Welcome to the Ocean Coral Bistro, the only place where the portions are smaller than the krill swimming outside. This is “fine dining,” which is code for “you will definitely be hitting a drive-thru on the way home.” Here, the food isn’t just a meal; it’s a whisper of an idea of a meal.

At the Bistro, food isn’t served; it’s engineered. You might order a crab cake and receive a three-story tower of foam, micro-greens, and a single, lonely claw standing on a pedestal of dehydrated squid ink. It’s beautiful. It’s artistic. It’s also gone in exactly one bite.

You’ll spend more time taking a photo of your dinner than you will actually chewing it. The waiter will spend ten minutes describing the “emotional journey” of the scallop, which is nine minutes longer than it takes to consume the scallop. By the time he finishes explaining the “soil” (which is actually just crushed nuts), you’ve forgotten what you ordered.

To enhance the “oceanic” vibe, the Bistro plays a constant loop of whale songs at a volume that bistro555.net makes you feel like you’re inside the whale. While intended to be soothing, after the third hour, it starts to sound like the whales are complaining about the price of the wine list.

“Hooooooo-ly-cow-this-Chardonnay-is-sixty-bucks,” the humpback seems to moan. It makes you feel very sophisticated, or very sleepy, depending on how much “foamed” wine you’ve consumed. If you lean back and close your eyes, you might forget you’re at dinner and think you’re at a very expensive spa where they just happen to serve tiny portions of fish.

Many of these bistros offer a “Premium” or “Preferred” side of the room. This usually means you get a slightly softer chair and a butler who looks at you with a mix of pity and professional distance while you try to eat a microscopic piece of sea bass.

On the “regular” side, the beach view might be blocked by a trash can; on the “Preferred” side, the view is pristine, clear, and probably filtered through a Swarovski crystal. You pay for the privilege of being slightly closer to the air conditioning and further away from the commoners who are actually eating full-sized meals.

Why does every upscale seafood place think we want our dinner to look like it was just coughed up by a rogue wave? Culinary foam is everywhere at the Bistro. It’s on the fish, it’s on the dessert, it’s probably in the hand soap.

Is foam a legitimate culinary technique that captures the “essence of the sea,” or is it just a way to charge $40 for flavored air? It seems like the more expensive the restaurant, the more likely your food is to be in a gaseous state.

We want to know: Are you a fan of the foam, or do you prefer your food to have a solid state of matter and an actual weight?