By: Rosa Bianca

FOOD: 4 stars
SERVICE: 4 stars
COST: 4 money symbols
AMBIANCE: 4 stars
(all out of 4)

Well, I thought, this is different. The last time I had been in 115 South Front Street, it was dark and loud, more than a little grimy, and on its last legs as Mickey Ratz, the slightly notorious gay bar. “Notorious” as much for the fights that happened outside its door as for anything that happened within its walls. But those days are long gone, and within the walls of the historic, if crumbling, warehouse is now a very different kind of atmosphere.

The vintage brick has been cleaned and exposed, the rusted pipes replaced, the pitted wood floors sanded and smoothed. The music isn’t electronica; it’s eclectic. The lighting is no longer frenetic; it is low, subtle, romantic. The dark wood bar at the back looks nearly black. The small tables and chairs are made of the same black wood, set off by pristine white linen cloths. From bar to bistro, the transformation of the old Mickey Ratz into Aubriana’s—downtown Wilmington’s latest high-end restaurant—is startling and welcomed.

It is a measure of how much faith I had in the transformation that I took two friends to dinner there sight unseen, without vetting the place on my own first. I knew the owner, Chef Hakim Clemmons, from other local concerns, most recently Joseph’s Italian Bistro down in Southport. I was curious to see what he would make of this neglected building.

Aubriana’s is a serious competitor for places like Deluxe or Caprice Bistro. But although it is styled as an upscale bistro, the menu at Aubriana’s suggests something a little more complex. The appetizers read like a short but extremely select tapas menu: fish tacos, pork satay, calamari, sirloin-topped bruschetta—the kind of things I like to eat at home when I have only myself to please and no concerns about mixing and matching cuisines. The salads, on the other hand, were an exercise in exquisite and elegant simplicity: Caprese, Caesar and a standard “house” salad. I found the culinary range of the appetizers compared with the conservative nature of the salads curiously satisfying. It was as if the menu was inviting the diner to nibble, to try things.

The entrées, on the other hand, were masterpieces of understated ingenuity, and reflected Clemmons’ own French and Italian influences, with perhaps a touch of “Southern” thrown in for good measure: chicken breast Toscana style; potato-encrusted grouper in white sauce; filet mignon au poivre with steamed asparagus, crab and lobster cakes over spinach risotto. Each dish seemed rather simple on the the surface yet was obviously anything but. Clemmons relies on high-quality ingredients and a sometimes inspired use of sauces to add an unexpected twist to each dish.

We took some time over the menu, after telling our waiter that, yes, we’d like wine, and no, we had no idea what would be best so could we leave the choice in his capable hands, please? By the time he returned with a glass of merlot for one and a dry chardonnay for the other, we had each already changed our minds about six times over about what we wanted to order.

I eventually settled on the Veal Chop Saltimbucco, served over brown rice with asparagus, along with an appetizer of calamari and a Caesar salad (which, I had noted with approval, had anchovies). One friend went with the crab and lobster cake, while the other decided on a house salad, and the mussels and clams served over linguine with a spicy tomato sauce and herbs de provence.

I know, it sounds like a ton of food, and it was. But I had already decided after reading the menu that Aubriana’s is the kind of restaurant that makes self-indulgence almost a requirement. This isn’t the kind of place to simply have dinner. It’s the kind of place that will transport meals. Which it did delightfully.

Our calamari came first, along with a basket of fresh rosemary and asiago panini bread. Calamari is one of my “test” dishes for any restaurant. All too often, it is dreadful—overcooked and rubbery, literally caked in a thick, burnt crust of bread crumbs. That was not the case here, of course. The calamari itself was beautifully cooked and covered in a thin crust that was almost translucent. It was dressed not with an indifferent marinara, not with garden variety buttermilk ranch dressing, not even with the more frequent garlic aoili, but in a light, subtle sweet-and-sour sauce that had been made with (we decided after some discussion) apricot marmalade.

Generally, our entire meal went like this: a simple and familiar dish made unexpectedly extraordinary by an added twist. Witness my own entrée: Veal saltimbucco isn’t usually done with a whole veal chop, but wrapped and rolled with proscuitto and simmered in marsala wine with lots of sage. Using the whole chop meant that this dish must have been baked and constantly braised in wine, yet it was wonderfully juicy and tender, with the veal falling away from the bone at the slightest touch. It was aromatic, but not too heavy on the sage and—more difficult to achieve—not too salty. Served over the rice and accented with asparagus that had been simmered in butter and white wine, it was undoubtedly the best meal I have had in a month.

In the interests of fair reporting, I stole bites from the other plates on the table as well. The crab and lobster cake had been accented with a pineapple salsa and yet didn’t taste too sweet. It had been cooked to a dark brown that some people might consider overdone, but I thought it was a good counterpoint to the sweet and fruity taste of the salsa. The pasta with mussels and clams was also lovely, although a little too spicy for me. I was impressed.

Because the menu informed us that there was a pastry chef on the premises and the desserts were created in house, we convinced ourselves—without too much difficulty—that we had to order dessert. So we asked for a serving of “Chocolate Renaissance,” an ultra-rich chocolate cake served piping hot with a gooey, uncooked center and with freshly made crème anglaise. Even writing about it is sending me into diabetic shock. What arrived was a small dark chocolate cake about the size of an old silver dollar. The waiter brought us three forks and three plates. We each took three bites and realized that we’d never be able to finish it. It looked small, but it tasted so rich that we were each almost afraid to try a second bite. Really, if I’d known the flavor would be that intense, I would have skipped dinner altogether.

As we “oohhed,” “aahhed” and lingered over our meal, we were visited by a succession of restaurant staff. The head waiter came over early in the evening and brought, amusingly, a small hand-held reading light for us because he could see we were having trouble reading the menu in the low light of the restaurant. The bar manager came by to inquire about the wine as we grazed our appetizer and salads. Later Chef Hakim Clemmons himself came out and took some time to visit with the patrons. It took several minutes for him to reach our table, since the room was almost full (which is saying something for an off-night in November). We were quick to tell him how much we loved the meal and compliment him on the transformation of the building.

“Renovating the space took longer than we expected,” he confided. I can imagine, I thought. But as I took a third bite of chocolate cake and felt the flavor rush over my tongue, I had to admit, the end result was well worth the wait.