Peruvian Chill

Does bad service negate good food? Not necessarily. Many restaurant recommendations come riddled with caveats explaining the place isn't much to look at and the service is shoddy but the food is fantastic; I have never heard somebody tout an establishment by saying the cuisine was awful but the décor and waitstaff were superb. A case can therefore be made that Adriana Restaurant, a four-month-old Peruvian eatery on Surfside's surging Harding Avenue, is indeed recommendable — but it really put this food-first philosophy to the test.

Adriana Engelhard and her husband Mark debuted their first restaurant in Lima, Peru, 14 years ago. "Today we are opening again our house to you," reads the menu's front-page narrative, which ends with "Welcome to our home!!!" Usually when guests enter a house, or a home, they are greeted. There were no salutations upon our arrival at Adriana; nor were we even acknowledged until after a group of eight, also clustered at the door, were accommodated. It gave me time to look around the room, a comely contemporary space with gray tiles, red-and-white chairs, and the visual centerpiece: a vibrant green mural of banana leaves.

Then we were seated with menus. And we sat. And we sat some more. About 10 minutes later, a busperson dropped off a basket of warm, wheaty, puffy ciabatta rolls flecked with sunflower seeds and sided by individually wrapped butter pats. A relatively short while later, a waiter happened along and started out thusly: "Do you know what you'd like?" I'm no Miss Manners, but a "hello" or "welcome to Adriana" would seem appropriate. The only time anyone communicated with us was when, in the middle of our meal, a different waiter came by and asked if he could take an empty chair from our table. Adriana Restaurant, it should be noted, is very busy.

It's not the service but the sauces that are bringing 'em in. Like bright yellow Huancaína, a piquant cheese sauce made with cream, queso fresco, mustard, aji amarillo chili peppers, garlic, olives, eggs, and flour. Peruvian cuisine features the sauce most prominently in papa a la Huancaína, in which it is blended with boiled potatoes. We tried Huancaína with yuquitas, little spherical croquettes of puréed yuca and melted cheese. A gentle avocado sauce paired smoothly with a starter of tequeños, which are fried won tons encasing gouda cheese. Fried balls of chicken breast came with honey mustard sauce, which is a little too T.G.I.Friday's for comfort. Each of these costs $7.95, but you can try the three together for $15.95 via "appetizer Adriana."

Another sampler plate ("for two") showcases calamari, squares of tilapia, and medium-size shrimp, all breaded, fried and accompanied by the Huancaína dip, homemade tartar sauce flush with fresh herbs, and golf sauce (reputedly created by Nobel laureate Luis Federico Leloir at the Golf Club in Mar del Plata, Argentina). I couldn't recall what golf sauce was, so I asked the server. He told us it was the sauce that came with the fish sampler. I didn't bother asking our main waiter, who carried around quite a bit of attitude; he made it clear he not only would rather be somewhere else, but also should be somewhere else, and doing something much more important than waiting on peons like us. Golf sauce, it turned out, is just ketchup, mayonnaise, and sometimes a splash of Worcestershire. The featured seafoods were fresh and cleanly fried, though calamari rings were parceled out in paltry fashion — especially for a plate that's meant for sharing. Those seeking a lighter start can try tiraditos or one of two ceviches — traditional lime-marinated or steeped in creamy aji amarillo sauce, both employing escolar and generous amounts of red onion, toasted corn kernels, and cilantro.

The bill of fare here is extensive, much of it concentrating on cuisine outside Peru. Salads include Thai chicken, teriyaki steak, caesar, cobb, and a "Santa Fe" concoction served in a tortilla bowl (the cheesy allure of which would seem more fitting at The Cheesecake Factory). Pastas come Italian-style: pappardelle Bolognese, angel hair pomodoro, four-cheese gnocchi, and so forth. We passed on these but tried a risotto fused with the famed Peruvian lomo saltado — a stir-fry of beef tenderloin tips, red onion, green pepper, tomato, cilantro, and a light bite of aji amarillo. Each component was adeptly prepared, but the qualities of beef and risotto come through better by themselves.