Review: Sol Mar in Tarrytown

When I visit my in-laws in Portugal, I'm always stunned at how good they are at brutal honesty. "You've gained weight," they say. "You should have kids already." So, in that same spirit of Iberian forthrightness, I'll give it to you straight: Sol Mar is the best Portuguese restaurant I've been to in years. Period.

The restaurant, which is on Main Street, directly opposite the bright marquee of Tarrytown Music Hall, is actually a cross between Portuguese and Brazilian, with several dishes that, I suspect, you might never find anywhere near Lisbon. Still, the staples, like bolinhos de bacalhau (codfish fritters) and caldo verde (collard-green soup), are all there.

The tiny dining room, formerly occupied by Mi Bohio, is decked in dark-wood paneling and a black-and-gold color scheme, and all nine tables (plus the bar) were packed on the night I visited. As soon as our dishes began to arrive, it was easy to see why. For my appetizer, the Prince Edward mussels were tender without being chewy, and the white wine, sausage, tomato, and pepper broth they came in was a meal on its own, begging to be sopped up with the pile of thick bread our waiter brought. The caldo verde, one of my mother-in-law's specialties, was different than I'm used to and—she'd kill me for saying this—better. Instead of thinly shaved kale, it had thicker greens, chunky potatoes, garlic, and chorizo, all of which amounted to a hearty mix.

The entrées, too, reminded me of traditional Portuguese dishes, only tastier. The bacalhau à braz was a happy marriage of salted cod, onions, and potatoes, all joined in culinary matrimony by an eggy mixture, cooked throughout. And my penne a cachaça (a house specialty) combined shrimp, scallops, and pasta in a sauce made with the cachaça, a popular, fiery Brazilian liquor. It was like penne alla vodka, except lighter and sweeter.

Most surprising of all was dessert-not normally a specialty of Portuguese eateries. The strawberry-cream tart went down like a silky strawberry milkshake, and the cappuccino, served in beautiful, glass stemware, was just as pleasing to the eye as the mouth. I also ordered the molotov, a kind of egg-white soufflé that, unlike the notorious firebomb that shares its name, was supremely subtle, sweet, and airy.

After such outstanding food and service, when my waiter arrived with the check, I was tempted to give a Music Hall-style standing ovation. Instead, I opted for my in-laws' honest approach. "Mmm," I said, "that was excellent." Period.

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