Rubbed and marinated in achiote, garlic, oregano, citrus and fresh herbs, the glistening orbs of meat are silky and rich. Trout, served with warm cucumbers and dampened with a butter almond sauce, straps you into a similar state of sublimity. Mental circuits blow contemplating the fish taco possibilities. It rests in a tomato jalapeo beurre blanc. Take the arctic char crusted in pulverized pumpkin seeds. Garcia's fame) cuisine sings, even if the Mexican notes are often just little ghostly hints. Instead, the interior is crisply contemporary with river stone, rich wood beams and contemporary art in a room washed in hushed tones. There are no sombreros or mariachi posters on the walls. It's "high Mexican" or chichi-Mex, or froufrou-Mex-though it's more like global haute cuisine with a Mexican accent. OK, so it's not really Mexican, technically speaking. Nicola's is a blissful medium: It doesn't stray too far from the centerline even as it executes nearly perfectly-in a Gucci with spurs sort of way. Those that attempt it usually go the way of fresh-caught bronzini left to flop out its existence on a hot sidewalk.
Handbags and shoes aside, Dallas seemingly possesses an aversion to authentic Italian.
Veal is juicy and tender, pasta is firm and supple, and carpaccio is rich and crisply dressed in celery shavings, thick Parmigiano-Reggiano filings, blooms of arugula and capers in spicy olive oil. Perhaps this is to subliminally press the point that Nicola's makes its own fresh pasta from organic semolina flour. On a fat post behind the back bar, a gentleman who bears a striking resemblance to David Niven holds a rod draped with freshly made spaghetti strands. Like the best Plano-Friscovic mansions, Nicola's has a ceiling that vaults high in the entryway above the bar dangling glitzy chandeliers.
0 kommentar(er)
