Tuesday, February 9, 2010

Ooh, Dreeeeaaaam Burger

Considering that most of my time these days is spent at the office, I am lucky enough to have co-workers who enjoy a fine meal almost as much as I do. One of these characters is Willy Wonka, a confessed chocoholic and self-proclaimed arbiter of overall good taste.

While Willy has dined in some of the nation's finest restaurants, he has an innate weakness for the simplest of foods: the hamburger. If there is a burger on the menu, chances are that he is ordering it. Kobe burger at Cafe Minh? Been there. Peanut butter burger at Yo Mama's? Done that. I think that Willy has eaten more hamburgers in the past 6 months than I have in the last 6 years. But of all the burgers in the city, one has stood above all others...

The Dream Burger at Elizabeth's in the Bywater has been christened by Willy as "the best in the city." As a lowly Oompa Loompa, I rarely question Willy's judgment (even if I disagree), but it's hard to argue with his assessment in this case. First, the beef is superb. Moist and flavorful with a heavy dosage of fat, it's tempting to order the basic burger with nothing but a light smear of mayo. But why go plain when you can have praline bacon? The criss-cross of sugary sweet pork belly may be unorthodox, but it works. Lastly, a sauce of blue cheese flows over the sides of the patty. Ask for extra napkins.

$10 gets you the Dream Burger and your choice of side, of which I would recommend the sweet potato and grit fries. Don't forget to save room for ooey gooey cake for dessert.

Friday, February 5, 2010

"These Are Strange and Beautiful Days"

Foreword: Food is the second to last thing on anyone's mind today. Work is obviously pulling up the rear. This also applies to blogging. Win or lose on Sunday, chances are we will not be posting on Monday morning. (You know how tired you are after a full weekend of standing up and getting crunk.) Seeing as we have a parade to attend on Tuesday, we will see you then.

I remember getting trounced by the Vikings in the '87 playoff game. I remember when I knew the entire cha-ching commercial. I remember Morten hitting that 60 yarder at the end of the first half of the '91 wild card game against Atlanta and thinking, "There is no way we lose this game." I remember losing to the Eagles at home in the playoffs the next year. I remember the Dome Patrol. I remember losing a lot in the mid to late 90s. I remember when we drafted Ricky and Ditka wore dreadlocks. I remember when Hakim dropped the ball. I remember sitting in Tiger Stadium and losing to the Dolphins, Bears, Bucs, and Panthers. I remember when Gleason blocked the punt. I remember the 12th man in the huddle and when Hartley hit the fleur de lis.

I could wax on about what it means for the Saints to finally make it to the Super Bowl, but you read enough of our gibberish already. Instead, I give to you a collection of stories written about the Saints in recent weeks. So if you want to really know what it means to be a Saints fan, ask the bank VP in Biloxi or the Metairie girl who will run the game ball onto the field in Miami. If you want to know what Drew Brees means to New Orleans, read what Peter King has to say. Whether its cancelling school or continuing trials, we will do whatever it takes to minimize "distractions" from the game. Don't forget to pay tribute to those who unfortunately never made it to see this day and don't let anyone tell you that "Who Dat?" belongs to anyone other than the fans. Our apologies to the Manning family, even though Peyton is a great guy and a great New Orleanian, on Sunday he is the enemy. So get ready Miami, the Who Dat nation is coming in full force, and we are not settling for anything less than a miracle.

Yesterday's failures are what makes today's successes so sweet. These are strange and beautiful days in New Orleans. Let's enjoy them while we can.

Thursday, February 4, 2010

Restaurante Telemar

If you went to high school in New Orleans around the turn of the millennium, then you may remember a notorious party thrown by the Norton family at an abandoned warehouse on Earhart. Or you may remember that same warehouse a few years later becoming Daiquiri Island as the de facto spot to drink when you were under 21. Now that warehouse/daiquiri spot is Restaurante Telemar, a cramped, loud Honduran place turning out impeccable, flavorful cuisine.

Instead of chips and salsa, your meal begins with a Honduran nacho dish. Crispy house made tortillas fried golden are topped with creamy beans, tomatoes, some peppers, and a salty and delicious cheese (chihuahua, likely but there was something that may have been lost in translation).

They are perfect with cold beer - in this case, Port Royal from Honduras. No Coronas on this menu, thank God. Port Royal, a German style pilsner, has a refreshing, crisp taste which is perfect for this type of food. Latin American food is generally a beer cuisine (see also, Vietnamese), and that is just fine by me.

Lindsay got the chicken with plantains, which was out-of-the-park good. Tender, juicy, well-seasoned chicken, fried to a crisp, sat atop some plantains and was ringed by a crunchy, cabbage based slaw. Getting a crunchy piece of chicken skin with some tart slaw and then the sweet plantain, all in one bite was like winning the Lotto.

The tongue in red sauce took our taste buds on an entirely different fantastic voyage. The tongue had been braised in a cousin of a tomato based Creole sauce. Chunks of red, yellow, orange, and green peppers, some onion, and tomato stewed with spices added an addictive flavor to the tongue stew. The rice, slaw and big hunk of cheese did not hurt either.

What we loved about this food was how flavorful and soulful each dish was. The preparations showcased what is best about different home cooking techniques from various cultures. The dishes that take a lot of time to make (i.e., tongue) or are just really simple (fried chicken with plantains) are always the best representations of a nation's cuisine. And Telemar is representing. Now, if I could just wash it down with a Jungle Juice.

Restaurante Telemar - Birdie.

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

Farewell to Meat - Chip Flanagan

Chip Flanagan
Executive Chef, Ralph's on the Park
The Meat: Wagyu Rib Eye with cauliflower puree and grilled scallions

Chef Chip Flanagan has cooked in kitchens in New Orleans for years (plus a stint on St. Croix) and brings a unique "the cuisines of the world are my inspiration" point of view to Ralph's on the Park. His dishes present recognizable New Orleans foods in new light. For example, the Cajun Scotch Egg wraps boudin around a poached egg. Or the Oyster's Rockefeller Reprise in which a deliciously rich spinach custard is topped with plump, fried oysters that are then crowned by bacon studded bread crumbs.

When Flanagan first took over the reins at Ralph's, these ideas seemed out of place with management and ownership. Flanagan recalls sitting in a meeting and finally saying, "Listen, whenever there is change, we are going to lose people, but my food can bring more people in than we lose." That candidness and the ability to take risks has helped put Ralph's back on our map.

And the perfect example of this is the Japanese Wagyu on the menu. Wagyu beef comes from cows in Japan who spend their whole life living much like the Pope: they are fed alcohol, massaged, and kept happy. This results in a meat with more marble than Versace's Miami villa.

The Wagyu is $12 an ounce, but a 3 ounce order is sufficient for the most tender, soft, and pleasing meat in town. To cook, Chef Flanagan cuts a rectangular portion from the rib eye, seasons it with salt and pepper, and cooks it with no oil in a blue steel pan over high heat. The meat only cooks for around forty-five seconds per side resulting in rare to medium rare doneness. But trust us, you don't want to go further than this.

After cooking the meat rests before being sliced for final plating.

An up close view.

See those beautiful streaks of soft, white fat running through the meat? It tastes like Hartley's field goal felt.

To round out his meattidunal Mardi Gras supper, Flanagan would go with the lamb spare ribs with Worcestershire and satsuma glaze, and the City Park Salad. For dessert, he suggests either the Creme Brulee or trio of chocolates. And what to drink with all of this?

"Brandy. Just cuz."

For Lent, Flanagan isn't giving up anything so much as he will vow to exercise more. But don't expect him to stop tasting the Wagyu. "Giving up eating this meat would be too great a burden."

Tuesday, February 2, 2010

Behind This Door...

... is another world far, far away from the Uptown street on which it lies. No sign, no valet, no uncovered windows to peak through. Unless you're a Newman mom picking up your son from football practice, you're not going to find Gautreau's if you are not actively searching for it. Instead, you are likely to just drive on by, unaware of the fantastic food being served inside of this old pharmacy.

On the whole, the dining room is most often described as a "jewel box." The main dining room on the ground floor holds less than 100 seats, but the mirrored columns and tall ceilings contrive more space than is actually there. Trompe-l'œil creates curtains from beige tinged walls. You walk through the dining room to reach the bar in the back, whose lively atmosphere usually resonates off the pressed tin ceilings.

While the dining room is full of illusion, deception is undeniably absent from the menu. Descriptions of dishes read relatively straightforward, but what comes forth from the kitchen can only be described as "excellence in simplicity." Same goes for the number of dishes on the menu, which is short yet nothing seems to be missing. One would think it would be easy to choose from a list of 5 appetizers and 7 entrees, but that was hardly my experience.

In the appetizer section, crisp pork belly is augmented by a ying and yang duo of sweet roasted peaches and tart pickled onions. You can find crabmeat and gnocchi on a number of menus around town, but Gautreau's version is lighter than others while still retaining its richness in a sauce of parmesan cream, English peas, and chanterelle mushrooms. Meaty scallops are delicious in their own right, but that show was stolen by the bacon and corn relish on top and spicy beurre blanc underneath.

In the entree section, a peppery saute of chorizo and clams served as a base for a crisp filet of fresh snapper, the spicy renderings of the chorizo flavored each bite of swiss chard next door. The Folk Singer is no vegetarian, but the pergoies stuffed with wild mushrooms brought her one step closer to conversion. We were too full for dessert.

Gautreau's is a special place - from the hidden location and unique interior down to the amazing cuisine. Crossing the threshold of the doorway is akin to entering your own private club, but yet you wonder how everyone else knew to come here? People seem to find great food no matter what the location. As Rene says, "Here's to hoping it stays a secret."

Gautreau's - Eagle

Monday, February 1, 2010

Taqueria D.F.

If you're headed to the Super Bowl with a Spanish vocabulary solely consisting of "Bienvenido a Miami," you're in trouble. But instead of spending all of that money on Rosetta Stone, might we make a suggestion?

For lunch today, take an off-campus field trip down South Claiborne to Taqueria D.F., where a complimentary language lesson is always served with lunch. In this month's issue of OffBeat Magazine, we review this taco truck which serves some of the best lengua, barbacoa, and tripa this side of Mexico City. Yes, we understand that Cuban food is more prominent in the home of Super Bowl XLIV, but you need to start at the bottom and work your way up. Have you seen Scarface?

Just a 12 minute drive from the CBD, the D.F. dishes out tacos at a $1.50 per pop, cheap enough to allow you to sample the entire smorgasbord of delicious meats available. Now that's a working lunch that's both easy on the wallet and filling for your stomach. The $5 footlong crew at the office will be begging you to take them along next time.

As for how to say "Who Dat?" en Espanol, you're on your own for that one.

Taqueria D.F. - Birdie

Friday, January 29, 2010

Brunch at Fuel

Saturday morning. You wake up in a hazy state of mind, throw on a pair of jeans, ask yourself whether it was really necessary to order that third bottle of wine at dinner last night, and then wonder where your next meal is coming from. Grands biscuits just aren't going to cut it, and the thought of going out for something as simple as bacon and eggs seems futile. Showering requires too much effort, so Brennan's and the like are out. Where can you go?

Welcome to Fuel Cafe, a quaint Magazine Street coffee house whose brunch menu reaches beyond the standard fare.

Case in point, Fuel Benedict: jalapeno corn cake topped with slow roasted pork, poached eggs, and chipotle hollandaise. From my Twitter research, I believe this dish is a holdover from the tenure of Chef James Leeming, who left Fuel last October to open Coulis.

Here is what I love about this dish. (1) The jalapeno corn cake is a marked improvement from Holland rusks or English muffins in terms of flavor and texture. (2) An overly generous ladle of hollandaise flows over the cakes. (3) Slow roasted pork >>> Canadian bacon.

Fuel has taken a page from Elizabeth's playbook by serving praline bacon. Unlike the sticky syrup-like coating at most other restaurants, Fuel's version covers the strips with a layer of crushed pralines so thick that the result is more akin to a bacon candy bar.

Fuel also offers daily specials which are announced via Twitter. On a visit back in November, I had a hearty vegetarian Moroccan soup of chick peas in a tomato base with a dollop of yogurt. Delicious.

But truthfully, your best choice at Fuel isn't even made in house. Once upon a time, Chef Maribeth was in the kitchen at Fuel cranking out hand pies on a daily basis. She left the kitchen at the beginning of the year and is now out on her own, but her pies are still available at Fuel. It's all in the ethereal crust.*

In the past year there have been quite a few changes in the back of the house at Fuel, but for the most part the menu has remained constant. Sweet potato pancakes, shrimp and grits, and the aforementioned Fuel Benedict are still dished out on Saturday and Sunday till 3:00pm.

Fuel Cafe - Birdie

*Though we had been told otherwise, Chef Maribeth is not providing baked goods for Fuel. However, her hand pies are available on direct order from her new venture, Betty's Bake Shop. We apologize for our mistake due to misinformation. Lookout for more on these hand pies in the coming weeks, including a full report on whether it's true that Chef MB sold her soul to the devil in exchange for the recipe for a pie crust that good.

Thursday, January 28, 2010

Krewe of Cork

Face it on Friday, February 5th you are not getting any work done. Ohhh sure, it may very well be your intention to get into the office, finish that summary of the Gomez case, work through lunch and then head home around four to start roasting a pig for Sunday.

But you and I both know what will really happen. You will get talked into going to a Pre-Saints Super Bowl Party on Thursday night where you will put to the test the Liquor before beer theory of international politics. You will wake up hungover on Friday, stumble into work at 10, realize no one is around but people talking about the Saints, you'll go to lunch at 11 and not go back.

Listen, I am not judging. I think that is awesome. But let me put a good idea out there. Join the Krewe of Cork. The Krewe parades on Friday Feb. 5th. The festivities begin with a lunch at the Court of Two Sisters, where wine is served. Then a walk around the quarter dressed in costumes, where more wine is consumed than the Pope's house on Thanksgiving, finally after the parade there is the King and Queen's Party, where yep more wine is served.

The Krewe of Cork has over 400 members, but none is more animated and excited about the parade than Patrick Van Hoorebeck. He describes the parade as a celebration of life's pleasures: champagne, white wine, and red wine. This year's Grand Marshall is Clovis Tattinger. If that name sounds familiar, it is because his family owns the Champagne Tattinger house. "Over the years," Van Hoorebeck explains, "I have lobbied Clovis to participate in the parade and for the Tenth anniversary he has agreed."

The best thing about the Krewe of Cork? You don't need to be a blue blood or a debutante's husband to join. Anyone can join, so why don't you? Membership includes all parade day events (lunch, parade, some beads, wine, after party, hotel lobby, round about four you gotta clear the lobby) and is $275. Plus, the Krewe of Cork sponsors monthly lunches where even more wine is served and a parade during the New Orleans Wine and Food Experience.

Lindsay and I will be parading this year and if any of you readers (ok reader) would like to join us, shoot us an email. We would love to put together a fun group of people who are looking forward to blowing off the greatest Friday of all time. The rumor is that ole Bobby Peyton and the Summertime Blues will be wearing nothing more than a single cork, strategically placed. However, Mr. Thomas will not be there this year due to a scheduling conflict.

Wednesday, January 27, 2010

Farewell to Meat - Rare Cuts


Henry Albert and John Lalla
Partners, Rare Cuts

The Meat: A Mixed Grill - Rib Eyes, Lamb Chops, Spinalis, and Filet

Thirty years or so ago, the wine world was revolutionized by the growth of consumer friendly wine stores. Free wine tastings, knowledgeable but unfussy staff, and educational classes gave novice wine drinkers an incredible outlet for a growing fascination. Rare Cuts mission is to emulate the success of places like Martin's Wine Cellar but by selling meat, not wine.

John Lalla is a 3rd generation butcher (his grandfather began NATCO in 1925). Henry Albert is a self-described "steak nut" who takes a yearly trip with college roommates to visit steakhouses around the country. Together these two have collaborated to produce Rare Cuts. For years NATCO has sold to restaurants, hotels, and other institutions, but Rare Cuts is a return to the butcher shop that Lalla's grandfather started in the French Quarter.

Henry and John buy beef only from what they consider the best ranchers in the country (i.e., Harris Ranch and Brandt Beef), select cuts only to their specifications from Black Angus steers, age the beef in house, and hand-cut it to exact portions. As Lalla explains: "People spend $50,000 on a kitchen and they never use it. Or they do, and they wonder why the recipe for Emeril's Porterhouse they got off the internet didn't taste like the one they ate at Delmonico's. And I tell them, 'It is because you aren't starting with the same ingredients.'"

The meat at Rare Cuts is aged specifically by cut. What is aging? Well there are two types. The first is wet aging, in which the meat is wrapped in cellophane, vacuum sealed, and allowed to rest in its own juices. The second method and more common is dry aging, whereby a whole cut of meat, say a slab of rib eye, ages uncovered in a temperature and humidity controlled room for a period of days (for a rib eye it is 20 days). With dry aging, the outside of the meat gets a dark bark (shown below) which is trimmed off to reveal a tender, rose-colored interior. During the aging process the meat's own enzymes begin to break down and tenderize the beef while moisture evaporates. The result is a denser, firmer piece of beef.

The difference in taste is discernible. Dry aged beef has an oaky, spicy flavor, but the tenderness is the same as wet aging. After aging the beef is then cut into portions. "We sell our meat by the cut, not by the pound. We do this because we know that a 6 oz filet is 6 oz, not 7 or 5. That way when you cook it at home, you will learn that 3 minutes on each side is sufficient for medium rare," says Albert.

Another hallmark of the quality of meat at Rare Cuts is the amount of fat running through it. "My dad called fat 'the other white meat.' And it is true, that is where the flavor comes from," says Lalla.

Rare Cuts is located at 1600 West Causeway Approach in Mandeville, and they are opening in River Ridge in approximately two weeks, with more locations planned in the coming year. If you like meat and love cooking at home, you need to visit Rare Cuts the next time you get a hankering for a steak. It is not only their knowledge and enthusiasm for prime meat that makes Rare Cuts a better option, but also their respect for the ranchers, animals, and butchers who produce the meat. "If someone tells me they are going to marinate these steaks in Italian dressing, Tabasco, and Dale's, I cringe and suggest they use a different cut then the wet aged, prime filet. All a good piece of meat needs is salt, pepper, and heat," Albert instructs.

Frenched lamb chops. The fat on this lamb was incredibly soft and sweet. If pork, duck, and lamb fat were in a dance off, pork would be Ronnie from Jersey Shore, duck would be a break dancer, and lamb a ballerina.

Three different cuts from the dry aged rib eye. The two on the left are excellent examples of a rib eye with "star fat"- the white anchor of fat in the middle of the cut. The one on the right is a rib eye cut from the end with less fat.

Before cooking the meat is sprinkled generously with salt and pepper and then left to sit for a few minutes.

Then the meat is placed on a smoking hot grill. While Rare Cuts has a kitchen inside, they can't help but love to fire up their outdoor grill. The smell of grilled meat wafts throughout the parking lot and remainder of the strip mall, making them everyone's favorite neighbor.

An up close shot of the grilled spinalis. What's a spinalis? Why it's a cut that goes to 11. The spinalis, often called the "end cap," is the cap on the rib eye (the crescent shape of meat encircling the Star Fat). It has tenderness and a sturdy shape, but more importantly loads of flavor.

Red wine is a natural choice for marbled steaks, but on this Saturday morning we drank Bloody Marys and talked about the Saints. During our chat, John told me he had his butchers send over some specially cut Rib Eyes to Drew Brees's house in the shape of a Fleur de Lis, "My butchers weren't happy with me. They'd been cutting meat for 23 years, and this was a pain in the ass. But don't tell anyone about that, or everyone will be asking for them."

Ooops.

Tuesday, January 26, 2010

A Cake Fit For Kings

Since the start of the new year, I have probably eaten 47 slices of king cake. I know, I know - high cholesterol, diabetes, cardiac arrest, yada yada yada - but I can't help myself. At least 3 times per week, sometimes twice in a single day, someone shows up at the office with a king cake. That's on top of the king cakes which are omnipresent at every birthday, wedding shower, funeral, and bris that I get invited to. How can a guy say no to a piece of king cake in celebration of circumcision?

But even though I have eaten an alarming number of slices of king cake, I honestly have not sampled the spectrum of species from that many different bakeries. Perhaps king cakes are similar to snowballs in that location plays a major role? Case in point, the above classic king cake from McKenzie's, now sold by Tastee Donuts, covered in purple, green, and gold granulated sugar While this is the king cake of my youth and always my first one of the season, it just never tastes as good as I remember.

At the opposite end from the McKenzie's classic, we have this shimmering specimen from Sucre, who started baking king cakes for the first time this year. The glaze on this cake is so stunning that you might be hesitant with your knife, but then you would be missing what's inside...

... and that would be an extremely light pastry filled with a thin layer of whipped cream cheese. I usually despise filled king cakes (too gloppy), but the minimal smear of cream cheese in this one is in perfect balance with the paper thin layers of pastry. This is probably the best king cake that I have eaten so far this year.

I'm still a sucker for Manny Randazzo's, which is better than Randazzo's Camellia City in my opinion. Haydel's makes a good king cake, but the combination of icing and granulated sugar throws me off; I prefer one or the other but not both. Antoine's is always welcome as an afternoon snack.

I still have quite a few king cakes on my list to try: Hi-Do Bakery on the wild wild Westbank, the not-so-sweet goat cheese and apple king cake from New Orleans Cake Cafe, the true classic galette des rois from La Boulangerie. So many cakes, so few inches to spare in the waistband of my suit pants. A little help, dear readers, if you wouldn't mind.

Monday, January 25, 2010

Black & Gold in the Super Bowl

After 43 years, we all deserve a day off to celebrate. I bet this woman is already packing her bags.

Friday, January 22, 2010

Saints

Warning: This post is inspired by the greatest motivational speech of all time. * It obviously has everything to do with New Orleans food. This may be the last coherent entry on this domain until at least after Mardi Gras.

On Sunday, as you well know, the Saints will stand for all that is right and just in this world and try to halt the advance of the nefarious Viking clan of the North. For centuries the Normans, Franks, Gauls, and Anglo-Saxons attempted to appease the Viking hordes with offers of dense bread and honeyed mead. They offered to repair their sails or give them thirty virgins. Anything so long as Eric the Red would leave their precious fields and homes alone.

And how did the Vikings respond to such appeasement? Not well. They ransacked and pillaged towns and woman like mutant combination of Gary Busey and OJ Simpson. They burned homes and topped trees with skulls as a reminder that they would not listen to reason. But perhaps the Vikings most horrific and far reaching legacy is they took a boat to America before Columbus and left a Runestone in a Minnesota field. With this Runestone as it's bedrock, the Minnesota Vikings, a most vile and sacrilegious team, sprung forth and ever since have been a scourge and plague.

The Vikings have spewed hatred, despair, and the foul stench of dried monkfish all across this great land. Their mascot reminds one of a person you don't want to sit next to on a plane. Once masters of Northern Europe, the Vikings have been reduced to a traveling credit card collection agency. If it wasn't for the Bengals, their uniforms would be offensive to most mammals.

The Viking leades is a simple country boy whose name defies pronunciation. Ohhh, I am sure you have heard all about him. Why ESPN has become lobbying hard for the legalization of gay marriage so they can marry him. In fact, he is so cool that if you are friends with him, he will invite you to a huge a field to play football, and then throw you a pass so you land in the only puddle of mud on the field. WHAT A GUY!

Twice before the Black and Gold have seen their Super Bowl dreams die at the hands of the Viqueens (not including the horrible Daunte Culpepper 2-point conversion). Well, those who don't learn from history are bound to have it repeated on them. Which is why on Sunday evening, the only canonized team in the NFL will do what generations of pansy footed, lets play nice, tea sipping, cowards couldn't do. We will look the Vikings square in the eye, spit back in their face, and kick em in the junk.

Once again, these interlopers have set sail with designs on robbing our most precious gem: a Saints Super Bowl. Are you just going to stand there and let them waltz in here with their flowing golden locks, Hagar the Horrible humor, thorned helmets, and walk out with a date with Miami? Or are you going to man up, get out there, and do something about it?

Well, are ya, punk?

Sunday's game is for your Paw Paw or your Aunt Judy who isn't really related to you. Sunday is for all the Who Dats with season tickets in the sky. It is for fans that went to games with bags on their heads, but still went to games. Ever notice the dearth of fans at a Detroit or St. Louis game? Those fans don't have faith; we always had faith. And for a long while, that is all we had. We have more than faith though; we have knowledge that one day the Saints will go marching in and when they do we will be in that number. It is not a matter of if, it is a matter of when.

And when just burst in the door.



* If you want this post to make sense, my advice to you is to begin drinking...heavily.