Wednesday, October 1, 2015.
Changing Clothing Habits. Eat Club Goes To Broussard's.
I like mileposts. They seem to slow down time. One of the many that riddle my calendar tells me that on the first of October, I begin wearing a jacket into the radio station's offices. I do that until April Fool's Day. This grew out of my noticing in the 1970s that Johnny Carson wore light-colored suits in the warm months and dark-colored suits in the cooler times. (I wonder whether I should explain who Johnny Carson was for the younger readers. I decide not to do so yet.)
Jeff Hug--half of the Nut & Jeff Show that ran for twenty-seven years on my radio station--told me once that when he was a newsman on WNOE, the owner of the St. Charles Hotel saw him enter the building without a jacket, and stopped him in the lobby. "Young man, you should never enter a hotel of this caliber without wearing a jacket and tie!" Jeff told him that he was on the radio, where nobody could tell what he was wearing. (WNOE's studios were in the Hotel, which stood imposingly for many years on St. Charles where Place St. Charles is now.) Jeff said that from that day forward, he always wore a jacket to work. He did every time I saw him, anyway.
And then there was the unforgettable lunch I had with Dick Brennan Sr. at Commander's Palace around 1981. I wore a tie that day, but no jacket. It was pretty warm out. He let me know that he could not take me seriously if I entered a restaurant like Commander's without a jacket. I have always done so since.
I now know that none of this matters anymore. Except to me.
The Eat Club convenes this evening at Broussard's, whose gilded rooms seem to insist on jackets and ties, but where someone so arrayed would be in the minority. It was certainly true of the Eat Clubbers, as well as for the people having another party in the courtyard.
Not for reasons of dress code, this was a difficult dinner to sell. We wound up with about thirty people--respectable, but not ideal. I think the explanation is that this is the fourth in a weekly series of five Eat Club dinners in the French Quarter. Like having lamb as an entree, beer as the beverage, or a North Shore location, having a dinner in the Quarter takes a bite out of our attendance.
[caption id="attachment_49077" align="alignright" width="320"]
Shrimp remoulade and. . . well. . .[/caption]My heart sank as the dinner began. The first course was not good. Shrimp remoulade with a dark, pasty sauce; deviled eggs that looked less than perfectly fresh; steamed artichoke leaves that even the artichoke lovers disdained got us off on a bad footing. But in the second course things turned around dramatically and stayed that way. Here was a classic Creole turtle soup, cooked with sherry and with sherry offered at the table--at least the ones where I wasn't around to discourage its use. But Broussard's manager Chris Ycaza--a knowledgeable wine guy--served some actual sherry in an actual glass: Hidalgo San Lucar "Faraon." Both the soup and the dry sherry complement one another by
not being mixed together.
[caption id="attachment_49076" align="alignnone" width="480"]
Redfish Rosalie, and great![/caption]
Next, the best dish of the night. Redfish with a crust of rosemary, mustard, and something distinctly crunchy was actually exciting, enough that I'm going to add it to our 500 Best Eats list. Green beans were here, and a lemon beurre blanc, and a nice little white Burgundy--a Mercurey, no less.
Our next course also was blessed by a presence from Burgundy--a red this time, Monthelie Les Duresses from Bouchard. Why is it that we are suddenly able to afford Burdundy? A rumor somebody in the room started is that the French government, faced with a glut of wine, is making this happen. Chris said he had just enough of these wines in his cellar to serve our group. We were very happy he did.
[caption id="attachment_49075" align="alignnone" width="480"]
Chicken fricassee.[/caption]
The original plan was for us to have a choice of the fish or chicken fricassee. I talked Chris out of that, asking to have small portions of both, as per the usual run of our dinners. Thank you, Chris. Carl Scully, the Gourmet Retired River Pilot and an Eat Clubber since our very first dinner, says that he used to live next door to Chris when Chris was a little boy. And that he's happy to see that Chris's career if flourishing. (Note: there are only 500 people living in New Orleans, or that wouldn't have happened.)
The fricassee brought up the usual questions about that little-seen dish. One person said that he thought chicken fricassee was fried chicken in a dark roux. It probably is, somewhere. More likely is for the chicken to be cooked in a pan, with a sauce made from the juices therein, butter and flour, herbs and peppers. No two alike.
Or you could have what Chef Neil Swidler whipped up under the fricassee name: corn macque choux in a peppery sauce with a good bit of tomato in it, with a slice of toasted bread topped with spicy oysters that gave off a smoky aroma and flavor. Very good, nice with the red Burgundy.
Dessert is something that sounds unpromising but is exquisitely good. They called it a peanut butter mousse, but it was much thicker than that implies. It was a great taste, with some great chocolate cookies to add textural contrast. Chris brings out another sherry, this one sweet. (Valdespino "El Candado" from the vaunted Spanish firm of Pedro Ximenes. A brilliant end to an excellent dinner. (I have already forgotten that first course.)
We ended the evening with my almost having to pay for everybody. The word didn't filter in that the restaurant collects (and keeps, 100 percent) the price of the dinner from the patrons, usually on the way in. I should have mentioned this early, but after twenty-two years of doing these dinners and paying that way, I assumed they knew. Neither side asked about it. No big deal. There was still some wine to be drunk while the waiters ran the credit cards.
This dinner persuades me that the new, ninety-five-year-old Broussard's has found its rhythm.
Broussard's. French Quarter: 819 Conti. 504-581-3866.
Shrimp remoulade and. . . well. . .[/caption]My heart sank as the dinner began. The first course was not good. Shrimp remoulade with a dark, pasty sauce; deviled eggs that looked less than perfectly fresh; steamed artichoke leaves that even the artichoke lovers disdained got us off on a bad footing. But in the second course things turned around dramatically and stayed that way. Here was a classic Creole turtle soup, cooked with sherry and with sherry offered at the table--at least the ones where I wasn't around to discourage its use. But Broussard's manager Chris Ycaza--a knowledgeable wine guy--served some actual sherry in an actual glass: Hidalgo San Lucar "Faraon." Both the soup and the dry sherry complement one another by not being mixed together.
[caption id="attachment_49076" align="alignnone" width="480"]
Redfish Rosalie, and great![/caption]
Next, the best dish of the night. Redfish with a crust of rosemary, mustard, and something distinctly crunchy was actually exciting, enough that I'm going to add it to our 500 Best Eats list. Green beans were here, and a lemon beurre blanc, and a nice little white Burgundy--a Mercurey, no less.
Our next course also was blessed by a presence from Burgundy--a red this time, Monthelie Les Duresses from Bouchard. Why is it that we are suddenly able to afford Burdundy? A rumor somebody in the room started is that the French government, faced with a glut of wine, is making this happen. Chris said he had just enough of these wines in his cellar to serve our group. We were very happy he did.
[caption id="attachment_49075" align="alignnone" width="480"]
Chicken fricassee.[/caption]
The original plan was for us to have a choice of the fish or chicken fricassee. I talked Chris out of that, asking to have small portions of both, as per the usual run of our dinners. Thank you, Chris. Carl Scully, the Gourmet Retired River Pilot and an Eat Clubber since our very first dinner, says that he used to live next door to Chris when Chris was a little boy. And that he's happy to see that Chris's career if flourishing. (Note: there are only 500 people living in New Orleans, or that wouldn't have happened.)
The fricassee brought up the usual questions about that little-seen dish. One person said that he thought chicken fricassee was fried chicken in a dark roux. It probably is, somewhere. More likely is for the chicken to be cooked in a pan, with a sauce made from the juices therein, butter and flour, herbs and peppers. No two alike.
Or you could have what Chef Neil Swidler whipped up under the fricassee name: corn macque choux in a peppery sauce with a good bit of tomato in it, with a slice of toasted bread topped with spicy oysters that gave off a smoky aroma and flavor. Very good, nice with the red Burgundy.
Dessert is something that sounds unpromising but is exquisitely good. They called it a peanut butter mousse, but it was much thicker than that implies. It was a great taste, with some great chocolate cookies to add textural contrast. Chris brings out another sherry, this one sweet. (Valdespino "El Candado" from the vaunted Spanish firm of Pedro Ximenes. A brilliant end to an excellent dinner. (I have already forgotten that first course.)
We ended the evening with my almost having to pay for everybody. The word didn't filter in that the restaurant collects (and keeps, 100 percent) the price of the dinner from the patrons, usually on the way in. I should have mentioned this early, but after twenty-two years of doing these dinners and paying that way, I assumed they knew. Neither side asked about it. No big deal. There was still some wine to be drunk while the waiters ran the credit cards.
This dinner persuades me that the new, ninety-five-year-old Broussard's has found its rhythm.
