In a dim restaurant decorated in a dark modern coastal vibe, a spy awaits his contact. He sits at a high-top table with his back against the copper-toned upholstery of the booth. His position offers a vantage over the entire restaurant. On the wall above him, a mural of a giant squid is outlined in teal against a black background. A leather-bound book sits open on the table and he runs his finger down the entries on the exposed page, weighing his options. The night is young, the crowd quiet. Too quiet. The name of the place is Seabar, an oasis of dignified mystery located in Gulf Gate surrounded by countless late-night haunts. “Modern Pacific Fare” reads the subheading on the menu, and he settles on his first order of the night to blend into the crowd—cobia crudo and a Japanese lowball. 

SEABAR'S COBIA CRUDO. PHOTOGRAPHY BY WYATT KOSTYGAN

Thin slices of cobia, Asian pear and radish come in a neatly arranged crescent with a shiso garnish. The leche de tigre used to cure the cobia forms a shallow puddle of lively green at the base of the broad, shallow bowl. It alludes to the ceviches of Mexico’s Pacific coast, but something briny pulls it to a different part of the globe. Is it nori? Cool, sweet and a touch spicy, the layered appetizer pairs well with the Suntory Whisky in the lowball. A sprig of lavender clipped to the rim of the glass rounds out the dash of lavender bitters used to cut the whisky. The large single cube of ice makes the whole thing look like a piece of contemporary art.

PHOTOGRAPHY BY WYATT KOSTYGAN

As he considers his next move, the grilled oysters beckon. They come on a plate arranged like a compass, here and there a garnish of star anise. Are the garnishes a signal of some sort? Am I in danger? A kimchi mignonette adds punch and complexity to the oysters, while little flecks of nori introduce a hint of umami that complements the saltiness. A squeeze of lemon adds a perky layer, but he isn’t looking for a perk. He downs the oysters as is and studies the faces of the jovial crowd that has wandered in toward the end of happy hour. Still no sign of his contact or the intel promised. He settles in for an entree so as not to arouse suspicion at his lingering in the restaurant alone. He orders the kung pao octopus, and when it arrives, he regrets how much attention it draws from curious onlookers. The outside, seasoned with gochujang-inspired barbecue sauce, comes with an exquisite char, as though the blackened bits were painted with a small brush. The tentacle seems to grip several grilled stalks of broccolini and the whole gruesome and beautiful presentation sits atop a mound of black rice. He can sense the bartender’s eyes on him. Whose side is the bartender on?

EXQUISITELY CHARRED, THE KUNG PAO OCTOPUS CLLINGS TO THE BROCCOLINI. PHOTOGRAPHY BY WYATT KOSTYGAN.

He orders up a cocktail with a long list of ingredients, hoping to catch the bartender giving a signal. The Jet Pilot comes with three different rums—Smith & Cross Traditional Jamaican Rum, Bacardí 8 Años Rum, Wray & Nephew White Overproof Rum—Velvet Falernum, demerara syrup, lime and grapefruit juices, bitters and absinthe. The bartender hands it to the server, they exchange muted words and the server brings it over to him, sets it on the table and lights the drink on fire. This must be it, the signal he’s been waiting for.  “Enjoy,” says the server with a wink. 

SEABAR’S BAKED OYSTERS ADD COMPLEXITY AND INTRIGUE TO A SIMPLE DELIGHT. PHOTOGRAPHY BY WYATT KOSTYGAN

He pokes the straw around in the drink and looks up at the bartender through the smoke of an ember on a dehydrated orange slice. The drink is tangy and earthy but somehow still tropical, the alcohol cleverly disguised beneath the cinnamon and citrus. This drink is potent. His face feels warm. He orders the bulgogi hanger steak to soak up the rum. Dollops of a charred scallion verde sauce sit atop four slices of hanger steak cooked perfectly to medium. He stuffs two down in rapid succession, but it’s the furikake fries he’s after. Flecked with black sesame seeds, the Japanese furikake blend of flavors elevate these further than any Frenchman’s frites, while the hoisin-infused ketchup adds an extra layer of complexity.

A SPRIG OF LAVENDER ADDS HIGH ART TO THE JAPANESE LOWBALL. PHOTOGRAPHY BY WYATT KOSTYGAN

The bartender tugs on his ear and appears to point at the door. In walks a nervous little man in a shabby brown coat, his eyes darting all over the restaurant. Can he make it any more obvious? The little man orders a beer and looks over his shoulder at the person of interest, nods once. The person of interest finishes his fries, slurps up the last dregs of his rum cocktail and is about to walk over to the little man at the bar when the server walks up out of the shadows. “Leave any room for dessert?” she asks, standing between the man and the bar with a grave look on her face. “It’s a chocolate mochi with a black sesame streusel and fresh lychee,” she says. Fresh lychee! The jig is up.

He tries not to panic. “Sure, the mochi sounds good,” he says. A delightful combination of soft and crunchy, sweet and sweeter, rich and light—but he can’t enjoy it. Too much has gone wrong, too much is on the line. We have a mole on the inside and he must find out who it is. The nervous man in a shabby coat pays for his beer without finishing it, disappears out the front door. The man waits a few seconds, pulls out a cigarette and follows him out. But he’s gone, and with him, the intel.

At least the food was good. He follows a labyrinthine path home to ensure he is not being followed, he enters the safe house, peaks out of the blinders a last time and goes to bed. He dreams of the dark sea, of strong drink, of food that looks like art. When he awakes, he is still full.  SRQ    

Seabar, 6540 Superior Ave., Sarasota, seabarsrq.com, 941.923.6605. @seabarsrq