Don’t you just love a guy who puts a picture up on his own website and slaps the word VISIONARY on it?

Then again, Mother always said if we didn’t believe in ourselves, who would.

(Actually, she didn’t. My mother would never say such things. And we certainly didn’t call her Mother.)

So this Cesar Sotomayor fellow, who has just launched the Karu Restaurant and Y Ultralounge in Miami, is pretty great, no? (It’s not a question.)

He’s certainly pretty gutsy. What he hopes/just knows will be the hottest nightclub/restaurant/event space in the universe has finally launched for real, out on NW 14th Street, a few burnt-out blocks away from the new Performing Arts Center, on the train tracks.

Being on the east side of said tracks allows the venue to call itself Downtown Miami. Being west of said tracks would place it squarely in Overtown.

Now, Overtown is not the sort of neighborhood you bring home for Christmas. It is, politely put, pure squalor. You thought New Orleans was bad, pre-Katrina? This is worse. It is on record as being one of the poorest neighborhoods in the United States.

I am also terrified of it, having watched one too many episodes of The First 48, a reality show that tracks homicide detectives solving cases in the first forty-eight hours after the murder.

Many of the episodes are filmed in Miami. In fact, one of the best episodes featured a body was found right on the railroad tracks. The guy had wandered in the wrong direction after leaving one of the strip clubs a little further to the south.

Perhaps this explains the full police detail in front of the place, when our party showed up around midnight last Saturday.

Because it is Miami, there’s a huge sheet of water and lots of fancy lighting out front, ensuring you do not miss your stop – it is pretty much the only functioning building on the block.

The entrance hallway is very Galapagos – water everywhere, glass in the floor, etc. Up ahead, a sheer wall of Pakistani onyx (Did we know they had their own onyx? Must call decorator). And smiling people. What’s this?

Turns out, it is still early days and hurricane season, so the place isn’t exactly heaving. The staff isn’t taxed or anything. To the right, the bar and restaurant – that’s Karu, the word is a native (native to somewhere, I’m not sure where) term for eating. Inside, a few people are finishing up dinner under a big Dale Chihuly chandelier.

I am a sucker for Chihuly. I still get all tingly standing in the lobby at the Bellagio. The other members of my party do not. “My. That’s original,” one sniffs.

To the left is the Y Ultralounge, sort of brown and rectangular, a lot like a bar in a trendy Vegas casino, complete with bouquet of plasma screen TV’s on the back wall, showing things that are moving but you’re not sure what, and you can’t remember 10 seconds later how to describe them.

Also on this side is the private dining room, which has a beautiful Murano glass wall instead of a view of 14th Street. In the back corner is the VIP lounge, through smoked doors. It’s sort of like a hermetically sealed chamber. No view out.

Finally, in the back, there’s the wine wall, opposite the restrooms (which have a full selection of Kiehl’s). The toilets have frosted glass concealing them from the world. Not for the timid, really.

Eventually will come a 12,000 square foot garden, at the corner of 14th and the railroad tracks. Presumably, there will be no window-on-Overtown. And finally, behind everything, an enormous event/concert space.

In the end, it reminds one of places like Sketch, in London – an over the top pleasure palace. Though, unlike Sketch, it wisely didn’t try to make the whole thing a private club (only the VIP Room is taking memberships at Karu, though why you’d want a membership to an oversized humidor is beyond me).

The food is, to put it gently, ambitious. Too ambitious. We had kumamoto oysters, floating in some apple concoction, with various apple concoctions on the side. Why not just a big platter of kumamoto oysters? Since when do those need to be dressed up? Also, we had the foie gras lollipops. (Like most everything else on the menu, they were spelled “lillipops.” Perhaps someone who speaks The English should copy edit the thing.) The lollipops were great. Lovely rounds of mousse, alternated with orange, tangy fruits, on a platter that had just a few flecks of sea salt laying on it, so when you picked up your stick, it would catch just a little of the salt. Great.

The drinks part didn’t go so well. I ordered a glass of Veuve Cliquot – the only really drinkable champagne by the glass offered, for $35. The waiter, who, like everyone else in the place, seemed really nice, informed me he only had a rose. Fine, I said. Two seconds later, he appears with something that is not a rose, and something that is also not Veuve Cliquot at all. It’s worse than Korbel. (I know my cheap champagnes, people).

The waiter is surprised. It’s definitely what you ordered, he says. Smell it, I say. That is not Veuve. It is not beautiful at all. He apologizes for not being sure what Veuve is supposed to smell like.

He brings it back. The bartender huffs. The waiter gestures. Then, miraculously, the bartender suddenly turns up an open bottle of yellow label. Apparently, it did exist. It is poured, and brought over. I tell the waiter. Smell this. This is Veuve. Isn’t it beautiful? He laughs. Slaps me on the shoulder. “I love this guy,” he says.

And then he brought the donuts, little munchkins made from dough that was almost biscuit-like in flavor and texture, with dipping sauces. They were fine. Our tab, for three drinks and three dishes, was $150, which I did not have to pay, since the people I was with were guests of the club.

It is not fair to make a judgement of a venue that has not yet entered its first high season. The menu will be tweaked. My waiter will learn the difference between Cava and Cliquot. This is a place that is still waiting to get its vibe.

What should be said, though, is there is promise. Other venues in the neighborhood – none nearly as South Beach as this one – do very well, despite the location. All the big Euro DJ’s (Paul Van Dyk, Armin Van Buuren, etc) play a venue around the corner. And don’t forget the Performing Arts Center, just blocks away.

For now, though, do not attempt to, say, walk here. And if you see Cesar, for goodness’ sake show the proper respect one shows a visionary. Don’t ask me what that is. I am not so good on the protocol.

Karu&Y [website]