Lionfish, Larceny, and a Very Good Divorce
I was treated to a marvelous evening at Marbled & Fin with some of my favorite people: a collection of very good lawyers, the best forensic accountant in the state, and his darling wife, who always makes me happy simply by being at the table.
This was a Friday night, and the restaurant was packed and very loud. Marbled & Fin nevertheless handled our table beautifully. One of the lawyers has celiac disease, and the staff managed her dietary needs carefully and without making her feel as though she needed a full motion in limine and memorandum of law to support her position. The cocktails and wine were on point, according to those drinking them, and my unsweet tea was replenished with admirable diligence. This is one of those small measures of service that matters enormously to me. Keep the tea coming and I am inclined to view the rest of the evening favorably.
We began with a special I had never tried before: lionfish crudo.
The preparation was citrus-forward, with a little cream and macadamia nut. The fish itself was fresh, delicate, light, and not remotely fishy. It was a beautifully constructed dish and a genuinely new experience for me. Would I leap across a crowded restaurant merely because someone announced that lionfish was available? Probably not. The fish itself was mild enough that the preparation did much of the persuasive work.
But here is where dinner became educational. Lionfish are invasive predators that damage our coastal ecosystems by consuming native fish and competing with species such as grouper and snapper. Encouraging restaurants and diners to create a market for responsibly harvested lionfish gives fishermen and divers a financial reason to remove them. Apparently, I can now help the environment by eating crudo at a fine-dining steakhouse. This is precisely the sort of public service for which I am uniquely qualified.
We also ordered magnificent oysters, Hokkaido scallops with caramelized cream, sunchokes, capers, and brown butter, and the beef tartare.
Let there be no suspense on this point. The beef tartare remains my favorite in Charleston. It was the favorite of the entire table, too. The lionfish may have supplied novelty, ecological virtue, and an interesting opening argument, but the tartare retained the crown after a full and fair hearing on the merits.
For our main courses, three of us ordered filets. Mine arrived cooked exactly as I like it, which is not something I take for granted. One of the lawyers added lump crab meat to hers in celebration of her recent divorce. The table applauded quite heartily. There are milestones in life that deserve proper recognition, and sometimes closure looks like an excellent steak with crab meat on top.
Another member of our party ordered the bone-in ribeye with a bone marrow addition. I was seated beside him, and fortunately, he is a little afraid of me. I had ordered just a filet because I intended to be good. This plan lasted only until I saw his dinner. I then stole little bites of bone marrow whenever opportunity permitted.
In retrospect, I should simply have ordered my own. Instead, I became a thief.
The beautiful wife of our forensic accountant ordered the pan-seared grouper with clam velouté, capers, and herbs.
She was seated too far away for me to conduct any unauthorized sampling, but the fish looked perfect on the plate. This tiny, gorgeous woman ate every bit of it and declared it delicious. I accept her testimony as credible.
For the table, we shared creamed spinach, au gratin potatoes, and roasted carrots. The potatoes and spinach were fantastic, as they always are, but we need to stop for a moment and discuss those carrots.
They were heirloom multicolored carrots with pine-nut gremolata, ricotta, and parsnip purée. On paper, that sounds perilously close to a chef doing entirely too much to a vegetable. It sounds fussy. It sounds as though several unnecessary experts may have been retained.
Oh no, friends. That dish was bangin’.
The carrots were sweet and nutty, but grounded by enough savory flavor to make them a wonderful companion to the steaks. I quietly pushed the potatoes toward the men in the hope that their attention would remain diverted and I could secure a larger share of the carrots. The strategy worked. Good lawyering often does.
By dessert, I was entirely too full to participate, but others at the table enjoyed the key-lime-forward baked Alaska and espresso martinis.
I was content to sit back, enjoy the company, and reflect upon a meal that had given me something new without neglecting everything I already love about Marbled & Fin.
That is what the very best restaurants do. They give you favorites you can rely upon, executed with consistency and care, while still offering something unexpected enough to make the evening feel like a discovery. On this occasion, that discovery was lionfish served in a fresh, clever, and delicious way. I am not sure the fish alone made me a devoted fan, but knowing that eating it can help our ecosystem makes me very willing to do my part, particularly when public service comes dressed in citrus, cream, and macadamia nuts.
More than anything, this was a warm and happy evening with people I genuinely enjoy. We ate exceptionally well. We celebrated a new beginning for someone who genuinely deserves to find joy and happiness in her life. We laughed. I committed minor steak theft. And I was reminded why, whenever someone asks me, “Lex, if price is no object, what are your three favorite restaurants in Charleston?” Marbled & Fin is always on that list.
The evidence remains overwhelming.
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