An oasis for fish lovers waits at Sukharevskaya

The Sirens were mythical women who used their beautiful voices to lure sailors to their deaths. Like those ancient creatures, the restaurant Sirena also offers irresistible pleasures from the sea. Here, however, the pleasure is culinary, not musical. And although the octopus soup, lobster tail and salmon cakes are "to die for," diners generally leave the premises alive and well.

A waiter dressed like a 19th-century sailor placed my appetizer in front of me. On the white plate lay two herrings, drizzled with olive oil and lemon juice. I speared one with a small silver fork and slurped it down. The sharp yet full-bodied flavor of the sea was followed with the aftertaste of its rich and mellow oil. Sensational! On a television nature documentary, I once saw a flock of seabirds cruelly demolish huge schools of these little fish. Now I know why: I’d do the same myself. As an accompaniment, the same "sailor" offered me a basket of bread, and I chose a little knot of brown bread that was deliciously soft, fresh and nutty.

The restaurant was ship-shape right down to the sparkling silverware and salt-white linen. The walls were decorated with model ships and nautical paraphernalia, and, all around the room, beautiful (non-edible) fish swam in salt- and fresh-water aquariums. Watching a yellow tang drift along, I felt a sense of relaxation after just a few minutes. In fact, everything in the restaurant conspired to soothe and refresh the street-weary diner. The quiet nautical chanties, the houseplants in the corridor and the efficient yet non-obtrusive service all contributed to a peaceful atmosphere. And I felt especially relaxed knowing that my BMW was safe in the restaurant’s guarded parking lot.

Quickly after I ordered it, my main course arrived. The Jewish-style stuffed carp with ruby jelly (670 rubles) was technically an appetizer but in fact it was so big that it could easily be considered a main course. It was certainly visually appealing: The large stuffed carp lay next to a little lettuce cup containing white horseradish puree, a boiled half-beet and bright cubes of red and yellow jelly. The carp was very large, about the size of a big steak. It was covered in the same yellow jelly that was used as a garnish. The fish itself was a beautiful pale pink and melt-in-the-mouth tender. The stuffing was soft, meaty and delicate and went excellently with the horseradish sauce. I had never before had a meal the flavors of which complemented one another so subtly. The dish was also prepared with a definite sense of humor: I found that the beet was actually a potato that had been cooked in beet juice in order to give it a bright crimson color.

The chef responsible for this and Sirena’s other creations is an Italian called Antonio. Originally from Milan, Chef Antonio studied with the famous Claudio Sadler, who runs one of the best restaurants in the popular Soho district of that city. Antonio heads a large team of cooks who work from early in the morning planning dishes and getting all the ingredients in order. The predominant ingredient is fish, of course, but the busy crew also produces wonderful vegetable and meat dishes as well as a big selection of desserts.

Speaking of dessert, I couldn’t resist diving into Chef Antonio’s special tiramisu (about 550 rubles). Like the carp, this sweet and creamy coffee-flavored Italian specialty was attractively presented but it wasn’t a case of style over substance or size. On the contrary, it looked wonderful, tasted even better and towered over the plate.

Sirena has been open since 1992, and its continuing success is a tribute to the superb quality of its food and service. The prices are correspondingly high but well worth paying if you want a really special meal. Sirena stands as the Mecca of fish lovers in Moscow, but gourmets of any persuasion will be delighted by the sophisticated menu and extensive wine list. As soon as you pass through the entrance, which resembles a galley’s prow, you abandon yourself to a new, extremely tasty world.