By David Minsky
By Nicole Danna
By Sara Ventiera
By Candace West
By Emily Dabau
By Doug Fairall
By Candace West
By Laine Doss
While the room is rooted in India, the menu is a veritable world tour: Central American prawns; tuna tartare with lime, coconut, and cilantro; beluga caviar with frozen vodka and sweet potato blini; salmon with a wasabi-and-ginger crust accompanied by Japanese long beans; North American wild boar chops with bordelaise sauce; sun-dried cherry and duck confit risotto; and so on. Israel and Iceland must be furious -- they're just about the only nations not represented here. Michael Heiden, who co-owns Tantra with Tim Hogle, is quick to point out that there is a unifying theme to the seemingly random cuisine: "Every item contains some sensual, aphrodisiac quality." Now there's a crowd-pleasing concept.
The conceptualization of the breads, on the other hand, needs some work. Strips of focaccia, triangles of grilled flatbread, and slices of sourdough and pumpernickel come nestled under a blanket of white cloth -- all laid out neatly side by side on a large plate like a family of sleeping carbohydrates in bed together. Actually it's not the breads that are asleep but rather the person in charge of making sure they're fresh; on two different visits the focaccia was stale, and on one occasion so was the flatbread. Also drowsy is the idea of presenting them in a horizontal and space-inefficient manner. On our second trip to Tantra we chose to sit at a larger table, not for any personal need to stretch out but so that our silverware would still be visible once the appetizers were placed alongside the breads.
I use the word appetizers, but the Tantra menu refers to them as "enticements"; this is a sensual as well as an accurate description. Starters are supposed to be small tastings that tease and arouse the appetite -- foreplay to the main course. Sometimes this practice of making sure the appetizers aren't too filling can be taken too far, however, which is the case with Tantra's stuffed calamari. Tightly packed with moist salmon and snapper, the squid is grilled tenderly and paired with warm lentils and a curry beurre blanc; at $12 one squat squid body seems skimpy.
The lobster salad also has an is-that-all-there-is? quality. The Maine lobster tail is nicely portioned and the claw hefty, but the menu also promises South American white prawns and calamari. What you get is just one shrimp and a trio of calamari rings arranged like the old Ballantine beer logo. Worse, while the lobster tail is imbued with a musky hint of truffle vinaigrette, the other plainly poached components of this plate come served sans melted butter or cocktail sauce, remoulade, or mustard sauce. Not even a lemon wedge. They do come accompanied, however, with fresh, zestily dressed field greens.
Better starters: foie gras peppered and seared rare, served with thin slices of brioche toast, a clump of balsamic-bathed field greens, and a compote of sun-dried cherries, poached figs, and sweet port wine. And a special one evening was three meaty scallops sauteed with lemon and Grand Marnier -- light and sprightly, with a tiny bundle of pencil asparagus on the side.
Wild boar tails in hot sauce were the Buffalo wings of the Middle Ages, but nowadays menus rarely bear any boar at all. This makes Tantra's boar chops a most interesting option (and at $39 a most expensive one), but our modern sensibilities lead us instead to the pan-seared Atlantic yellowfin tuna. The cumin-crusted fish is sushi-smooth atop a jasmine rice patty flecked with macadamia nuts, almonds, and pine nuts. A warm lemon vinaigrette rests below the tuna, fried parsnip curls on top. Closer to home is the Florida Keys yellowtail snapper wrapped and steamed in a dark-green banana leaf. After what seemed like just a few bites of this sweet-fleshed fish, I noticed that there was no more snapper to be had. I poked around the nooks and crannies of the banana parcel with my fork, looking to see if a chunk of the fish was hiding, perhaps buried under the julienne of carrots, yellow squash, zucchini, and onions. No such luck. Too bad, because it was quite delicious, and the rusty-red Chinese five-spice sauce provocatively piquant.