Perfection.  It’s not something I usually discuss because, to my mind, outside of math and the occasional Type IIa Golconda diamond, perfection (such as it is) is a construct. In life, with few exceptions, there is always something that, in retrospect, could have been done better. So, you could’ve knocked me over with a feather when, after a recent dinner with my friend Gingi Beltran, at Mirabella Coastal Italian by Michael White at Fontainebleau Miami Beach, I later heard myself describing the meal as “perfection.”

Does it mean everything went off without a hitch?  Not necessarily.  In this instance, a minor hiccup occurred, but before it even really sunk in with us, it had been corrected so charmingly that it enhanced our overall dining experience.  Does it mean that we supped on n’est plus ultra gastronomic fare?  No, but it didn't need to be seeing as we enjoyed incredibly delicious food (prepared skillfully without being fussy) from which we derived pleasure.

Neither of us being too hungry, Gingi and I decided to share a salad, a pasta, and an entrée. After some consideration, we opted for the Caesar (with baby romaine, anchovy vinaigrette, pecorino, and black pepper), the Lumache (with spicy vodka sauce and pecorino), and the Bone-in Veal Chop Milanese (with wild arugula, fennel, cherry tomatoes, and lemon vinaigrette).  Our server, Manny, who was very knowledgeable, helped guide us (upon our asking) pasta-wise, informing us that the Cavatelli (with sweet fennel sausage and arugula pesto) that I’d been eyeing was deservedly popular but that the Lumache—which, some might accuse of being less exciting than the Cavatelli (as it contains nothing except for the pasta, the sauce, and some cheese)—was his absolute favorite.

Now, earlier, I mentioned a hiccup, and what happened was this: When the runner brought our Ceasar to the table (split into two portions that were each large enough to be very generous starter salads), it looked lovely.  We each took a few bites, noting the fresh crunch of the romaine and the abundance of pecorino.  But a couple of minutes in, we looked at each other curiously, and just before I could mention that my salad was a bit dry, Gingi commented that hers could stand a bit more dressing.  I just figured that being in the bikini capitol of America, it was a healthy take on a Caesar.  Then, just as we’d resumed eating our salads, we realized that the runner had returned to our table with two more bowls of salad, looking a bit sheepish.  He then apologized, telling us that the couple at a nearby table had also decided to share the Caesar but, being vegan, had asked for it sans dressing.  After explaining it very politely and charmingly, he swapped out the salads. After one bite, Gingi and I were in total agreement that the lack of dressing (which was particularly yummy) was the only thing preventing it from being a great Caesar.  Now, mistakes happen.  All the time.  But how they are dealt with (on both sides) makes all the difference.  This young man had been so genuinely remorseful and swapped them out so seamlessly that once we laughed at how we’d been wondering why our salads were ‘dry,’ we went on to enjoy the heck outta those salads, which, as Caesars go, were pretty great.

Next was the pasta, and yes, the Lumache was simple, but talk about something being elegant for its simplicity.  Mirabella makes all of its pasta fresh daily (always a good thing), and the pasta had been prepared precisely right, but the headline was that spicy vodka sauce: It was a friggin’ revelation!  Piquant and zesty and tomato-y (I love those San Marzano tomatoes!), without being too much of any of those things, it was an absolute treat.  Not only did I dip multiple pieces of focaccia into the sauce that remained after we’d eaten the last of those delectable snail-shaped pasta shells [‘lumache’ means ‘snail’ in Italian], but had I not been in public, I’d have picked up that bowl and licked it clean.  It was that good.

Then came that Bone-in Veal Chop Milanese.  Now, while a preponderance of chefs today tend to be a bit heavy-handed when seasoning a veal chop—by which I mean too much seasoning and too many spices, whether sage, rosemary, tarragon, or whatever the herb or spice du jour might be (I blame the late Chef Charlie Trotter for this, btw…)—Chef Michael White and Executive Chef Paul Keyser have opted instead to let the premium cut of meat speak for itself, pan-frying it with olive oil and clarified butter, allowing the guest(s) to season it as much or as little as they’d like with the arugula salad that is served to the side of the chop.  We each carved off a piece, ate them, then carved off another, and so on, until only the bone was left, at which point Gingi, knowing me very well, said, “Just pick it up, already.  You know you want to.”  She wasn’t wrong.  So, I did (and I’m glad I did).

Chef Paul, who had come out to our table and chatted with us when we were about halfway through the veal chop, sent us out a tasty trio of desserts: Bomboloni (ricotta doughnuts with amaretto cream, and milk chocolate sauce), Nonna’s Cheesecake (with mascarpone, cherry compote, and pistachio), and the Sundae (with vanilla soft serve, strawberry, honey brioche, and lemon marmalade).   When bomboloni are done ‘right,’ they are a fun, fried, sugary treat, but unfortunately, I find that most are a bit soggy, collapse on themselves, and then squirt molten filling all over my mouth.  Not these!  They were fried just long enough to maintain their globular shape without being overcooked, and rolled in enough sugar (and I think cinnamon) that each bite resulted in a delightful granular crunch so that even after being bitten into, they maintained their shape. Though Nonna’s Cheesecake may not have been the most mind-blowing cheesecake I’ve ever eaten, it was an indubitably excellent cheesecake, and I’d order it again, which is the far more critical issue here.  As for the Sundae, it was an unexpected highlight, luxuriously light and lovely, with the soft serve ice cream featuring a consistency similar to a great frozen custard (inspired by the frozen custards Chef Paul enjoyed growing up on the Jersey shore).  We were chatting over our espressos at this point, and as ice cream is prone to do, it had begun to melt.  Noticing this, I was struck with a lightening bolt of inspiration, grabbed the straw from my nearly empty glass of iced tea, jammed it into the slowly liquifying soft serve, and proceeded to ‘drink’ the Sundae, causing Gingi to bust out laughing (until I urged her to try it).  It may have looked silly to others, but it was so damned delicious we didn’t care.

So, was this dinner at Mirabella “perfection?”  Who the hell knows?  But this meal, in a beautiful restaurant, with prompt and friendly service, shared with a dear friend, filled with laughter and reminiscences and wonderfully delicious food, was an experience I would gladly repeat again and again. To me, it just doesn’t get any better than that.

Mirabella Coastal Italian by Michael White
Fontainebleau Miami Beach
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