My millennial doctor niece and her doctor husband are such regulars on The Food Show that they should get billing. They don’t call, but I report on their dining adventures second hand. They are far more gourmet than me, and far richer, so a $1,000 meal for two does not stop them in their tracks. (For the record: Emeril’s tasting menu, wonderful, but not worth $1,000 with one drink apiece. And St. Germain, outstanding, and worth $750 for two, with one drink each. )
Suffice it to say the girl lives the good life. At least my brother is not paying for it anymore, though he did give her quite the sendoff. Her Vanity Fair wedding was in December of ‘24 at The Columns Hotel ( the link for the write up is here:) and that was only my second time I had been there.
The first time was at lunch with friends, but that was before its Michelin days, and before The Columns became the hotspot it is now. My niece’s wedding is the current Columns experience. The wedding food was great.
Just because I was looking for a place to eat outside on a gorgeous day, I stopped in at The Columns Hotel. The front entrance is buzzing with Ubers dropping people off, but I was lucky to park right by the gate.
I was greeted by friendly and helpful young people who couldn’t have been more helpful in explaining the difference in the patio (downstairs where there is more seating,) or the porch. When I arrived there were only a few people on the porch, but while I was there the patio filled up, and I realized these servers get a lot of exercise running up and down these steps which are almost a full flight.
They were kind enough to allow me to sit at a table much too large, but my seat and one other were the only two not in full sun, so it wouldn’t have been desirable anyway. From this vantage point I could really see everything going on, and the place hops.
My server was very nice and really helpful. I was sitting by a nice and hip bar, and even though I didn’t drink anything, I was still very welcome.
The menu at The Columns was not very big, but it was appealing, so much so I had to quibble with myself to decide what to eat. This seemed like the place where the fries would be housecut, and indeed they were. When my suspicions were confirmed, I wanted a burger with these fries. But I’m not really at liberty to only eat what I want, so I searched the menu again, and settled on something called Blistered Chicken. This was intriguing. I ordered the fries as an app, even though fingerling potatoes were part of the dish, and I got creamed spinach as a side. Looking at the menu, I was torn between the glazed carrots and the creamed spinach. The waitress was high on the carrots, which didn’t surprise me because they looked great on the menu. As I expected, the fries looked fantastic. A gigantic pile arrived, and they were French fry perfection. The size was spot on, not shoestring but not thick. Fluffy enough to fold over easily, these were utterly greaseless and golden brown. I was asked if I minded spice, and I was glad that I went with the spice. There was a lot of it, though, so I see why they asked. I asked for an aioli, though I admit I preferred what they served with it, a Dijonnaise sauce for dipping. And ketchup, of course. I ate way too many of these, and didn’t even finish half of this portion.
The entree came while I was still working on these delicious fries. I’ve never seen a chicken dish like this. It was a half chicken and was indeed “blistered,” with a definite black crust on the edges, coated in a sauce that glistened with peppery oil. Fresno peppers made the piri-piri marinade even spicier. Inside the crispy skin was tender chicken cooked to the “sweet spot,” contrasting wonderfully with the crunchy black crust.
Underneath the chicken was a generous layer of roasted potatoes that had been soaked in this oily sauce. That sounds bad, to say that something is soaked in oil. The flavor of this oil and the luscious mouthfeel it created was very pleasing. An absolutely delicious dish. I will think about it long after, and I don’t say that often.
The only thing on the table that I didn’t like was the creamed spinach. That dish is always on the table if it is on a menu. I have had countless versions of this, and this is the first I can say I didn’t care for at all. It was much too loose for creamed spinach, and didn’t seem to have any cream in it. But there was a flavor in it that I can tolerate as a hint, but not where it is the flavor. The menu said garlic and Parmesan but there was definitely Herbsaint or tarragon, or something anise here. I asked about it and the first thing the waitress asked was, “Are you allergic?” I am so tired of that question that was unheard of 15 years ago. I replied that I wasn’t allergic, just curious, because it was a surprise.
She came back from the kitchen with a reply of “No,” but there was no escaping an anise flavor here. Ahe asked if I wanted to have it removed from the bill, and I told her no, but as I was packing up the leftovers I asked her to trade it for the carrots, which I should have gotten. They happily obliged, and the carrots arrived in no time.
This is the side to get here. They are glazed with a dark and interesting sauce featuring Aleppo peppers, and are heavily dusted with sesame seeds. They are tender with a great flavor. Terrific.
Just days later I returned to The Columns to have more of this food. This time I sat down at ground level on the patio. The entire staff was just as welcoming as the time before. I am fascinated by the demographics of the patrons here, eclectic, but united by a single trait: all are hipper than I.
The gumbo caught my eye the last time and I added the French quiche to the order. I have a “texture” thing and a French quiche is always over the line. American quiche has “stuff” in it usually, and cheese of course, because we love our cheese, don’t we? A French cheese is very soft and creamy inside without the “stuff.” To my taste, a French quiche must have a stiff crust for me to offset the custard inside. I was prepared for anything.
The gumbo was sensational. I was highly suspicious of it at first because there was a ton of stuff in it, (which I usually love,) but I couldn’t identify it. After tasting it and recognizing the delicious flavors as familiar, I decided it was maybe the gumbo version of a chopped salad and reveled in its goodness. It was a tad salty, which would be really salty to someone not so found of salt as I, but to me it was great.
The quiche came with a largish salad. It was smaller than a typical American quiche, and it was indeed French. Very creamy on sight, it had nothing to offer but its creamy French custard. There wasn’t a very thick crust, but it was stiff amd a good contrast to the creaminess. It lasted through each bite, which was essential. On top in a pie by the crust was a dollop of bacon jam, enough to give thse of us with texture issues something to hang our teeth onto. This was not an overly sweet bacon jam, but it had enough bits of meat to constitute “stuff,” for thse of us Americans who need such a thing. I liked this very well.
The salad was a typical green accompaniment to a quiche, with a light and tangy vinaigrette.
This streak at The Columns is still running hot for me. I will be returning here time and again, even though my hip creds are non-existent. They don’t seem to mind, so welcoming is this staff.
For a place that held absolutely no interest for me because of my prejudices, it is saying something about them that it’s a new favorite. It says something about me too, but that’s another whole piece. That one is less likely to be written but rest assured it is noted.
