Water Grill

Water Grill wears its confidence loudly, a polished seafood room that serves the ocean with the sort of blunt generosity that makes you order more than you planned. Oysters arrive on ice, names like Fat Bastard spoken like a dare. The seafood tower is a small mountain of brine and crushed ice, spent lemon and a mustardy mignonette. Clam chowder lands warm and silky, the Spanish octopus charred at the edges, the Chilean sea bass flaking like good news. The dining room hums at dinner, voices low and steady, the clink of glass and the occasional pop of a lobster claw summoning attention. Service is practiced but human, attentive without hovering. It is the place you bring a parent, a lover, or a group that expects to eat well and not fuss about it. Ask for the French press at the end, and leave room for the tower.