Viva La... Dim Sum!

Creatively inspired dishes go where no dim sum has gone before.

By Deborah Ackerman

What's in a Name?

In the sense that the meal is entirely made up of small plates that can be shared and you pay per plate, the label "dim sum" is not necessarily a misnomer. But though diners will find chopsticks on their plates, they seem to be more for whimsical effect than necessity; there are also regular place settings. And don't expect to see traditional dim sum carts being wheeled around this taller-than-it-is-wide, four-story restaurant. The service is closer to traditional tapas style: you pick from an extensive menu, and each dish is brought to the table in succession.

So why not just call it tapas? Because they wanted to differentiate their brunch from their sister restaurant Jaleo, literally just around the corner, explained General Manager Manuel Iguina. "Jaleo has Spanish style tapas, and we didn't want to appear to be in competition with them," he says. "We want people to understand our focus is different. Our style is Nuevo Latino, and so our dishes are a mix of the many different cultures in Latin America. The name Latino dim sum gives people that idea of a mix, of something different."

The blended culture theme is evident throughout the restaurant, from the elegant European bistro-meets-saucy Latin American restaurante decor to a staff hailing from a variety of Central and South American backgrounds, all of whom are eager to tell you about how the food fits into the larger picture of Latin American culture.

"What most Americans don't realize," our waiter explained, "is that Latin America has so many different influences from so many different places. People have come to live there from all over Europe, Asia, Africa, the Caribbean -- and then we have the native Indian culture, too. So our food has many different flavors to it."

What does this mean for diners? Well, for one, you won't find a predictable empanada or tortilla among the almost 30 dim sum choices. A quick scan reveals unusual items, such as mango anchovy ravioli salad, pineapple shavings with plantain powder, and seared cigalas with vanilla oil. And the traditional beans-and-rice-based dishes many Americans tend to associate with Latino cuisine are almost entirely absent, replaced instead with native grains, such as quinoa and root vegetables like boniato (a tropical variety of sweet potato) and malanga (similar to taro root).

Each dish has a distinct blend of influences, ranging from moist salmon dressed with papaya puree and a hint of the Caribbean, to duck confit with a distinct taste of Asia, the saltiness of the meat offset by a sweet crust of caramelized passion fruit oil. Smooth, buttery spinach sautéed with roasted pumpkin seeds and raisins adds a European touch. But despite the many cultural blends throughout -- or perhaps because of them -- all the dishes still spoke with a fluent Latin American accent.

Defying Expectation

To Chef Fukushima's credit, even seemingly straightforward dishes defied expectation. Most people, for instance, would translate a selection like wild mushroom ceviche and fried quinoa to mean chopped mushrooms mixed in a large amount of quinoa, much like a pilaf. Not so. In this case, the chef serves up a meaty, flavorful blend of hot mushrooms with only a dusting of the grain to add texture.

And in the quinoa with cauliflower, where diners might expect to see large chunks of the vegetable with less grain, Fukushima does just the opposite, and to wonderful effect; allowing the nutty, flavorful quinoa to stand on its own, with only the tiniest, almost invisible flakes of cauliflower mixed in to add a little crunch.

Other pleasant surprises were the jicama-avocado raviolis, nothing like their Italian relatives, but instead cold, palate-cleansing spoonfuls of avocado puree encased in paper-thin jicama purses; and a dish of potato, vanilla, and salmon roe, which might bring to mind a heavy dollop of over-seasoned mashed potatoes, but which instead presented itself at the table as a petite glass flute filled with a cloud-like mousse of delicately flavored whipped potatoes so light you could barely feel it on your tongue.

There were very few disappointments, but an occasional dish didn't stand up to the rest. Beef sirloin with a tamarind sauce tasted more of pepper than of the tamarind it was reputed to be cooked in, and the tuna ceviche blended with coconut milk looked creamy enough on the plate, but had a gritty, floury feel in the mouth, and a surprisingly bland flavor.

Waiters are careful to bring out only a few of the dishes at a time, but never so few that the table runs out of food. The practice encourages an atmosphere of communal tasting. "We believe in sharing," Iguina says, "We want people to have fun, to relax. Back home, we eat like this." Adding to the sense of fun and social interaction was the popular table-side guacamole preparation, with waiters whipping up the concoction from scratch in a stone molcajete.

As with most tapas menus, each dish individually is fairly reasonable in price (items range from $1.95 to $9.00), but things do start to add up if you order recklessly. Add a mojito and one of Café Atlántico's luscious desserts (I dare you to pass them up) on either side of the meal, and you may be looking at a final tab higher than you expected. Don't let this deter you from going; the food is too good for that. But you have been warned. Keep your wits about you.

Or better yet, don't. Throw caution to the wind and indulge in something rare -- a dining experience that both broadens your cultural understanding and offers you a taste of something original that you can't find anywhere else in town.

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Deborah Ackerman writes, edits, and dines in the DC area... unless she is somewhere else. Over the years, she has eaten alligator, sea urchin roe, snake, venison, frog, ostrich, snails, and even the much-feared haggis. And yet she finds green peas repulsive.

Photos courtesy Cafe Atlantico