Restaurant Review - Not Off The Hook Yet

Oceanaire’s inconsistencies make for a fishy dining experience

Try as he might, our server at Oceanaire can’t ignite the liquor that’s meant to flamb the baked Alaska. Our anticipation rises and falls as he strikes match after match, tilting the sauceboat full of blue Curaçao and Bacardi 151 to the flame. Poof. The fire always fizzles. Who knew a little retro glamour would be so hard to conjure?

Finally, a tablemate helps out by sheltering the dish with his hands while the flummoxed server gears up for one more go-around. Whoosh! That did it. The flames leap and cavort, and with much fanfare the cobalt-colored booze is poured over the soft-serve swirl of meringue atop the dessert. The bonfire subsides, and we anxiously dig in. Heat has given the meringue an appealing whipped cream texture, but the liquor left an odd cotton candy flavor in its wake. The brownie underneath is dry and the ice cream bland. We each take one bite, offer a slight shrug, and push the plate aside.

Ordering the baked Alaska was my idea. I thought it might lift the discouraged pallor that had long settled over our meal. I was sadly mistaken.

“Where can I go for good seafood?” is the question most frequently posed to me by people I meet at cocktail parties. Steaks, tapas and stand-and-model hot spots are ubiquitous in this town. Fresh fish? That’s a taller order.

Atlanta’s Oceanaire is part of a small national chain that prides itself on sourcing pristine seafood, a commitment reflected in the restaurants’ daily changing menus. Locations in Minneapolis, Indianapolis and Dallas - landlocked cities like this one - have all received rhapsodic reviews. And Adam Newton, the executive chef here, not only worked at Oceanaire’s Washington, D.C., locale, but also spent time in the kitchen of the Inn at Little Washington, one of the finest dining venues in the country. I had vigorous hopes for this place.

Well. In the almost three months since the Atlanta branch opened, I’ve seen little of the razzle-dazzle that critics in other cities have been privy to.

The best buzz on this place thus far has been given to its impeccable oyster selection, and with that I heartily agree. The luxurious, quivery bivalves arrive in their craggy shells poised on shaved ice. A thoughtful printed ticket identifies each variety on your tray. Such illustrative monikers: Nootka Sound, Hama Hama, Pickle Point, Totten Inlet. I love the sharp taste of the fresh horseradish sprinkled over cocktail sauce, though I’m more inclined to embellish my oysters with red wine mignonette or just a squirt of lemon to savor their pure, oceanic taste.

The fetching oyster presentation feels like an extension of the dining room’s adult, cherry wood splendor. Plush curving booths and nautical themes are meant to conjure the high-living extravagance of 1930s ocean liners. The illusion is somewhat dimmed by the lighting scheme, which casts a bluish glow on the open room that lengthens as the night sky outside darkens. But the effect is deliciously supernatural: the Titanic meets “The Twilight Zone.”

In keeping with the throwback theme, many of the menu items evoke America’s dining days of yore - jumbo shrimp cocktail, escargot, crab Louie, fried shrimp and scallops on the “fisherman’s platter.” Forego those and concentrate instead on the more regional pleasures. The Chesapeake-style crab cake is lumpy and delicate, and a whopping serving of rock shrimp and grits (most of the appetizers are meant to be shared) comes richly embellished with smoked cheddar and bits of bacon.

Choose other starters and fish entrees with careful consideration. The night of the baked Alaska incident, we began with a thin clam chowder - crowded with more potatoes than clams - and a spinach salad with unwieldy leaves the size of collards. Could they make that a chopped spinach salad, perhaps?

Grilled Alaskan Troll King salmon baffled. I couldn’t find any of the subtle, almost smoky taste that distinguishes this fish from its washed-out, farm-raised cousin. It didn’t help that the fish was requested medium-rare and came out almost medium-well. For a restaurant that purports to treat seafood like steak and sells this salmon with a $30 price tag, that’s a major blip.

We would have sent it back, but other entrees were plagued by more grave troubles, and the salmon got lost in the shuffle. I requested nairagi, Hawaiian striped marlin nicknamed “pumpkin marlin” here, to be simply grilled. Unfortunately, the server misunderstood and thought I ordered the marlin from the menu’s list of specialties, where it’s gussied up with a sesame crust and served with sushi garnishes like wasabi and pickled ginger. No fusion treatment for me, thanks. To the restaurant’s credit, the kitchen whipped a new order out to me in four minutes flat.

It took just a little longer for my friend’s tuna to return. He wanted it seared rare, but the outside of the fish, along with the sauteed mushrooms strewn on top, arrived at the table cold. Stone cold, actually. Back it went, with solicitous bows and apologies.

During our brief wait, we made a happy discovery. The side dishes rock. A sheetrock of hash browns crunches on the outside, but the innards, striated with cheddar, dissolve blissfully on the tongue. (If you’re craving potatoes, get these instead of the under-seasoned salt-and-vinegar fries I tried on another occasion.) Creamed corn trills grace notes of rosemary and nutmeg. Peanuts prove to be a more appealing companion to sauteed green beans than almonds. Three people could easily make a meal from the monstrous servings.

But, oops, I forgot. We’re here to eat fish. And that’s where the Oceanaire falters. After three visits of inconsistently prepared food, a flawlessly prepared meal seems more a possibility than a probability. And at these prices, flawless is what the restaurant needs to be delivering. So for now, park yourself at the Oceanaire’s bar for some oysters and a glass of champagne before a show at the Alliance. And hope that some of the excellence apparently brandished at the chain’s other outposts eventually rubs off on this one.

bill.addison@creativeloafing.com