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
At Azul, guests arrive to the sound of water trickling rain-like alongside a marble-and-tile-clad open kitchen. This peaceful, feng shui welcome has been in place since the restaurant premiered at Miami's Mandarin Oriental Hotel in December 2000, and so has the interior: a softly lit dining area with linen-draped tables facing floor-to-ceiling windows that wrap the room with a condo-lined vista of Biscayne Bay. Ambiance too remains the same: on the dull and stuffy side.
The food, though, has changed quite a bit since new chef de cuisine Joel Huff's arrival last February. Azul has seen few toque turnovers during its tenure: Michelle Bernstein and Clay Conley are the only predecessors. Those are two big pairs of shoes to fill. Unfortunately, Huff's dishes are ambitious but ultimately too inconsistent to match up.
Huff has two decades of kitchen experience stretching from his native California to Southeast Asia to Australia. His more notable stints, however, may well have been at the Mandarin Oriental in New York under chef Nori Sugie and as chef de cuisine of Saam at the Bazaar by José Andrés in Beverly Hills.
500 Brickell Key Dr.
Miami, FL 33131
Region: Central Dade
The food from Huff, sous chef Brad Kilgore, and assistant chef de cuisine Jacob Ananay is described as "modern European with American and Asian influences." But Sugie's and Andrés's roots reverberate so loudly through the menu that it should be called "modern Spanish/Mediterranean with Asian influences."
Through Andrés, who's often credited with popularizing small-plate dining in this country, Huff is just two degrees removed from Spanish molecular gastronomy master Ferran Adrià. Indeed, the notion of many teeny flavors in petite portions conspiring to form a larger-than-life meal is at play here. But instead of a procession of miniature courses, the tiny taste explosives come bundled upon each plate. Too many misfire.
When it works well, as with a smoked octopus appetizer, it's like incongruous musicians harmonizing in surprisingly moving ways. When it doesn't work, as with an Alaskan king crab appetizer, it's like a variety show with jugglers, drag queens, and clowns crammed onstage at once, each clamoring for attention.
The petite cylinder of crab leg comes accompanied by bits of avocado, squash, pickled purple potato, a couple of Spanish ham chips, thin white circles of milk and Korean black garlic pudding. There are likewise flavored squiggles of an indeterminate nature on the plate. Is the diner supposed to spear a fragment of each microbe-size ingredient with every forkful? Or are we to pick and choose our matchups — purple potato with crab, squash with ham chips, milk circles with avocado and garlic pudding?
The octopus is even more complicated. The tentacle is seasoned with madras curry and other spices. Then it's cooked sous vide for 12 to 14 hours with leek, ginger, garlic, jalapeño, various aromatics, and fresh herbs. After that, it gets smoked and served with a parallel braid of cauliflower purée colored bright yellow via a French vadouvan curry mix. Bits of brown-buttered baba ghannouj dot the plate, with crisped eggplant skin and crisped cauliflower greens sprouting from those dabs. A brunoise of preserved lemon, tiny pink grapefruit segments, pea shoots, leek rings, and hibiscus leaves likewise lend texture and flavor, as do olive oil and swirls of squid ink/Pedro Ximénez vinaigrette. You might call it "tweezer cuisine," but it's tasty.
So is carnaroli rice risotto cooked al dente in a creamy base bolstered by the flavor of chanterelles and other wild mushrooms. A soft-cooked egg on top, prepared just right, oozes extra richness into the grains. The bowl of risotto is served in a larger bowl of what is called "forest floor" — stones, moss, bay leaves, cedar wood, and a lot of rosemary. The waiter pours hot tea onto the earthy mix, and the aromatics rise toward the nasal septum — so while you eat, there is a strong aroma that contributes to the flavor (in this case rosemary was dominant; some at the table thought too much so).
Warm pumpkin soup is perfectly delectable with goat cheese, matchsticks of sweetly roasted squash, nubs of cipollini onions, and brown-butter-coated rock shrimp. The only quibble is that by the time your palate becomes deliriously addicted to the subtly sweet flavor, there are no more spoonfuls. This type of dining, of course, is defined by precious presentation, but surely the shallow bowl could be filled a third of the way up instead of a quarter.
Even oysters on the half shell, usually considered fully dressed if splashed with mignonette sauce, are laden with fresh wasabi, watermelon radish, grated Asian pear, and shaved hibiscus granita; it's a bold mouthful of flavors, but the delicate salinity of the oyster is all but lost.
Entrées are likewise inconsistent. Our favorite is 72-hour braised Wagyu short ribs (described by the waiter as the "most linear" of the offerings — meaning the closest to a regular plate of food). Three über-tender, very flavorful flanks of boneless meat in silky, shiny demi-glace come accented with port wine. Accompaniments are baby carrots and turnips, mousse-like parsnip purée, and fresh palm hearts stuffed with palm hearts purée.