chasing goa
Setting up shop in Rozmarin’s old house, Ocean Dream serves up the sea creatures admirably but falls short of the Goan golden standard. Self-help program says ditch the synth and focus on becoming the best Indian seafood restaurant that you can be.
PHOTO GEORGY IVANOV/TEXT STEVE ROBERTS feedback
The last time the wife and I went out for a Goan meal, it required a packed, whisky-fuelled charter flight. With Ocean Dream merely a slushy stroll away from Taganskaya metro, the journey was certainly easier, and the owners must be hoping that those people who enjoyed their Indian holiday fare will be keen to sample some similar grub back in Moscow. I sort of fit in that category, having loved the food in Goa — curries for twelve days (and eleven nights) was one of the driving reasons for going there in the first place. Ocean Dream opened late last year, taking over the premises from Rozmarin, and has kept the classy stone and wood design across the two floors, embellishing it with just a few touches such as the metallic Indian tableware, and flat screens showing marine life before it arrives on the plates. It looks stylish, but I still reckon this interior status quo is a symbolic issue, because Ocean Dream, despite its self-description as a Goan restaurant, does not overtly live up to the billing. It falls a bit flat, trying to be both a chic European joint and a Goan eatery. For example, fresh flowers on the table and decent service do not compensate for the awful English in the menu and the abysmal live music that we witnessed. With my view of the guilty “musician” thankfully obscured, I honestly thought it was karaoke for the first twenty minutes until I realized that no known version of “The Lady in Red” could possibly have that much synthesizer in it. What Ocean Dream needs to do, in my humbly satiated opinion, is position itself better as an authentic Indian seafood restaurant, both in terms of the general atmosphere and the menu. For this is the saving grace that sets it apart from every other Eastern restaurant — the fish is flown in twice a week from Goa, and the head chef, Rathan Pawar, definitely knows how to cook it. Choices run the gamut: our grilled lobster (480 rubles per 100 g) was first class, as were the other native piscine, the shallow fried kingfish (240 rubles per 100 g), and the pomfret (320 rubles for 100 g) all going down very well alongside a surprisingly palatable bottle of Indian white (2004 Viognier, 1,500 rubles). There’s a whole register of fish to choose from, among the most extensive in this city, cooked in just about any way you can soberly think of, so advertising this fact with some stronger Indian branding — think sitar rather than synth — is the way forward. As well as the excellent seafood, we also tried Ocean Dream’s salads along with the fine naan bread produced from the restaurant’s tandoor. The tropical salad (360 rubles) was a particularly intriguing concoction of wild black rice and vegetables served in a Parmesan basket and topped with grilled pineapple and shrimp, and we also enjoyed the artichoke, feta and couscous tartar (390 rubles), another creative mixture which again underlined the generally impressive quality of the food. That said, the citric pannacotta (280 rubles) was far too stodgy and would have been laughed off the table by any self-respecting Italian. But mind you, what do a people who can’t cook curry know? We both finished our meal with a spicy cup of massala tea (100 rubles) and left Ocean Dream, passing the impressive display of iced seafood on the way out. The Indian management, who also run the more meat-based Khajuraho, have already got their act together on the fish front, and the restaurant also tempts daytime customers through an appetizing business lunch. Perhaps all the restaurant needs is a self-confidence nudge, and a spray of Synth-Be-Gone. If it can just concentrate a bit more on its own Indian identity, Ocean Dream will be a real Goa. |
