[title type="h5"]Friday, October 24, 2014.
Steak With Angela. Turned Away At La Boca. Rue 127's Birthday.
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My weekly series with Angela Hill, in the last hour of her show, continues. The hour flashes by much faster than any on my own program. That's probably because I'm not responsible for the show's momentum.
Today I reel her in with steak. Steak is irresistible, and despite its association with masculine appetites--or perhaps because of it-- it's clear that a majority of women like going to the top steak places, as long as a man is paying the bill. It's certainly true of Mary Ann. All I have to do is suggest Keith Young's or Gallagher's Grill or Ruth's Chris in Metairie, and she abandons her usual control and lets herself be so squired.
We have a bottle of Malbec, which Angela says she loves. We have two glasses apiece. Maybe this is what keeps the show rolling right along.
That done, I take a twenty-minute nap on the floor of my office. I've decided that the futon I bought for this purpose nine months ago will never be delivered. I sleep just fine in the corner on the carpet. I write and record two commercials. I send out the Red Bean edition of the New Orleans Menu newsletter.
I leave the big black tower at six, in an unusually good humor. Completely relaxed. I walk three blocks to La Boca for dinner. Every day I drive past it and see many empty tables. I guess steak eaters are late diners, though, because when I walk into the nearly-empty restaurant, the hostess says that I may either dine at the bar or wait for a table that won't open until ten-thirty. I know that if I actually do wait for a table, I will get one within a half-hour or so. I also know that if I had a date tonight, I would have been promised something sooner.
But I just walk away, not wanting to compromise my fine mood, nor appearing to pull rank if someone recognizes me. And I know that there is no rush for me to check out the new location of Chef Adolfo Garcia's Argentine steak house, which moved to this much better location after A Mano went under.
[caption id="attachment_45089" align="alignleft" width="320"]
Smoky frites at Rue 127.[/caption]The wheel of appetite stops with the pointer on Rue 127. Today is the third birthday of the excellent little bistro, and I haven't been there in many months. Owner-chef Ray Gruezke is away on a catering job, a Mid-City neighborhood fund-raising event. It's better he should be doing that, of course, than just holding down the fort, anniversary or no.
I have a glass of Hexagonales Pinot Noir and a cone of fresh-cut frites, coated with a smoky seasoning blend. This is new to me, and quite a bit too salty, but a good idea.
Then some cornmeal-coated, crisp fried oysters tossed with a motley assortment of full-flavor, crunchy (but in a different way from the oysters) vegetables. Peppers, onions, pineapple, and cilantro, to be specific. The oysters are stuck in position with a chilpotle aioli. This is not only a very tasty dish, but served very generously, such that I already have eaten too much.
[caption id="attachment_45091" align="alignnone" width="480"]
Fried oysters and crunchy vegetables.[/caption]
I am still in the mood for a steak. The only one on the card tonight is a "bistro filet." I think this is a chuck mock tenderloin. I ask the server, but she's not really sure. I roll the dice and go with it, and find I guessed its secret identity exactly. That's a flavorful cut, but one a bit low in fat content. I like it, but it doesn't quite sate the sizzling-butter steak envie in my head.
[caption id="attachment_45090" align="alignnone" width="480"]
"Bistro filet" at Rue 127, with sharp herbs and chimichurri.[/caption]
Dessert is a pumpkin trifle, with gingerbread cake, pumpkin mousse, maple-flavored whipped cream, pecans and butterscotch. This is perfect for the season, of course, and prettily presented, like a parfait.
[caption id="attachment_45088" align="alignright" width="320"]
Pumpkin trifle at Rue. 127.[/caption]
I have all this at a duece in that little hallway that Ray made out of the old house's side porch. I am secluded in a nice quiet spot. Time was when I would have found this entirely satisfactory. But I have become accustomed to dining with one or both of the Marys, and I must say that I miss them when they aren't here.
I am really and truly a married man.
[title type="h5"]Rue 127. Mid-City: 127 N Carrollton Ave. 504-483-1571. [/title]
