While I do not strictly adhere to the adage that “presentation is everything,” when it comes to what one eats (it is, after all, going to slowly disappear off the plate like a painter having the ability to erase everything she just created), it is a key part to enjoying food. Let’s face it: as much as we love to eat things that taste well, we also love to eat things that simply look pretty (despite your definition of both “good taste” and “pretty”).
Fuego–the waterfront restaurant at the Hotel Maya–is, despite one’s aesthetic leaning, a beautiful space. It’s ambiance features contemporary Central and South America influences, from gorgeously tiled floors to leather-woven chairs and hints of industrialism via rusted metals and distressed paneling. Its spanning, indoor dining room opens onto an outdoor veranda complete with a southern view of the entire Long Beach shoreline. Before you even eat, you so desperately want the food to be good since the environment itself is so captivating.
My visit to Fuego was, by all means, an accident. I was staying at Hotel Maya for an event I had to attend there and–following the cancellation of a friend–I opted to enjoy dinner by myself. I don’t recall the last time I enjoyed going out by myself. It is an endeavor that is meant for a specific type of person–and I am entirely that type of person–slightly introverted, lover of food and willing to take on even the most lengthy amounts of conversation-less peace.
The evening could not have been painted more perfectly, given that the summer sun was still slightly lingering over the ocean, proffering that perfect early-evening glow that hovers between bright and dim. And for me, that meant a cocktail. I opted for the house margarita. I am, by the way, a margarita snob thanks in most part to places like Los Compadres which insists that sweet-and-sour syrup be entirely handmade. Fuego’s does it right. With Corralejo Reposado (far superior to Patrón, about $20 cheaper, and one of my favorite tequilas) and quite possibly one of the best housemade sweet-and-sours I’ve had to date, it was hard to deny a second.
I started the evening’s food out with the lobster ceviche, a delicately gorgeous concoction of steamed lobster, pineapple, red onion, tomato, seranno pepper, and triple-citrus juice (orange, lemon, and lime). What made the dish beautiful was its simplicity. Unlike the restaurant’s other ceviches–which use more offbeat ingredients like coriander or rocoto pepper–this was straight-up ceviche that lacked pretense and aimed to highlight the lobster rather than drown it in peripheral flavors like many other upscale restaurants do.
Next up was Fuego’s sopes, a popular dish according to my server that showcased two cornmeal sope shells filled with black beans and topped with cucumber, tomatoes, onion, corn, cilantro, and a tequila crème drizzle. Paired with their Albarino–a light dry white wine from Spain– it could have been quite delicious. However, the shell’s thickness coupled with too little of the drizzle made the plate very dry. If one manages to get the entirety of the flavors in one scoop, you could taste the potential of the dish; it just needs to be perfected with a slightly thinner shell and a bit more generous helping of the drizzle (what can I say? My Italianness wants excess sauce).
Despite my previous glass of wine–I felt it obligatory with that tequila crème–I am completely anti-traditional when it comes to my entrée wine pairing. Even if it’s fish, I get a red and this evening was no exception. I opted for a Carmenere from Chile, a score that made me a happy dry red camper. To go with the glass was their plantain-encrusted mahi mahi, which was drizzled with the perfect amount of molé amarillo aji and set upon a small mound of garlic spinach and lemon puréed potatoes. The slight sweetness of both the plantain crust and the mole was rather perfect with the flaky fish and saltiness of the spinach. And though, mid-meal, I somewhat regretted my decision of a glass of red (I can assure you that Chilean Chardonnay would have probably been an absolute dream), the meal itself was incredibly delicious.
I was spoiled come the end of the evening, where I was unable to decide between the classic flan or the decadent dulce de leche cheesecake. And in moments of hard choice, simply pick both. The flan was traditionally perfect: a hint of cinnamon and the perfect texture, not as flimsy as typical custards and more of a crème caramel. But the cheesecake easily stole the show with candied pecans and caramel drizzled over a perfectly light and fluffy cheesecake. I was in diabetic bliss to such an extent that my stomach won over my brain. I forgot to ask if they used mascarpone but judging from the lightness and perfect tang, I would venture to at least say they use something of the like.
Immensely full and happily dined, I thanked my server graciously as I looked out across the bay, the lights of downtown and our coast beginning to contrast more against the sky as the sun set and I realized one thing for certain–another margarita was in the horizon.