Friday, August 08, 2003

By Sarah Billingsley, Post-Gazette Staff Writer

When asked what restaurant they choose for special occasions, I'm certain that many Pittsburghers would answer Mallorca. The pageantry of the dining room is the draw.

Paella and other signature dishes spice up Mallorca. (Robin Rombach, Post-Gazette) MALLORCA WHERE: 2228 E. Carson St. South Side 412-488-1818 HOURS: 11:30 a.m. to 10:30 p.m. Mondays to Thursdays; 11:30 a.m. to 11:30 p.m. Fridays and Saturdays; noon to 10 p.m. Sundays. BASICS: All major credit cards accepted; smoking allowed in bar and on patio; cigars allowed. Handicapped-accessible dining room and restroom. Reservations recommended. Private parking lot; seats 115 indoors, 30 on patio.

There are always blue flames of brandy afire, glasses clinking in a toast, and doting, dark-suited Latin men rolling their r's and performing multiple tableside acts, as good waiters should. They demonstrate a flirtatious flair for deboning trout. They pass platters mounded with piles of saffron rice, luxurious heaps of gaudy, steaming sea creatures, flushly pink and pearly white, and steaks that fatly overhang the plate.

The inner dining room is an emerald haze, thick with smoke, ferns and dark wallpaper. The garden room, added two years ago, is bright with blue and white Seville tiles and sunny with skylights.

Owner-host Antonio Pereira's Spanish/Portuguese restaurant has been a fixture on the South Side for 12 years. It has earned its place as one of Pittsburgh's most popular restaurants, anchoring a restaurant boom that became today's multiethnic, mosaic South Side dining scene.

Pereira introduced Pittsburgh to paella, cuttlefish and langostinos in ample portions. Familiar in its excess, Mallorca is a fixture in this city that loves exaggeration and colossal scale. Mallorca's paella is as dominant as PPG Place; the 3-pound T-bone as brawny and loud as a Steelers fight song.

It's the restaurant I am asked about most often. Mallorca's loose, happy ambiance, honest flavors and lengthy, affordable wine list are recommendable. But the prices are hefty, and justified only by shamelessly large portions -- if that matters to you -- not by refined flavors, careful preparation or first-rate ingredients. Service, once as crisp and mannered as flamenco, has slipped.

Mallorca's kitchen underwent an extensive renovation several years ago, following a fire. Chef Emilio Entunes, of Galicia, Spain, runs one of the largest, most updated restaurant kitchens in Pittsburgh.

The printed menu is largely unchanged since 1991; chef specials change daily. Mallorca features seafood and meats, prepared as variations on a theme of garlic, butter and wine. The robust, home-style cooking uses few ingredients. It's simple, but never minimalist: Sauces are used thickly, prawns are wrapped in bacon, or tangle with octopus, squid, scallops.

Strong, one-of-a-kind garlic soup ($4.95) or chilled, crunchy gazpacho ($3.95) whet the appetite, but manly appetizers are my favorite part of the meal. If available, order the special linguica ($11.95), a Portuguese sausage doused in brandy and set on fire. Its skin is smoky and crackling, its interior sweet. Chorizo al la plancha, broiled Spanish sausage ($7.95), plays the straight man to this blazing forcemeat. It's denser, more peppery.

The Iberian take on Clams Casino, ostras rellenas, is rich and gooey. The little bivalve is smothered in diced sausage, minced peppers and a layer of melted cheese.

Tubes of baby calamari, stuffed with prosciutto, tender and hammy in a light garlic sauce, were dead-on ($11.90). Their unerring and artful balance of flavors and textures set a standard Mallorca's kitchen should always strive for.

So did a blockbuster filet special ($28.95). The meat was draped with ribbons of smoked salmon and grilled portobellos, the flavors deep, unusual, complementary.

Baby goat ($21.95) is unctuous in a burgundy stew, slipping from the bone into a sauce with a good, sour undercurrent of wine. Stewed potatoes, white and soft, soak up the flavors. The meat is slightly greasy.

Zarzuella ($26.95), seafood in a buttery lobster broth, features scallops, white fish, shrimp and baby lobster simmered to a shade past succulence. Same goes for the scallops and langostinos, wrapped in bacon, drizzled with garlic, then overcooked ($28.95).

But grilled turbot ($19.95), super white and usually bland, was perfect as the waiter recommended it: touched with prickly Cajun seasoning, served with a green sauce of parsley and butter. It was juicy as a New York Strip, flaky rather than fibrous, faultless.

Every entree comes with a platter of fried potato rounds, saffron rice and a steamed mixture of broccoli, carrot, cauliflower and snow peas, their plainness an antidote to the richness of the entrees.

Desserts ($5.95), after all this, are rather staid. Mousse, flan and creme Catalana, milky and soft as marshmallows, are meant to soothe. The flan was not too sweet, the chocolate mousse light in consistency, dark in flavor. Chocolate cake with a buttercream frosting and toasted almonds was moist and boozy, with a coarse crumb.

The wine list is long, with American, Argentinean, Australian, Chilean, French, German, Italian, New Zealand, Portuguese and Spanish bottles, as well as sparkling wines and sangria. Wait staff captains are available for consultation, a good thing since our waiter answered my enological queries with a pained look. There's plenty in the $30 range. Valdubon Ribera del Duero ($36.95) was light and dry, the Rioja Vega ($32.15) a juicy Spanish red.

Sweet sangria swims with citrus fruit ($16.95). It is poured through a wooden spoon -- good for preventing splashes, cumbersome if your waiter doesn't come around to refill your glass very often.

Over two visits, the service was alternately attentive and absent. Mallorca's team service means that every employee of the restaurant is responsible for your table. Two to five waiters will check if you are ready to order, then refer you to a captain to do so. The specials menu, presented verbally, is almost as long as the printed menu, recited quickly. Remembering it is a Mensa-worthy mental task.

Appetizers arrive quickly, entrees quicker. Paying the check can be a slow business, especially if you are me, waiting and waiting while the smell of cigar smoke from the bar turns you green, an experience flamboyant gestures and festival ambiance are hard-pressed to make up for.

At the end of the meal, a complimentary shot of Amarguinha, Portuguese almond liqueur, leaves a distinct haze of almondy sweetness on your exhausted tongue. Like a spoonful of sugar, it helps the saturnalia go down. You're content. You know you'll be back, despite yourself.

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