Wednesday, February 24, 2016.
A Beautiful Normal Day. Galatoire's.
I drive in beneath what I consider to be the prettiest of skies: puffy little clouds, each spaced equidistant from all those around it, the blue and the sunshine pouring through.
Mary Ann also drives in for some business, and plans to have dinner with me. I suggest the Upperline. MA nixes that--too liberal, probably. She suggests Shaya. Sounds good, I say, and I ask her to make the reservation. But she changes her mind. "How about one of the grand dames?" She knows she will always get me with Antoine's, Arnaud's, Galatoire's, or Broussard's. I know that when I hear this suggestion and it's not my birthday, there is an ulterior motive in her mind. But I take the risk and note that we haven't dined at Galatoire's in a long time. If we can't get a front-room table, we'll just go to Arnaud's instead.
We arrive at Gal's early enough that we not only get a table, but it's a four-top for the two of us. The maitre d' asks whether I have a preference for a waiter. I ask for Imre, but he's off tonight. Then, I say, just give me a trainee.
A young woman named Alicia comes over. She said that the maitre d' went into the kitchen and said, "Does anybody want to take care of Tom Fitzmorris?"
Alicia said she would, because she not only knows me but because she's been to several Eat Club dinners. I never thought we'd ever see this flavor of intersection between Galatoire's and the Eat Club--but wait a minute. Arnold Chabaud, who has managed Galatoire's dining room for decades, has joined the Eat Club many times.
Alicia is my kind of server. I joke around with her, and she jokes around with me, while Mary Ann tells me I'm wasting her time with my foolishness.
Alicia also knows what's going on in the kitchen--a critically important skill at this restaurant. She begins with the alarming news that there is no crabmeat. None. A mixture of the heavy rains lately and the opening the Spillway has made the water in Lake Pontchartrain turbid, which makes crabs hide from the nets. It also leaves a big gap in Galatoire's menu.
But not for me. I love crabmeat, but it's thrown around too liberally. When something delicious becomes ordinary, that's bad.
[caption id="attachment_50781" align="alignnone" width="480"]
Oysters en brochette at Galatoire's, [/caption]
We have oysters en brochette and shrimp remoulade, two foolproof dishes at Galatoire's. But the brochette has changed since last I had them. The bacon is wrapped around the oysters, and the oysters are undercooked--a hard thing to do. There is no crispness here.
Mary Ann chokes on the remoulade. I write this off to her legendary ickiness. But when I taste them I find what she does: way too much horseradish, blasting up the back of one's nose, and making the dish far too sharp. She eats three, and at her insistence I finish the rest. (I am largely immune to horseradish, Chinese Mustard, and wasabi.)
I have turtle soup, which is fine. MA has an order of brabant potatoes, and declares that she has had enough to eat. After all, we went through a whole loaf of garlic bread, too. We have not yet ordered entrees, so she manages to arrest her eating before any serious damage is done to her diet.
[caption id="attachment_50780" align="alignnone" width="480"]
Pompano meuniere at Galatoire's. [/caption]
I do have an entree, though. Basic grilled pompano, always welcome. The fillet is a little smaller than optimal, and when it comes to pompano larger is better. But I'm happy enough with this and my glass of Trefethen Chardonnay. I am very surprised to learn that Galatoire's new sommelier has yanked Beaulieu Vineyards from the wine list. BV and Galatoire's was a very long-running duet. Indeed, here's what my late mentor Richard Collin said about that in his landmark restaurant guide
The New Orleans Underground Gourmet in 1970:
"I have gotten so used to having the B.V. Chablis at Galatoire's I think I might even choose it over a Montrachet, although it is highly unlikely that I will ever have that choice."
Alicia tells me that she just learned it's my birthday. Well, yes and no. It's always my birthday at Galatoire's, whether it's February 6 or not. I don't want the free pen they give to birthday boys and girls. What I'm really after is the caramel custard with a candle in it. I'm pretty sure they're onto me, but they let it go as another eccentricity among their customers. Almost everybody in the room takes part in singing to me. Mary Ann shakes her head as she watches me grin ear to ear.
The birthday song brought a number of people over to our table. Among them is Ronnie Grieshaber, a classmate of mine at Rummel. I think this was the first time I've seen him since graduation day. He was one of many Raiders who warmly welcomed this Jesuit dropout when I joined the senior class of 1968.
Mary Ann has complicated rules about where she will park. Today, she insists on the Ritz-Carlton. Their deal is free parking if you dine in the restaurant or have a drink in the bar. After we leave Galatoire's, we go to the Davenport Lounge--named for the jazz musician Jeremy Davenport, not the piece of furniture. Davenport plays in the space adjacent to the Ritz-Carlton's main restaurant, and attracts a pretty good crowd every night. Jeremy is taking the day off, but his band--featuring an exceptionally fine saxophonist--plays on.
[caption id="attachment_50779" align="alignnone" width="480"]
In the Davenport Lounge at the Ritz-Carlton. [/caption]
I have a citrusy, gin-based cocktail as we listen to the music and do the math. Parking in the hotel is $20. The drink, which gets us free parking, is $17, including tax and tip. So we save three dollars, and enjoy the band for some forty minutes. I guess that's a decent deal. Mary Ann suspends her dislike of music to make it all balance out.
Galatoire's. French Quarter: 209 Bourbon. 504-525-2021.
Oysters en brochette at Galatoire's, [/caption]
We have oysters en brochette and shrimp remoulade, two foolproof dishes at Galatoire's. But the brochette has changed since last I had them. The bacon is wrapped around the oysters, and the oysters are undercooked--a hard thing to do. There is no crispness here.
Mary Ann chokes on the remoulade. I write this off to her legendary ickiness. But when I taste them I find what she does: way too much horseradish, blasting up the back of one's nose, and making the dish far too sharp. She eats three, and at her insistence I finish the rest. (I am largely immune to horseradish, Chinese Mustard, and wasabi.)
I have turtle soup, which is fine. MA has an order of brabant potatoes, and declares that she has had enough to eat. After all, we went through a whole loaf of garlic bread, too. We have not yet ordered entrees, so she manages to arrest her eating before any serious damage is done to her diet.
[caption id="attachment_50780" align="alignnone" width="480"]
Pompano meuniere at Galatoire's. [/caption]
I do have an entree, though. Basic grilled pompano, always welcome. The fillet is a little smaller than optimal, and when it comes to pompano larger is better. But I'm happy enough with this and my glass of Trefethen Chardonnay. I am very surprised to learn that Galatoire's new sommelier has yanked Beaulieu Vineyards from the wine list. BV and Galatoire's was a very long-running duet. Indeed, here's what my late mentor Richard Collin said about that in his landmark restaurant guide The New Orleans Underground Gourmet in 1970:
"I have gotten so used to having the B.V. Chablis at Galatoire's I think I might even choose it over a Montrachet, although it is highly unlikely that I will ever have that choice."
Alicia tells me that she just learned it's my birthday. Well, yes and no. It's always my birthday at Galatoire's, whether it's February 6 or not. I don't want the free pen they give to birthday boys and girls. What I'm really after is the caramel custard with a candle in it. I'm pretty sure they're onto me, but they let it go as another eccentricity among their customers. Almost everybody in the room takes part in singing to me. Mary Ann shakes her head as she watches me grin ear to ear.
The birthday song brought a number of people over to our table. Among them is Ronnie Grieshaber, a classmate of mine at Rummel. I think this was the first time I've seen him since graduation day. He was one of many Raiders who warmly welcomed this Jesuit dropout when I joined the senior class of 1968.
Mary Ann has complicated rules about where she will park. Today, she insists on the Ritz-Carlton. Their deal is free parking if you dine in the restaurant or have a drink in the bar. After we leave Galatoire's, we go to the Davenport Lounge--named for the jazz musician Jeremy Davenport, not the piece of furniture. Davenport plays in the space adjacent to the Ritz-Carlton's main restaurant, and attracts a pretty good crowd every night. Jeremy is taking the day off, but his band--featuring an exceptionally fine saxophonist--plays on.
[caption id="attachment_50779" align="alignnone" width="480"]
In the Davenport Lounge at the Ritz-Carlton. [/caption]
I have a citrusy, gin-based cocktail as we listen to the music and do the math. Parking in the hotel is $20. The drink, which gets us free parking, is $17, including tax and tip. So we save three dollars, and enjoy the band for some forty minutes. I guess that's a decent deal. Mary Ann suspends her dislike of music to make it all balance out.
