In the Chambers of the Sea

I used to wonder why anyone would dine in expensive themed chain restaurants like Aquarium, which teems with families shelling out for mediocre chicken fingers and souvenir plush toys. Then I had kids of my own. Now, my minivan hurtles toward the 200,000-gallon saltwater tank at Opry Mills like a four-wheeled salmon with DVD player and leather seats migrating to the open sea.

By almost any measure, Aquarium is an impressive spectacle, anchored by a central underwater ecosystem of colorful coral and fish and embellished with smaller tanks built into the walls and ceiling. For adults, the glowing blue room might recall the fictional nightclub that gets blown up in Mission Impossible, spilling Tom Cruise onto the Old Town Square in Prague. For kids, there appears to be only one relevant cultural reference—Finding Nemo—which younger guests invoke in high-pitched squeals each time a clown fish or Dory doppelgänger darts by.

In this visually stunning environment, no amount of polite signage can dissuade eager fingers and noses from pressing against the thick glass. Consequently, the opening olfactory impression at Aquarium is the reassuringly hygienic scent of Windex.

Across the mall corridor, $4 buys admission to Stingray Reef, with an aquatic-themed carousel and all the poison dart frogs, piranhas and lizards you can view. The combination of the restaurant’s massive saltwater aquarium and the reef’s freshwater tanks and terrarium exhibits is captivating and, more importantly, enough edu-eater-tainment to fill the better part of the day leading up to nap time.

Our first visit to Aquarium was with a school field trip. Upon arriving at 10 a.m., we put in our order for food, then embarked on a guided tour around the floor-to-ceiling serpentine tank at the core of the cavernous restaurant. A patient marine biologist introduced our Pre-K audience to schools of jacks, white- and black-tipped reef sharks, eels, nurse sharks, grouper and a particularly fetching guitar fish named Gibson. He then taught us to feed the rays next door by holding a shrimp between the fingers in a closed fist. Like muscular shadows, the giant rays glided toward our outstretched hands, surfacing with comically greedy sucking sounds that made our group roar with delight—and a modicum of terror. As the alien fish flopped water onto our shoes and nibbled our knuckles, one bemused parent whispered dryly under her breath, “We welcome you, our new stingray overlords.”

Dizzy with laughter and infinite carousel revolutions, we returned to our tables to get some chum of our own. Aquarium’s full-color, voluminous menu rambles through seafood, chicken, pasta, salads, sandwiches and beef—and far-flung oceans, seas and bayous—with all the long-winded ambition of a Cheesecake Factory, T.G.I. Friday’s or California Pizza Kitchen. If you choose to compare Aquarium’s food to its big-chain competition, you might be disappointed. If, instead, you compare the cuisine to, say, the snack bar at virtually any children’s attraction you can think of, you will likely concede that Aquarium serves the best—albeit most expensive—meal you’ve ever eaten on a class field trip.

We hit a few of the so-called favorites, which the menu designates with little starfish. For the most part, our food was fresh and attractive, garnished with colorful vegetables and sides. Chicken pasta salad was generously laden with crisp lettuce, penne coated with pesto, tender grilled strips of breast, feta cheese, bacon and pine nuts. Fish tacos were colorfully assembled with grilled limes, strips of jicama and fresh cilantro, but the meal drowned in fried fish, without enough moisture or flavor to break up the bready monotony of batter and thick double-layered corn tortillas.

The Castaway Combo, which we ordered as an appetizer, overflowed with almost enough fried calamari, fried cheese, bruschetta and hot crab-and-shrimp dip to feed two adults and four small children. Unfortunately, the creamy dip had little flavor beyond peppery heat, and the attractive bruschetta topping of diced tomatoes with a drizzle of balsamic reduction was oddly sweet. The majority of the platter went back to the kitchen uneaten, with the exception of the fried cheese—which the children devoured like sharks—and a few overly breaded calamari that we were able to pass off as chicken fingers.