Marea

Marea is the closest thing you will get to an perfect seafood-centric Italian meal in NYC.

The key to great seafood are purveyors that are committed to quality product: there are about 15 who deliver to Marea, and it is these privileged relationships that separate your Michelin-starred restuarant from your run-of-the-mill Red Lobster. With the exceptions of Sushi Yasuda and Le Benarding, I haven't had seafood this fresh since I picked a live oyster from a canoe off the bottom of a shallow Chesapeake-bay estuary when I was in grade school.

The interior dining feels light and airy, and with the dappled light from a north-facing Central Park exposure, you truly feel like your are on a breezy yacht on the Adriatic Sea.

The trio of crudos (Maine rock shrimp/mackerel/big-eye tuna) were simple elegance on a plate. The Pacific mackerel didn't taste oily at all - it was a full-bodied, fleshy piece that was complemented well by a garnish of squash caponata and pine nuts. The big eye tuna was a ruby red cube whose fattiness was delicately offset by a bright-green parsley and basil coulis and crispy garlic chip. I couldn't help but having an gustatory orgasm after biting into the supple rock shrimp dressed with extra-virgin olive oil and black lava salt: the shrimp were buttery, creamy, and supple, tasting fresh of the cold, North Atlantic waters from whence they came.

The lobster with burrata was probably my favorite dish. Several ounces of Nova Scotia lobster were surprisingly paired with a caprese salad of creamy burratta cheese, cherry tomatoes, and basil chiffonade and seeds. Cheese and seafood rarely mix, but the hunks of poached lobster seemed to integrate well with the saltiness and creaminess of the burrata, the acidity and sweetness of inexplicably ripe cherry tomatoes and pickled cucumber. This is the dish that I feel is Michael White's signature dish, and not the much vaunted fusilli with bone marrow and octopus.

The spaghetti with sea urchin, crab, and cherry tomatoes further proved Chef Michael White's expertise with deft contrasts. The sea urchin didn't overpower the dish, but rather created a sauce that was deftly highlighted by crab, tomatoes, basil, and garlic bread crumbs tossed in. The hand-made and hand-cut spaghetti provided a toothsome texture to the silkiness of the saucing for this dish.

Herb-crusted halibut with broccoli rabe, pancetta, and trumpet mushroom was a panoply of flavors. The halibut looked like a blonde ice-cream sandwich, with the tender hunk of halibut absolutely pristine from the cold waters of Alaska. The broccoli rabe, trumpet mushroom slice, and funky pancetta stood up well to the meatiness of the halibut, and the roasted lemon sauce that accompanied tasted as bright as the filling of a lemon eclair.

Post-course, there was a trio of individual oysters: Quilcene, St. Peters, and Beau Soleil. Served on a lucite-colored ice plate bedded with pellet, you could slurp the bodies of water the aforementioned fish came from.

The fusilli with bone marrow was by far the most disappointing dish. There were no trace of bone marrow in my dish, which really hindered any integration among the pasta, bone marrow, and red-wine braised octopus. The dish seemed like it was oversauced, with a pool of tomato-based sauce pooling in my plate.

The dessert course was hazlenut) was an elegantly composed dish of two after the meal. The lobe of hazlenut ice cream placed an excellent foil to dark chocolate mouse and crumble. Hazelnuts abounded with gelato, matching the flavors of the hazlenut crus. Both were served with a garnish of candied mint.

Marea was a perfect splurge meal, with service attemntive but not obsequious.