I swung through the Gaylord Palms resort parking (don’t forget, if you spend fifty bucks you can get validation on self-parking) and stepped into that Key West-meets-indoors vibe. Moor sits right in the atrium you know, at 6000 West Osceola Parkway, Kissimmee, nestled near that sailboat floating on the lagoon. They light up for dinner nightly, usually around 5 p.m. to 9 or 9:30 p.m., so plan your timing accordingly.
I walked in feeling like I’d landed on that dreamy sailboat table, surrounded by soft lights and water whispering below. I was ready to treat myself. Service here is silky smooth. My server was genuinely kind—small talk, refills, an eye for when I needed more bread—just right. It’s the kind of attention that makes you feel like you might be in trouble for not coming sooner.
But then came the food, and I found myself waiting for… something. The menu leans into seafood—grouper, Florida seafood stew, scallops, snapper, a filet that sounds promising for land lovers. I peeked at what others say: folks like the shellfish tower, southern starters, market salads, even pork belly. Everything looks dreamy. But for being styled as a fancy spot, I noticed the reviews weren’t exactly raving—in fact they hover below that luxury-happy zone. Which got me curious in that subtle way where you think, maybe this night isn’t gonna wow you.
So I tried the Florida grouper—poised on the plate with risotto and lemon butter. It looked like it wanted to say something. But when my fork got close, it just sorta nodded and kept quiet. I kept waiting for that snap of citrus or butter or something that made me go “oooh.” Nada. The seafood stew—lobster, shrimp, clams, scallops—looked lush, but the broth was subtle to a fault, like a whisper when I wanted a shout.
Even the pork-belly-meets-barbecue starter looked like it had a personality but forgot to tell me what it was wearing. Everything was assembled to look rich, thoughtful—but not much popped. There was texture, sure, and quiet notes, but not the kind of bold that makes you half-smile from the first bite.
What’s funny is my kids would totally ask, “Mom, why does this food look like it’s trying too hard to be pretty but forgot to taste good?” And I’d have to nod—they nailed that vibe.
Also, the pricing is up there. This isn’t casual grub. So when your plate shows up like a model on a runway, your taste buds hope it’ll do more than just look good. For some dishes, the taste didn’t keep pace with the presentation.
Still. The atmosphere is downright lovely. That sailboat view, the calm lagoon, the staff who seem genuinely happy to serve—it’s easy to fall for. If you’re just craving somewhere soft-lit with chill vibes and friendly faces, Moor lands like a gentle hug.
Just don’t expect a fireworks show on your tongue. Think soft jazz, not mariachi band. Dinner is relaxed, polite, pretty—but your taste buds might sit there tapping their toe, hoping for a show that never comes.
I sipped my drink, watched light dance on the water, and thought: if they’d leaned into bold salty punch or herb bursts, I’d be calling everyone right now to go. But tonight? It’s dinner on a calm boat, cozy and sweet, but not the party my mouth wanted.