Beware the Ides of March

Roast beef po-boy from Parasol's.

When the soothsayer uttered those fatefal words to Julius Caesar, I am 99% certain that the fortune teller was not speaking of the potential dangers of a debilitating hangover caused by overconsumption of green jello shots. But the same warning applies to those revelers who will be attending the Irish Channel Block Party which kicks off today around 10:00am, when the 1000 block of Third Street will be rife with revelers who refuse to believe that today is just another Thursday. Good luck to those brave enough to drink green beer all day long.


Of course, the two anchors of this celebration are Parasol's and Tracey's, two neighborhood bars forever linked by history, controversy, and roast beef po-boys. It's been a while since I partook in the Irish Channel Block Party, so I can't say which bar I would prefer to make my homebase for the block party today and parade on Saturday. But in comparing roast beef po-boys, I can say that Parasol's reigns supreme, with it's debris-style beef and thick gravy on toasted bread whose top layer has a smear of garlic butter and heavy dash of parsley flakes.



For those in search of a more tame and traditional celebration, I have a few suggestions as well. Chef Matt Murphy has dedicated an entire week to his heritage, and the festivities continue at The Irish House through Saturday. Lovers of corned beef might venture out to the Fair Grounds for an afternoon at the races and a lunch consisting of the only guaranteed winner at the track: the corned beef po-boy. The tender, thick-sliced corned beef are piled high on french bread which you are required to slather with plenty of Gulden's spicy brown mustard. Another suprise option for corned beef: Parkway Bakery, make sure to ordered it dressed with creole mustard.

May the luck of the Irish be with you and your March Madness brackets.

Hogs for the Cause

Team Pig Slayer prepares for rock and roll or battle at Hogs for the Cause last year.

And you thought you wouldn't have to read about Hogs for the Cause this year?

That's right. Hogs is turning four next Saturday, March 24th with a huge birthday party at City Pork. I will go ahead and answer the first question you have, no we are not going to run out of beer. Thanks to a free agent pickup that is second only to the Saints getting Drew Brees, Crescent Crown Distributing scooped up the distribution rights to NOLA Brewing last Spring. The result for you beer drinker is four trailers with five taps a piece plus enough canned beer to make Time Saver jealous.

In addition to beer, we are pouring two wines from Mad Max's Neat Wines just in case you find that smoked hogshead cheese needs something with more heft than beer. Back by popular demand, Mar Go Ritas returns with their kid tested, mother approved pouches that pack a punch. The vendor list is strong with snowballs, Taceaux Loceaux, St. James, Big Wil and the Warden, Sucre, Oak Street Cafe, and more. Mississippi Rail Co., Stooges Brass Band, Marcia Ball, The Gourds, VOW All Stars, and Trombone Shorty and Orleans Avenue provide the pigharmonic orchestral tunes to keep the party going into the night.

After dropping their pig on the ground in season two of Hogs, Team Swine Krewe had revenge on their minds for Hogs Season Three. 

Plus, don't forget with 60 teams competing for your fundraising dollars the pork will flow like the Salmon of Capistrano. Each team has a piggy bank and their goal is to raise as much money as possible. They do this by offering samples of their food in exchange for money. You are familiar with capitalism, no? Drop a ticket, cash, or check into the bucket and thou shall receive a sample of pulled pork or a rib or maybe a pork belly corn dog. Teams are also raffling off prizes everything from helicopter tours (good way to engaged) to spots on a Memphis in May BBQ team, from a Saints tailgate with 10 tickets to dinner in a chef's office for six people.

Becker Hall at the first Hogs for the Cause, attempting to control the massive crowds. Or guide in an airplane, not really sure.

All of this "fun raising" is for the Cause. When Hogs started we had no idea of the financial strain families faced when their children were diagnosed with brain cancer. To date and with your help, Hogs for the Cause has given out over $75,000 to families. In the last two months, we have lost two of our grantees to this horrific killer. And while such loss is heartbreaking, it only strengthens our resolve to do more. We are very excited that this year, Cameron, one of our grantees will be at Hogs enjoying the day with you. Our goal is to shatter all previous pork, pediatric brain cancer fundraising records and raise $350,000 this year.

Tickets can be purchased online. Pre-sale general admission tickets are $10 (pre-sale ends Friday, March 23rd at 7 pm); $20 at the gate. But if you are like me, you are a pay one price kind of person. For you we have two new ticket packages. Market Hog is a $100 ticket. But that gets you unlimited food from competitors and beer and soft drinks all day and night.

If you really want to prove your superiority, the Boss Hog pass is for you. Boss Hog gets you all the privileges of Market Hog, plus access to the Boss Hog tent with catered food, an open bar, and private restaurants. Plus, if you call right now, because I can't do this all day, get a Boss Hog pass and you can judge one of the food categories. And I'll throw in a $150 tax deduction receipt. All of this for $250. I am not sure Jefferson got this good of a deal on Louisiana. I know for certain, there was no bacon involved.

See you next Saturday, rain or shine at City Pork.

New York City: The Middleweights

The silvered pig at Batali & Bastianich's Eataly. About the only thing you can't buy there. 

The flight into New York's LaGuardia airport on a clear night is one of the prettiest airborne sights imaginable, After the initial approach, the plane banks northwest and scurries past the East side of Manhattan Island. Immediately a diorama of buildings comes into focus, all aglow with shimmering lights. This view of Manhattan is an intoxicating aperitif.

After tossing our bags into the hotel room, we hailed a cab to make the trip from Midtown to what has become an institution: David Chang's Momofuku Ssam Bar. At about 10:30 at night, Ssam was just hitting its second gear with a growing ambiance fueled by loud music, pork, and beer. The dark paneled room and low lights create the sensation of eating in a humidor. Two seats at the bar opened quickly and the feast commenced.

The famed steamed buns of course - pillow soft and filled with succulent slabs of pork belly. A quick glaze with a fiery red sauce helped finish the last of the first round of beers. While those steamed were delicious, they paled in comparison to the kimchi rubbed apples with face bacon. Let's break this dish down John Madden style shall we? First you have the apple, which has just a touch of sweetness and a heavy dose of tart while adding a base layer of crunchy to the dish. Then this guy takes those apple slices and smears kimchi all over them to give it something spicy. Then over here, you got the face bacon lead blocking and bringing that salty, crispiness that makes bacon America's favorite food group.

Perhaps even more impressive was the way Chang and Co. turned chewy tripe into a sublime Asian noodle dish. Tender, shreds of tripe were tossed into a ginger scallion sauce and served at room temperature. Out chop sticks engaged as sword play as we fought for the last morsels. Finally, a clunky dish of rice cakes and Chinese pork sausage. While advertised as spicy, the dish needed acid to round everything out, and on the whole the dish was dry. But then again anything would have paled in comparison to the tripe and apples.

Dessert at the Momofuku Milk Bar. A Crack Pie, peanut butter cookie, and soft serve ceral milk ice cream rounded out the meal. That soft serve ice cream quickly became Lindsay's white whale. Wherever we were in New York for the next few days, she would say, "Look on your Twitter thing and find out if there is a Milk Bar nearby."

Meatballs with potato puree, Fontina cheese, and red wine demi glace at Gramercy Tavern

If there is a Mohammad of Dining in the 21st Century, his name would have to be Danny Meyer. The list of dining "things" he helped pioneer are too long to list, but include such things as quality hamburgers and unpretentious, intelligent service. The room at Gramercy Tavern is warm decorated with arrangements to evoke the season. In late winter, think large birch branches and  jars of preserves. Everyone has a friend whose home they love to visit - it is comfortable but not stuffy, there are fantastic things to drink but nothing fussy, and the food is delicious without being obsessive. That is eating at Gramercy Tavern in a nutshell.

Meatballs, more like meatpucks, have a crisp crust gilded in melted Fontina cheese. Both the cheese and crust struggle to contain the soft textured interior of the meatball. Red wine demi glace and potatoes as smooth as glass round out a well-composed plate. But then you look across at the chicken soup, which is loaded with juicy chicken, vibrant kale, and tender dumplings and wish just for once you had not been such a fat kid when ordering.

Dessert was a symphony of composure. Chocolate pudding, salted caramel, and brioche croutons worked harmoniously to produce the greatest pudding possible. The rhythmic clacking of spoons looking for pudding but finding only ceramic became the crescendo of this movement.

There was of course a stop at Eataly with its miles of Italian food products. It is overwhelming and enrapturing. Aisles of pasta, counters full of meats and seafood, barrels of olive oils and vinegars, jugs of wines and beers,  a vegetable butcher, marble carving classes,prosciutto carved fresh, mozzarella pulled while you wait, and Vespa rentals (only made up two of those). We sat in the pizza and pasta kitchen and devoured a plate of pork and chicken liver agnolotti and a Neapolitan pizza laced with anchovies.

We got out of there in a hurry before the bank called and closed our account.

Dining Al Fresco

The courtyard at Martinique Bistro.

Although it's a rainy Monday morning, these past 2 weekends of beautiful weather have proven that Spring has begun, and with it the countdown has started on the fleeting outdoor dining season. When the sun is shining and the mercury reads 75° or lower, any time spent indoors seems like a missed opportunity, and that includes time spent eating.

Most of my outdoor dining is done on Saturday or Sunday during lunch, and at those times I usually have zero motivation to dress well enough to enjoy the setting of Commander's courtyard or the patio behind Bayona. Luckily, there are plenty of options casual enough to only require throwing on a pair of jeans.

Two weeks ago when I walked my dog through Exchange Alley, I could not believe how many tables The Green Goddess had set up outside. There had to be at least 40 diners enjoying Sunday brunch in the sun, and another 20 or so waiting patiently for the next available table. A few blocks away at Sylvain, the rear courtyard is usually full at all times, and that particular day was no exception. Headed toward Uptown, Martinique is always one of the first restaurants that come to mind during this time of year and is on a surprisingly short list restaurants that offers lunch/brunch on Saturday. Dante's Kitchen is also in that category, as is St. James Cheese Company, which is probably my favorite spot in the city for an outdoor lunch on Saturday.

What are restaurants to do when people are anxious to eat outside but they have no courtyard or patio? Throw a few tables out on the sidewalk, of course. La Petite Grocery and Coquette both offer front row seating to Magazine Street. The sidewalk tables at Cochon are usually full on almost every night during dinner. And although its not open for lunch on the weekends, it seems remiss to write about great outdoor dining spots without mentioning Herbsaint.

Yesterday as I drove down Freret Street, I noticed that Company Burger had set up picnic tables outside, and I had to appreciate the great lengths that restaurateurs will go to accomodate our ever so short al fresco dining season. Whether you are dining on Shrimp Henican in the courtyard at Commander's or scarfing down a roast beef po-boy on a white picnic table in the back parking lot at Parkway Bakery, be thankful that you are enjoying it while you can.

Bagel Me

Breakfast. It's allegedly the most important meal of the day. But for most of us in New Orleans, breakfast is an afterthought. Scarfing down a banana on the drive to work or eating a granola bar at your desk is not exactly the apotheosis of a fine morning meal. And on the weekends, many of us find breakfast to be so inconsequential that we sleep through it, opting instead for brunch - an entirely different animal at which we thrive. But in the springtime, after the busy, hangover-laden months of football and Carnival have passed us by, our weekends open up and we are more inclined to rise and shine, stop and smell the roses, read the morning paper and have a proper breakfast.

Bagels have never been an integral component of a typical New Orleans diet. My earliest memory of eating bagels are the dry grocery store versions whose cut surfaces were as rough as sand paper. Things for the most part have not improved with time, as anyone who has eaten a bagel at a CLE or hotel continental breakfast can attest to. And, I loathe thick thick gobs of cream cheese.

But recently Artz Bagels has me singing a different tune when it comes to the round, boiled and baked breakfast staple. Northeastern transplants, the team behind Artz aims to bring the quintessential bagel to the Big Easy. A New York native in my office has told me on multiple occasions that Artz is the only worthwhile bagel purveyor in the city - good enough for him to warrant weekly trips to stock up on breakfast supplies.

I wasn't born and raised in New York, but I know delicious when I taste it. The bagels at Artz are excellent, with a chewy crust that does not require an extra set of molars for consumption. Bagels are 3" or so in diameter and come in a wide variety of flavors – asiago, salt, onion, garlic, and everything. The breakfast sandwich ($4.25) takes your pick of bagel flavors and fills it with a fried egg, your choice of cheese and pork product. Flavored cream cheeses abound, including creole veggie – an ingenious use of the trinity. Plain bagels are $1.09; add a $1 for a schmear.

Artz can be a bit difficult to locate for first timers. The Magazine municipal address is deceptive, as the entrance is halfway down Ninth Street. The dining room is white, bright, and spacious, with plenty of room to spread out with the morning paper. Definitely a reason to add breakfast to your Saturday or Sunday morning routine.

Artz Bagels - Birdie
3138 Magazine Street
(504) 309-7557
Open Daily: 7am - 3pm

Mandina's: Is It Worth It?

Mandina's is an easy trek for most conventioneers. Hop on the Canal street car line and jump off when you see a Pepto Bismol pink building on your left. Katrina induced renovations robbed the dining room of its charm, but that charm revolved around a place which looked like it had been ridden hard and hung up wet. The new Mandina's is more expansive with rich woods and earth tones accented by the ubiquitous Jazz Fest placards.

At some point the friendly and efficient staff will offer your table rounds of French bread dripping with melted butter. These are to be avoided. Not because they aren't delicious, but more because you have likely over-ordered. If you gorge on the bread there likely won't be room for the bread pudding. Onion rings are fat sliced and coated in a cakey, crumbly batter. They are devoid of the snappy crispness of a great fried food. There are quite a few hallmark onion rings around town, these are not in that number. 

Of the soups, go for the seafood gumbo which is robust and thick with a seafood stock that jumps with a splash of Crystal hot sauce. The turtle soup was a huge disappointment. As the sherry poured on top, it sat and pooled above the potage which was was thick and jiggly with a bland khaki brown color. Had this soup been a custard, it would have been spot on. The meat in the soup was grainy and mealy, perhaps chicken livers were used. 

Entrees fared a bit better. An open faced roast beef sandwich was a gut buster with a Colossus of thin sliced meat and debris strewn gravy covering sliced (but untoasted) bread. An Indian mound of crispy fries completed the ensemble. Of course, putting all of this into a po boy would have made more sense. But there is a certain perverse joy about attempting to tackle a mound of beef. "Only seen one person finish the whole thing," our waiter mentioned. 

Stuffed peppers here come stuffed with shrimp, meat, and eggplant dressing and covered in creole sauce. They are flavorful, moist and purely indulgent. A choice of sides is offered, Lindsay asked for peas and got peas and mashed potatoes, not that anyone was complaining. Although Lindsay was slightly pouty that the macaroni and cheese this special is usually served with was kaput.  A few beers rounded out the meal. We didn't have room for bread pudding (see above for why). 

Is Mandina's worth it? That is a tough call. The food is far from ideal and there are countless things that could or should be done better. But restaurants like Mandina's thrive in every city imaginable. They are where you take grandma for her birthday. Or swing by when that afternoon wedding around the corner leaves you slightly buzzed and very hungry. Mandina's is well-loved and seemingly thriving. But in making my judgment, I keep coming back to the food. And while there are some highlights at Mandina's, I am not sure they are better than the same dishes elsewhere. 

Mandina's - Worth it? Feel free to skip.

3800 Canal St. 

(504) 482-9179

New York City: The Welterweights

One of the most striking dichotomies about New York is that for being such a big city, most of the space is tiny in comparison. Tucked into basements or squeezed into a building's alleyway, restaurants operate on a highly limited spatial budget. Inside these shoebox saloons we found some of the best places to snack. Because there are so many of these spots, this will be a two part sub-series. 

The single best cup of coffee in the world may be served by Stumptown Coffee Roasters. This outpost of a Portland institution serves rich and creamy lattes and forceful cappuccinos in an anteroom off the lobby of the Ace Hotel. The service staff is friendly and cheerful, despite being staffed mainly with hipsters. Just look at all those hats! And suspenders! But these hipsters are the cherubs of the caffeine heaven.

The most impressive aspect of the coffee at Stumptown was its temperature. The coffee is served hotter than warm but not scalding. Boiling hot coffee is a mistake too often made. When that mistake is made you end up spending ten minutes waiting for coffee to come to an acceptable temperature. There would place to do so as at Stumptown there are no tables, just a rail-cum-table on which to lean. If you look up through the large plate glass window, there is a  peek at the top of the Empire State Building. A fantastic cup of coffee with a wonderful view is not a bad way to start the day. 

Cafe 'ino came highly recommended from Bloggle and PNC Peter. It was the beginnings of a bustling brunch when we climbed into a two top right inside the door. Out from the kitchen came two bruschettas which delivered salty and bitter via its green and ricotta salata topped right hook and a knockout blow via Malliard sweetened onions and pungent cacio. With a fontina encrusted carriage of bread filled with a runny egg yolk, a few glasses of Aglianico, and a calm thumb through the paper, Cafe 'ino is the kind of place one could get used to.

A wandering tour of New York has to include a stop or three at dens of sin. Places where one can shed their inhibitions and do something really decadent and pleasureful. For us that was a stop at Dominique Ansel's narrow den of pastry in Soho. Marble and glass contain pastel colored jewels of delight. His macaroons were outstanding, the best being the pink raspberry filled with balsamic vinegar jelly. Or maybe we liked the miniature meringues which came in a plastic tube for both security and eye catching allure. In the back of the shop is a window onto the magic of this bakery. We sat enraptured as a cook formed macaroons, whipped egg whites, and prepared desserts. Free entertainment is always a plus. 

So Long, Farewell

If you are a regular reader of Blackened Out, you probably are fairly knowledgeable of what's going on in the local restaurant scene. The biggest story in post-K New Orleans dining is not only the reestablishment of nearly all of the restaurants which were open before August 29, 2005, but also the proliferation of new restaurants. Despite a reduction in population, there are approximately 300 more restaurants open today in New Orleans then there were 6 years ago. And it seems like more are opening with every turn of the calendar.

Unfortunately, not all of the post-K restaurants have survived. This fact comes as no surprise to those of us who have a fundamental understanding of how supply correlates with demand. (I knew that Economics undergraduate degree would one day come in handy.) But sometimes we believe that our sense of taste will defy the odds.

On a recent weekend trip through Metairie, I faced the realization that my personal opinion on the quality and value of a restaurant's food does not equate with long term success or viability of a business. As we crossed the 17th Street Canal on our way to Lakeside, The Folk Singer and I had lunch on our minds. Who would have known that our first 3 choices had already closed their doors for good.



Mixed grill from Cyrus Restaurant.

 In our June 2011 Dining Out column in OffBeat Magazine, we predicted that Cyrus Restaurant, located on the former site of the Fun Arcade, would "soon become a destination for pleasures of the culinary variety." It was a bold conjecture. But unlike the guy who bet $1000 that a Giants safety would be the first score in the Super Bowl, our long shot did not come through. Despite serving delicious grilled meats and Middle Eastern dips far better than must gyro joints in town, Cyrus served its last order of lamb chops at the beginning of the year. My best guess as to why they didn't make it: prices were significantly higher than other restaurants in the same genre.

Our second option on this Jefferson Parish lunch excursion was Taco San Miguel, which had once been The Folk Singer's favorite carrot to place at the end of her proverbial stick which led the way to Lakeside Mall. Although we both were huge fans of San Miguel's no frills Mexican cooking, it had been quite some time since we last eaten there, opting instead for the close proximity of Felipe's to our home base. And apparently it had been much longer than we realized, because on this day the tiny building on 20th Street which once housed Taco San Miguel was now near the tail end of a renovation into some unknown eatery. A quick google search reveals that it may have closed sometime in 2010.



 Smokin' Buddha's brisket, pork, and sausage po-boy.

 With nachos now on the brain, we completed are reverse trifecta by making our way over to Smokin' Buddha, where a few weeks earlier we had noshed on a delicious pile of thick and crunchy flour tortilla chips which held up well underneath the weight of queso, sour cream, guacamole, green onion, chopped brisket and an unconventional dusting of parmesan cheese. Smokin' Buddha had garnered much attention from the Twitterverse and Yelpers who had proclaimed it as the only BBQ joint in New Orleans which imparted a true smoke flavor to its meats. I had only been once before, but I can safely say that the burnt ends alone were worth keeping this place open. And obviously, I was wrong about that too. Word on the street is that it may have been ownership and/or management issues which eventually led the Buddha to restaurant purgatory.

And so we ended up at Phil's Grill. You already know how that story ends.

Most everyone agrees that New Orleanians are eating better now then they ever have before. Still, it makes me sad to see a few of the better ones close their doors for good. Pour out a little liquor.

Gone Fishin' at Borgne

Many high profile chefs recognize that a banner name on the marquee and on the menu cover is of no assistance to what's going on in the kitchen. A major relies heavily on his captain to organize his troops, and in the same way a chef counts on his sous chef or chef de cuisine to execute their food. John Besh figured out this formula when he partnered with Alon Shaya at Domenica. Now he's done the same with Brian Landy at Borgne, and the result thus far has been just as successful.

Borgne fills what has been a glaring void in the downtown area: a restaurant serving fresh, high quality seafood in a setting somewhere between the fine dining rooms of the French Quarter and the neighborhood restaurants found in Bucktown. The restaurant is more casual than I expected - think Domenica with lighter color tones. Service is friendly and congenial; waiters are there when you need them and absent when you don't. The end result is upscale comfort designed to please the entire spectrum of diners.

The menu is billed as "coastal Louisiana cuisine" - think seafood and lots of it - "with a touch of Isleño influence" - a nod to the Spanish descendants who emigrated from the Canary Islands to St. Bernanrd Parish. Oysters play a prominent role on the menu, and every table should begin with an order of the baked oysters. The menu says "garlic butter" but the preparation is much more clean than the typical overload of parmesan and herbs. The bivalves are served pure and unadulterated - hot, plump and gilded with buttery crisp bread crumbs. On the entree side of the menu, the P&J oysters amandine is a dozen or more expertly fried oysters piled atop a warm spinach salad dressed slivered almonds and brown butter. And the oyster Spaghetti shows how delicious a combination of cream, pasta, and perfectly poached oysters can be.

Of the non-oyster affiliated portions of the menu, I have had the most experience with the starters. A quintet of duck poppers are a riff on the jalapeno, cream cheese, bacon treatment that has immigrated from Texas campfires to ambitious restaurants. Bite size morsels of duck breast are paired with a slice of jalapeno, wrapped in bacon, bakes and placed atop a cream cheese sauce. Yes, they are awesome. A quintet of thin crusted empanadas are stuffed with roast suckling pig that tastes more like pulled pork than cochon de lait and served with a thin pink dipping sauce. The crabmeat croquetas are a smooth mixture of crab and cream cheese in a two-bite sphere. Shrimp toasts have now morphed into shrimp fritters; I have not had the newer version yet, but I am a huge fan of the sambal aioli underneath, which would make a great dip for french fries (hint, hint).

The Spanish influence on the menu is easily recognized by the "a la plancha" description, which roughly translates into "grilled on a metal plate." Both black drum and the rice served with the twice cooked garlic chicken (a riff on a classic paella) are given the treatment. The goat cheese “a la planca” is griddled and sauced with a Christmas color combination of mojo verde and roasted red pepper and topped with crushed pistachios. The blue crab bisque has a rich, creamy base with great flavor. Green salad with blue cheese and the pecan vinaigrette is a less refined (but nearly as tasty) version of the salad at August featuring pumpkin seed brittle and Point Reyes.  The seared tuna salad is a sleeper. Slices of rare tuna are placed atop a base of Italian artichoke salad which more resembled a spicy, crunchy giardiniera. And that was a good thing.

The dessert list has been in constant flux since Borgne's opening, with different selections available on each of my visits. The Hummingbird cake has plenty of crunch with loads of pecans pressed into the sides of the cake which is iced with a whipped cream cheese frosting. The oatmeal cookie ice cream sandwich is the new hot ticket item, but the cookie was hard and tough instead of soft and chewy on my only taste test. The Prince Albert (LOL!) has already disappeared from the menu. The chocoholic's dream dessert was a thin, moist round of chocolate cake topped with a chocolate mousse double the height of the bottom layer, a quenelle of cocoa ice cream and squiggles of chocolate and caramel sauces. It was divine. I never had a chance to try the mini fried pies, which were supposedly spectacular.

But the empty space left by the now-departed Prince Albert has easily been filled by my new favorite dessert. Many of you are aware of my love for Nutella, but the hazelnut flan at Borgne is evidence that hazelnut need not rely on its longstanding partnership with chocolate. The rich, thick, silky, smooth flan is out of f*cking bounds, and the accompanying condensed milk sorbet and peanut brittle are no afterthoughts.

We hesitate to pass judgment on new restaurants in their infancy stages. I have been to Borgne 5 times since it opened 2 months ago and have now written about it twice. It should not be too difficult to figure out how I rate the food.

Borgne

601 Loyola Avenue

(504) 613-3860

Open Daily 11am - 11pm

French 75 Bar: Is It Worth It?

The biggest lie told by New Orleanians goes like this. "The French Quarter? I/we never go down there. That is for tourists." Look, I've said. You have too. But ask yourself this question, when was the last time you went to the Quarter and didn't run into another local you know? I'd venture to say that the period from mid-November through Mardi Gras sees more locals in the Quarter than any other time. Someone get Rigamer on line one to run a study.

The Quarter is full of gems. Hide outs from the t-shirt shops and Big Ass Hangovers. One of my favorite hangouts, located a mere thirty steps from Bourbon Street, is the French 75 Bar at Arnaud's. An elegant haunt with green and white tiles on the floor and accents of monkeys throughout, the French 75 Bar is one of the city's best cocktail dens.

Chris Hannah is the lead barmen there, a chap on who much has been written. He has a well-trained staff outfitted in white jackets and a polished demeanor. As an example of that well-rounded professionalism of the staff, on a recent cold Saturday afternoon visit, I ordered a Tom and Jerry from a kid who looked barely old enough to drive. Without missing a beat, he responded with, "Certainly. But it will just take a few moments for us to heat up the water."

When I was his age, I would have thought Tom and Jerry was a cartoonish shot. In reality, a Tom and Jerry may be the single best warm cocktail. It is a dichotomy in the glass. The top layer is a cool, creamy nutmeg spiced float of calm. You may think it is cream, but it is actually a "batter" not dissimilar from eggnog. Underneath the cold float is a rolling thunder of rum and bourbon heated with warm water. This is a delicious, addictive drink. Be glad there are only four days a year when the weather calls for drinking it (recipe below).

Of course, there is the drink named for French artillery of World War I. Gin (occasionally Cognac), champagne, lemon, and sugar is a powerful combination. And while I like all of those things, individually, this drink just doesn't do it for me. But don't let that deter you from continuing to lie about never going to the Quarter.

Tom and Jerry
recipe courtesy of Chris Hannah, French 75 Bar

1/4 oz of Myers Dark Rum
1 oz Wild Turkey
4 oz Hot Water
3 tbsp of Tom and Jerry Batter*
Nutmeg

Combine the rum, bourbon, and hot water in a coffee mug. Spoon the batter over the drink, and grate fresh nutmeg over the top.

French 75 Bar, worth it? Hell Yes.
813 Rue Bienville
504-523-5433

*While Arnaud's was more than willing to share their recipe for the Tom and Jerry cocktail, they would not reveal their recipe for the batter. You can find a recipe here, it should be fairly similar. Or you could  bribe someone in the know. Your call.

New York City: The Heavyweights

Over Mardi Gras weekend, Lindsay and I boarded a jet plane to New York City to spend four days eating, drinking, and eating and drinking. We hit up 15 establishments in an 86 hour marathon, all of which were examined with a pigeon's eye. Over the next few weeks, the restaurant and bar visits will be reviewed in the following boxing related groupings: Heavyweights, Welterweights, and Lightweights. We start this series with the Heavyweights and a look at two of the big boys of the New York dining scene, Marea and Daniel. 

 

Marea

Marea is Michael White's Italian answer to Eric Ripert and Maguy Le Coze's Le Bernardin. Marea focuses on the seafood culinary traditions of the Italian peninsula. The restaurant's walls are wrapped in woods and the thin veneer of yellowed shell covered stone giving off the ambiance of dining in a sunken chest. A quick wait in the bar produced a classic martini, which was delivered to our waiting table.

An amuse of cured sea trout with fried trout skin and caviar was only marred by the streak of reduced beet juice streaked across the plate which resembled the bloodied skid marks of a fish dragged across the white deck of a fishing skiff. But it jumped in the mouth with the clean taste of the cold ocean and the pop of salty caviar. Exquisitely rustic bread followed, along with a spicy olive oil.

Next up, a delicious blend of marine and land in the pig trotters with sardines. The two elements united by a bright and fresh salsa verde, proving yet again the pig is a uniter, not a divider. Then a rambling, but delicious plate of calamari, sea beans, white beans and fatty pancetta. The wine, a citrusy mineral driven Sicilian white began to open up and complement food and conversation.

Now onto the pasta courses, where this meal begins to hit some rough seas. The fusili with octopus and bone marrow was drowned in a wine heavy tomato sauce obscuring both the octopus and the bone marrow. In fact, I could find scant evidence of the latter, and no evidence of the former in the dish. Corkscrew pasta and red sauce is great, but it wasn't a Tuesday night home cooked meal. The gnochetti however was simply outstanding. The shellfish stock fortified sauce draped over the pasta like a bespoke suit with the chilis and rock shrimp serving as well-chosen accessories.

Inconsistencies showed up again in the main courses. Red snapper with brussel sprouts, hazelnuts, pomegranate and sunchokes would have been great had the fish not been horribly overcooked. Overcooked fish is one thing, this fish was dryer than Britain's attempt at humor. However, cuttlefish with capers, tomatoes, escarole, and olives all enveloped in a livornese sauce was delicious and hearty enough to make me want to order a lusty Italian red. Unfortunately, the waiters, captain, and sommelier were nowhere to be found.

Desserts were a shipwreck. The bombolini, little puffy doughnuts, were poorly executed, their interiors dry and tough. The sauces which accompanied them were too sweet by half. Rounding out this failure was a coffee crumble that seemingly was on the plate solely to show off the pastry chef's technique. I get what they were trying to do, coffee and doughnuts re-imagined, but it missed by a nautical mile. At least that dessert had some flavor, the other one on the table, a hazelnut praline with ice cream managed to be a dessert which inspired a round of twenty questions. Is that chocolate? Maybe the hazelnut is over there, nope. What is that lemon? Maybe? Could it be mint? Do I taste freezer burn? Subtlety is one thing, mystery another. Both are a woefully inadequate way to end a meal.

But really the most shocking thing about Marea was the state of the restroom. The bathroom at Marea would have been a sign of a great party in college. Paper towels tumbled out of the trash bin and the floor was dotted with other trash. Maybe it was an off night, but for the hottest new high end restaurant in New York, more than a little was left desired.

"I remember as a kid watching the fireworks on Fourth of July. There was always one firework that made a loud noise as it took off, traveled high, and then failed to explode," Lindsay said as we left. There was no need to finish the second part of her statement.

Daniel

There is a theory of celebrity that you should never meet celebrities in real life. In real life, celebrities stop being celebrities and nearly always let you down. They are shorter, less interesting, and more human - the faults hidden by their celebrity in full display. Case in point: our meal at Daniel. By all accounts Daniel Boulud is a chef's chef. Although he has multiple restaurants, he spends a good amount of this time at his flagship Daniel, which has three Michelin stars and four from the New York Times. As a mentor, he has helped hundreds of chefs reach their potential. He is an effusive and hospitable French chef who has made food better in America. I have wanted to eat at Daniel for years, and we finally got our shot with a 9:15 pm reservation.

Sure enough, Boulud was in the restaurant on the evening we dined, shuttling between the kitchen and the dining room. We could monitor his movements mainly because we were seated in probably the worst table in the restaurant. Next to the kitchen doors and isolated from the activity of the room by acoustic paneling on three sides, we could have been in a dining room in Hoboken. My view of the dining room was blocked by a column. (This would come into play in a bit.) Now, listen every restaurant has a worst table, but it just sucks when you draw the short straw.

Canapes were a bit boring with two featuring salsify. Once in a remoulade and as a puree. Next to them was a smoked salmon with a pickled jalapeno. A nice round of cocktails and then the real eating began. A brilliantly smooth and rich terrine of foie gras crusted in marcona almonds with glazed dates and apples came with buttery, crisp triangles of toasted brioche was the highlight of the first course. It has been said, that Boulud's greatest strength is as a master of the charcuterie arts. While I doubt Boulud made this specific terrine, his garde manger has been well-trained. This terrine was beyond delicious. By now a bottle of champagne had arrived. The Indian spiced lobster tail with yogurt was under seasoned and the crispy wonton which accompanied it soggy.

A suckling pig dish featuring the belly, a tender chop, and crispy, airy cracklings was tied together with purple potatoes and pork jus. The saddle of rabbit with rabbit sausage was forgettable. The desserts became the highlight, especially a grapefruit one that highlighted acidity rather than sweetness. Touched off with a scoop of mascarpone ice cream and an almond biscuit, it had us fighting over the last bite.

At the midway point in the meal, Lindsay turns to me and says, "Is that Thomas Keller sitting over there? It looks like him and he is wearing that scarf thing he always has on."

I tried peering around the column to no avail. But sure enough a later trip to the men's room revealed, that yes Thomas Keller was in attendance. Being in the same room as two of the nation's greatest chefs should have been enough to make this one of the most memorable meals of our lives. And maybe it could have been but while the food was all good to excellent, service was atrocious.

When you dine with the big boys, the starred spots with reservation wait lists and secret numbers, you are paying for service, setting, and ambiance as much as food. We have already been placed in the worst seat in the house with a wonderful view of a column, so two of the four criteria are already negative. Service commensurate with the pricing could have evened things out. Or even service commensurate with a dinner half this price. As it was the service we experienced at Daniel had more in common with the dismissive, aloof service style of a simple French bistro (where it is appropriate) than a focused high end restaurant. The errors, while minor in comparison to life's major problems, were glaring.

After our appetizers were finished the plates sat empty on our tables for what seemed like hours. When it happened again after the entrees, I looked at my watch. Thirteen minutes later our empty entree plates were cleared. While we waited for a dessert menu, paint dried. The captain checked in once, but before I had a chance to respond to his query he had moved on to another table. Water and wine glasses sat empty, tempting me to get up and walk across the room to grab the Champagne. I regret not doing so. One would imagine that being so close to the flight path of every front of the house employee would insure efficient service, but you would be wrong. At best the service was off, at worst it was purposefully disdainful and insulting.

Here is the thing, Daniel is not a restaurant which has to care about my experience. They are the Liuzza's for Upper East Side regulars. Men and women with bank accounts larger than their apartments dine here nightly for no other reason then they don't feel like cooking. The prime reservation times are reserved for them, the best tables and waiters as well. There are restaurants like that in every city of note, including New Orleans. I don't fault them for being what they are. And perhaps they are too insulated, too surrounded by immense wealth to realize that not everyone who drops $200 a head on a meal is a hedge fund manager or an heiress to a timber fortune.

But Daniel is also a destination restaurant, owing to the celebrity of its chef. One that should be cognizant that people may travel to Daniel to eat from far away. Daniel should set a shining example of just how enjoyable a night of eating should be. You should leave Daniel wishing to go again the next night. You should wake up the next morning and pillow talk with your spouse about the meal, the dishes that you will remember for a lifetime. Forget the sting of the check, the whole experience from service to food to setting was totally worth it.

The number one sign of a great meal at any price is how long you talk about the meal after it has ended. It has been a week and we have almost forgotten all about it. The check, however, still stings with the force of a thousand bees.

Daniel, I wish we had never met.

Burger Bonanza: Phil's Grill

Now that football is over and Mardi Gras has past, the weekends have pretty much opened up for us to accomplish all of those fun things that we have been putting off for the last few months. Clean the gutters, trim the hedges, organize your wine collection, make a couple of trips to Home Depot or maybe even Bed, Bath, & Beyond if you have enough time.

Unfortunately, during this time of year you are also likely to find yourself near the intersection of Causeway and Veterans Blvd., otherwise known as the Metry Bermuda Triangle, where both time and cash have been known to disappear without a trace. Didn't think that it was possible to spend 2 hours waiting in the lobby at Earthsavers or outside the dressing room at Jean Therapy? Perplexed at why a woman would "need" 5 pairs of shoes from Nine West and 6 dresses from Ann Taylor for the 3 spring weddings on her upcoming calendar?

Don't ask questions. Just surrender your credit card, and go forth in search of lunch.

And why not reward your sufferance with one of life's simple pleasures? Phil's Grill was at the forefront of the local burger movement and succeeds in delivering not only a strong to quite strong burger but also a classic burger experience. It's a place where kids can entertain themselves at the table with coloring pages, but mom and dad don't have to settle for the standards of Ronald McDonald. And while you won't find many customers wearing fedoras or menu manifestos on the heritage of the cattle, you will be dining on a burger worthy of hipster approval. Just don't expect to find an easily available parking space - this is Metry and Lakeside, after all.

Phil's menu allows you to customize your burger in an infinite number of combinations or choose from a list of signature burgers which have pre-determined toppings for those who get overwhelmed with too many choices. On my most recent visit, I constructed my burger in the classic style, with a standard black angus patty topped with shredded cheddar, garlic aioli, shredded lettuce (although I could have chose whole leaf romaine), and pickles built upon a soft white bun which is similar to a bakery style deli roll but more resilient than a styrofoam sesame seed bun. The beef is coarsely ground and has a good fat to lean ratio; making for a juicy and flavorful 7(ish)oz. patty. I order my burgers medium rare and TFS takes hers medium, and at Phil's there was a distinct difference between both color and moisture between the two, which shows an attention to detail to temperature preference.

The price of the build-your-own burger also includes your choice of side. French fries are a squared off steak fry which are soft and greasy, which I kind of like in a it's-not-vogue kind of way. The onion rings are even better, with a crunch batter surrounding thin strings of red onion. $10 per person before tip ain’t a bad deal, or for $6 more you can indulge in one of the handmade shakes.

We took our meal at the bar on a recent Saturday, and Phil himself was tending bar, taking phone orders, and chatting up the customers. He asked a couple seated next to us, "So, where is the best burger in Gulfport?" After the couple responded by listing a number of "dive bars" located on the Mississippi Gulf Coast, Phil offered a tidbit of information which I think speak volumes of the mantra behind his restaurant:

"Yeah, in New Orleans, the burgers have always been served in bars. But, you know, you can't bring kids into a bar, so that's partly why I opened this place."

A kid-friendly establishment which serves a burger worthy of a bar. Phil could not have said it better himself.

Phil's Grill - Birdie
3020 Severn Ave.
(504) 324-9080
Open Daily at 11am. Sun-Thur till 9pm; Fri-Sat till 10pm.