid, tuna, trout, salmon, and Chilean sea bass on the menu are not from local waters; the mahi mahi, yellowtail, and snapper probably are. Then again, a big deal is also made about utilizing "locally grown organic produce." Asparagus, green beans, zucchini, and yellow squash are the vegetables that accompany entrees; side dishes are rice pilaf, coleslaw, green beans, vegetable du jour, French fries, mashed potatoes, and baked potato. There must be more potato farms in Homestead than I realize.