The Gluttoness — June 30, 2009
The White Tide
Ricci Crostini set the bar impossibly high— covered with uni and draped with lardo. A decadent mouthfeel was intensified with the crunch of sea salt. It’s a heavy first bite, a sensual stab at surf and turf, suggesting Marea may follow in the footsteps of its beefier brother, Convivio. But Marea is Chef Michael White’s chance to show his softer, seafood side.
It’s hard to talk about Marea without talking about its predecessor, Esca. Like Dave Pasternack’s Italian fish house, Marea is totally focused on fish, and has raw preparations, composed appetizers, pastas, composed entrees and whole grilled varieties that express this focus. It’s a restaurant built on the expert execution of quality ingredients within the Italian table. Marea is Esca 2.0. The menu is not an homage, but it has signature cues to its forebear beginning with its raw fish “crudo,” a term coined by Esca Partner, Joe Bastianich.
The Central Park space off Columbus Circle exemplifies low-key class, doing justice to what was once San Domenico. Its most dramatic element is the imported, Italian illuminated wood bar, the perfect place for a cougar to sip a stiff Diplomat while scoping out suitors. Sure, the slow jazz doesn’t scream “good times,” but if a great meal is your idea of fun then Marea will rise to the occasion. The majority of dishes are worth revisiting and the best are so impressive as to be gamechanging, experiences that make ordinary efforts insignificant.
Crudos were impressively fresh, sushi-like and meticulously dressed with restraint to enrich the natural flavors of the fish. Jack Mackerel needed only its native oils. Ruby Red Prawns melted in your mouth. Orange, olive and wild fennel teased out the natural sweetness of the velvety scallop slivers.
Like the crudos, some of White’s best efforts rely on simple applications of superb ingredients. Of the antipasti, two stood out: Astice and Tonno Bianco. In the first, juicy chunks of Nova Scotia Lobster were peppered amongst burrata and eggplant funghetto. The sweet meat was enveloped by the oozing mozzarella, laughing in the face of convention, as the marriage was anything but mismatched. Tonno Bianco (Olive Oil Poached Tuna alla Livornese with Ceci & Wild Oregano) had us questioning our aversion to fully-cooking the fish. A salty caper and red onion tapenade offered a subtle crunch and tang against the moist and mild ventresca (the richest, fattiest most tender part of the tuna belly).
