Top of the list: seaweed salad, with four varieties plopped like baby haystacks on a narrow, rectangular plate. You can order it with wild mushrooms or short ribs, but if you treasure quinoa’s innate delicacy, order it with neither.īrazilian entries could mostly be summed up as “meat”: chorizo and linguica sausages, hanger steak, pork tenderloin, ribeye. A nifty vegetarian dish called quinotto used the nutritionally powerful grain quinoa, native to Peru, in a creamy risotto concoction.
But the treasure was the accompanying Peruvian corn, a novelty kernel similar to hominy except bigger, chewier, and irresistibly delicious.Ī small selection of standard entrées included Moqueca Mista, which is like a Thai-flavored paella with rice, shrimp, squid, and crawfish in a hot and spicy coconut curry. Salmon was tropical with guava, carrot, and a “mojito splash.”Īnticuchos-skewers of grilled meat or vegetables-were another Peruvian score, whether crunchy large shrimp in a fiery chimichurri or chewy-tender beef with a sweet and spicy sauce made from aji panca chile pepper. Yellowtail went Asian with ginger, garlic, and soy.
Tuna was splashed with grapefruit and jalapeño, bright and zesty. Lobster had lime juice and refreshing bits of mango. Each got its own treatment for fun contrasts in flavor. Both raw fish, see? The ceviche was a big hit, especially the sampler, with four varieties (yellowtail, tuna, lobster, and salmon) diced and served on ice. Sushi on the menu alongside ceviche, the Peruvian dish of raw seafood marinated in citrus, made sense. Fusing three cuisines borders on chaotic overkill, but it mostly worked. But here’s a circular bar, cool lighting, silly unisex bathrooms, hi-def flat screens displaying 24-7 footage of Carnaval, and suave young servers who impart a worldly, multiethnic vibe. Where else near the Galleria can a young sophisticate-wannabe go? The scene around Frankford Road is too mature, and driving to West Village gets old. It fills a void here you’d never have imagined existed until you saw it being filled.
SushiSamba’s prominent mentions on Sex and the City can’t be ignored as a factor in the restaurant’s popularity, but it is not simply getting by on celebrity. This branch at the Galleria is the sixth in a chain, with older siblings in New York and Miami. It first makes you want to leap to your feet and samba, but then you find yourself muttering a prayer that the voluble hypnotic repetitiveness would please just stop. He was talking-shouting, really-about the ceaselessly festive soundtrack that wavered between infectiousness and flat-out agony. “We turn up the volume every hour, starting at 8 pm,” confided one server. Taking their place is a crop of twentysomethings who settles into the narrow tables to share bowls of edamame, or descends on the bar to wield neon cocktails. To see it in action, show up at 8:30 pm, when you can still catch sight of the foodies signaling, “Check, please,” after having sampled SushiSamba’s fusion of Japanese, Brazilian, and Peruvian dishes. Before your eyes, it transforms from hottish restaurant to hotter bar scene. Every Friday night, and some Saturdays, too, SushiSamba Dallas undergoes a strange, near-organic metamorphosis.
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