It probably wouldn't be my last supper, but if knew the end was near, I'd be very tempted to hop a plane for Palma de Mallorca for a final crack at the arroz nero at Nimo's Fénix. I found out about this place from a policeman who pulled me over seven years ago and asked me why I'd been driving too fast. I told him I was hungry and was looking for a place to eat a really good paella. He laughed. "With rice or fideos?" he asked, fideos referring to the short durum wheat vermicelli which is also used in Catalonia and the Baleric islands instead of rice. "Try Nimo's Fénix, it's three blocks from here on the right. It's where we Mallorcans go for paella. And slow down' they serve until late."
What I found was a spacious, open dining room with many large tables and a great terrace overlooking the Passeig Maritim, or road that runs along the boat filled port in Palma. I was alone, and the place was packed with family groups who were obviously enjoying a blow-out Sunday lunch. "Solo?" said the maître d', and I feared he wouldn't give up their last free table, which was for four, to a single. But he smiled and led me through the entirely local crowd to a nice table with a crisp white linen tablecloth right next to the window.
Not knowing any better, I ordered a starter of croquetas de jamón ibérico, breaded deep-fried croquettes of thick bechamel sauce filled with chopped Iberian ham. They were delicious, and I ate them all, which I quickly saw was a major mistake when my paella de fideos arrived in a large, flat black iron pan. It was dotted with shrimp, mussels, clams and a pair of langoustines, and came with a side of aioli and a plate of sliced green peppers and radishes cut to look like flowers.
It was sublime. The fideos were perfectly al dente, and the whole dish was redolent of the excellent seafood stock with which it had been made. I ate for an hour and a half and finally called it quits.
I was back two days later with friends who'd just arrived on the island, and this time I had the arroz nero, jet-black rice cooked with cuttlefish ink and big tender chunks of cuttlefish. With a squirt of lemon and a dollop of aioli, it was superb, and the house signaled that they recognized me by offering us a brandy after lunch.
Eventually I learned that Nimo's Fénix is part of a local chain of family restaurants on Mallorca that's run by Grupo Nimo's. I suppose the American equivalent might be something middle-of-the-road and mass-market like the Olive Garden, but since this is Spain, the service is serious, almost solemn, and very professional, and the quality outstanding.
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