Southpark

901 SW Salmon, Portland, Oregon, (503) 326-1300

The very first thing to reach the table sold me. Sizzling hot and crispy, the morsels of calamari, shrimp, and rockfish were spiked with salty-sour bits of preserved lemon, and the garlicky aioli dipping sauce was laced with chile. This is what fried seafood should taste like, and I could’ve eaten it all night.

Part of the same expanding empire that runs the Heathman Hotel and housed in the spot formerly occupied by the popular but unfortunately named B. Moloch Heathman Bakery and Pub, Southpark really had to be a seafood restaurant. The Heathman management had, just a couple of years prior, installed a whimsical sculpture of a chinook salmon over the door. The gilded fish, its body arched in a muscular curve as if fighting upstream, appears to be leaping through the building’s brick facade. It’s hard to imagine a better placard for a fish house.

Of course not everything is piscine. Bread arrives with a very Italian white bean and roasted garlic puree, and there are actually two appetizers sans fish. The vegetable aioli platter is fine; ditto for the fried feta. But why eat anything else when you can have that heavenly fritto misto of calamari, shrimp, and rockfish?

Equally swoony is la bourride, a traditional fish soup of the French Riviera. Tomatoes and fennel are simmered with finfish, mussels, and clams in a saffron and herb laced fish stock which is spiked with Pernod. A grilled crouton and dollop of aioli are added just before serving, and you alternate bites of crunchy bread, tender fish, and sweet, garlicky broth.

Pancetta-wrapped monkfish evoked a similar response. Medallions of the lobster-like fish—and with the red tinge of the bacon wrapping, it even looks like a lobster tail—are sauteed,set atop potato mashed with celeriac, crowned with crispy deep-fried scallions, and surrounded by a smear of beurre rouge drizzled with white truffle oil. I loved it.

Also delicious: a grilled salmon filet, unusual in its simplicity but a near-perfect example of our favorite regional icon, and whole snapper, stuffed with fennel and shallots, roasted in the wood-fired oven so the skin is nicely crisped, and served with brown butter.

The kitchen does stumble, and in places where the right path seems so clear, like to an appetizer of shellfish on ice. The seafood tower for two comes with an elevated stand, like the ones used for pizzas, that puts the platter up too high. You have to sit up and peer over your nose at it, and it doesn’t really save enough space to be useful, even at a small table. Scattered across the expanse of cracked ice are exactly four oysters, four clams, two shrimp, two mussels, a small piece of crab body that yields a few morsels of meat, and three of the spindly little crab legs that most people don’t bother to crack. Ounce for ounce, the plate holds more fresh lemon and dipping sauce than seafood. It’s not worth eighteen bucks.

A Spanish-inspired clay pot dish called pork alentejana also falls flat. Chunks of pork, Manila clams, potatoes, and sweet peppers are combined with a bit of veal stock in a covered clay pot that goes into the hot wood oven. When it comes to the table, it’s still hot, tongue-burning hot, so hot you can’t really taste anything. I did enjoy the leftovers the next day, when the flavors had a chance to blend, but I didn’t come for take-out.

Stick with fish and be happy. The space retains the expansive openness of the previous occupant, but it’s been softened with a palate of deep maroon and pale gold, a shiny copper bar, twinkling halogen cable lights, and lush drapes that absorb some of the clatter. A mirrored wall behind the wine bar creates the illusion of a room that seems to go on forever. With the right menu choices, you’ll wish your meal could last as long, too.

Everybody should love the fritto misto of calamari, shrimp, and local rockfish with preserved lemon and chile aioli. If you like mussels, get them oven-roasted in a terra cotta baker with fennel and Pernod. Order the soup called la bourride for a transcendental experience. Nightly fish specials reflect what’s fresh and are usually a good bet, but the signature pancetta-wrapped monkfish is always wonderful. Several desserts are baked to order in the wood oven. The hot hazelnut crostata oozes melted chocolate and comes with a scoop of roasted banana ice cream and sliced caramelized bananas.

The decor is elegant and slightly dressy without being formal. On any given night you’ll see the typical Portland gamut of style, from fleece and Nikes to jackets and ties. Proximity to the Schnitz’ (aka the Portland Center for the Performing Arts) brings in the symphony crowd, dressed a notch up but out in time for the 7:30 curtain.