Samba

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A few years ago, a wise relative took us to a Brazilian churrascaria in Pompano Beach, Fla. Since it’d been a while since my last foray, I was surprised by the number of Brazilian flags we saw in windows of homes and businesses in the neighborhood.

I had a feeling this was going to be pretty authentic, and indeed it was. We sat at tables that extended the width of the room. Side dishes were passed along and restaurant personnel brought skewer after skewer of different meats to our table. I ate until I was, as a friend likes to say, stuffed like a tick. Then the tables were pushed back and the entertainment began — a mix of dance and martial arts so artful and skilled that I’ll never forget it.

One night last week, we dined at Samba at The Mirage, which also is a Brazilian churrascaria. And OK, it wasn’t like that.

Not that I really fault the restaurant, the resort or the corporation, for that matter; their market is a bunch of tourists, not the Brazilian community. But aw, geez; "Huli Huli Chicken Hawaiian Style"? This is just a guess, but I’m pretty sure they don’t serve that in S?o Paulo.

Samba did have its high points, but plenty of low ones as well. "The All-you-can-eat Rodizio Experience" ($34.95) was said to include "bottomless Samba Salad tossed tableside." Which it was, if you consider "tossed tableside" our waiter using a pair of salad tongs to move salad from the bowl to our plates. It wasn’t a bad salad — I actually liked the interesting blend of flavors — but as for "bottomless," well, see the previous sentence.

We also were presented side dishes in the churrascaria style, brought in bowls to our sort of cramped table for two. I really liked the fried plantains, but then I’m pretty much a sucker for plantains. The black beans and rice were pretty good, but I think I can safely say I’ve never had black beans and rice with pesto served on top. And creamed spinach? Huh. I associate creamed spinach with steakhouses, but not Brazilian ones. And the fact that the roux used to make this one hadn’t been properly developed and the spinach had a sort of pasty texture (think gritty, but really, really fine grit) as a result, didn’t help.

And "farofa" carrots, farofa being manioc, or casava, flour. Huh, again. These were, as the runner who brought them called them, glazed carrots. I wouldn’t have been as surprised if they said there was manioc flour in the spinach, but in glazed carrots?

And the bread. Cheese bread, that churrascaria staple? Nope, more like brown-and-serve rolls. OK, I’m getting kind of nasty now and I really don’t mean to, but these rolls had basically no crust. The bread served with them was better, but there was no butter or anything, though we did enjoy dipping it into the chimichurri served with it (along with pico de gallo, and I’m not even going to get into consideration of ethnologies here), except that no one offered to bring us more chimichurri to eat with our meats.

Which were of wildly varying quality as well. My favorite was the ginger-soy (see parenthetical phrase in the previous sentence) flank steak, which was rare, juicy and tender — among the best flank steak I’ve ever had.

I also liked the heavily crusted, moist pork, served with charred slabs of pineapple. And the chicken legs, which were moist, and the bacon-wrapped turkey, which was flavorful and about as moist as it could be. And the just-kicky-enough sausage, served with sweet pepper. And the sirloin Picanha-style, which refers to a particular cut, which this may or may not have been, but it was pretty tasty.

But for all of their border-bending, the Huli Huli chicken, which was a thigh, was just unpleasant. The fish of the day was mahi, and terribly dry. And the "Brazilian-style baby back pork ribs" tasted like unseasoned pork. Which is not a good thing.

But there were some things I really liked about Samba. One of the skewer-bearers told us they keep track in the kitchen to make sure you get all of the different meats. That’s a great touch, because I’ve been in other churrascarias where some of the meats never made it to our table.

I also liked the fact that we could ask for a small piece, and the server would cut a piece in half, if necessary, instead of just snarling and plopping a whole piece on the plate.

We liked the starter of crispy coconut prawns ($13), which were indeed crispy but moist and flavorful.

I liked the Caipirinha cocktail, which I chose because it contains cachaca, the Brazilian sugar-cane liquor that we’re going to be seeing a lot more of. Well, I liked the first one, which was a refreshing, complex blend of flavors. I had a second, which despite the presence of numerous pieces of lime tasted more strongly of liquor than anything else. Stirring didn’t help, and waiting until the ice melted helped only marginally. That these came from the same bar was astonishing.

Service throughout was decent enough, but we had a complaint about the next table. Since, when we called for a reservation, we were informed that shorts and T-shirts were not allowed, why did they admit a guy wearing shorts and a baseball jersey (and not wearing them well at that)?

Then again, the decor in the place is gorgeous; really gorgeous. I haven’t been to all of the churrascarias in the world but I’ll bet there aren’t any that are more spectacular, with boldly sculpted features and wide swaths of color nearly everywhere we looked.

But while I understand — truly — the Strip tendency to fudge when it comes to authenticity, I’ve got a hunch that Samba hasn’t done much to update its menu since The Mirage opened more than 15 years ago, and the sophistication of the dining public has undergone a sea change in the time. If Samba injected a little more Brazilian flavor into its food, it would still be user-friendly — not to mention a whole lot better.

And even the tourists would thank them for it.