Friday, October 14, 2016.
Crowdy Weather. Checking In At Antoine's.
Mary Ann tells me, with a slightly argumentive tone, that she would not be available to have dinner with me tonight, no matter what. No big deal, since she is planning to take a longer absence starting Tuesday, as she heads out to Los Angeles again to visit our son and his son.
This will leave me at home alone for a week or so. But that is one of the main functions of our marriage at this moment. One of us takes a trip, while the other one takes care of the dogs and cats. That actually works pretty well, at least as far as the animals are concerned.
As far as I'm concerned, the routine allows me to go to restaurants that MA doesn't like. Although she says she's happy to not dine out at all, that feeling obtains only in the first half of the day. When her hunger appears, we're off to the restaurant. And, a few days after that motion has taken us to Chimes or the Acme or Zea or New Orleans Food & Spirits for the umpteenth time, I will get a message from a diary reader wondering why I keep going to the same places when there are so many unreviewed restaurants. I try to explain the dynamic above, but it just rankles. The perfect person to be a restaurant critic is one without any family attachments. I'm lucky in having a wonderful family life, even in its waning years.
So why did I, unencumbered by MA's preferences, go to Antoine's tonight? Because if I hadn't, I would have missed a couple of intriguing pleasures. Walking from the parking lot next to the old Jax brewery to Antoine's, I found the streets and sidewalks jammed with pedestrians and musicians. The musicians are exceptionally good, particularly a string ensemble that has taken up frequent residence on the corner of Royal and St. Louis streets. There's no major festival going on. What are all these people doing here?
[caption id="attachment_52877" align="alignnone" width="480"]
Drumfish florentine at Antoine's.[/caption]
When I enter Antoine's swinging front doors, I see what I expected: a half-full main dining room, and a nearly empty back room. But Charles Carter, my waiter, tells me that this is an illusion, and that Antoine's has 400 guests on the book for tonight. But he has no idea why so many people are on the streets.
My dinner is exceptional. It starts with a generous Sazerac. Soufflee potatoes next, of course. Then a standard order of oysters Foch, which I've not sampled in quite awhile. My long-standing opinion that this is the best dish in the house reaffirms itself, wven though some day the kitchen will reformulate the presentation to add more pate--perhaps duck liver pate--on the slices of toast underneath the oysters and their thick brown sauce. Next time, I'm going to specifically request a lot of pâté.
[caption id="attachment_52879" align="alignleft" width="133"]
Eveline Crozier @ Antoine's.[/caption]Then a small Antoine's salad to refresh my palate and other parts of my system. That kills just enough time for the second-string but effective waiter (Charles is too busy to take me personally tonight) to explain to the cook how I want my puppy drum. It's in the old florentine style, with creamed spinach at the bottom, the fish atop that, and a bit of bearnaise across the top. Whoever assembled this did an exceptional job, getting rid of the old steel gratin dish in which this has long been served and replacing it with a standard plate. There the bearnaise has been glazed--a great touch in both looks and flavor.
I shouldn't have succumbed to the pleasure of pêche Melba, with its fresh peaches, raspberry sauce, and ice cream, plus the historic connection with Dame Nellie Melba, an opera soprano with whom every civilized man in the world during the late 1800s and early 1900s was in love. (Antoine's has many references to people from a century ago on its menu.)
As I'm indulging in this dessert, I see a woman walking toward me with a smile on her face. It takes me a few seconds for my brain to move from I Know Her, But Who Is She? to Look At Her! It's Eveline Crozier, who with her late husband Gerard operated Crozier's in New Orleans East and Metairie for decades. I haven't seen her since Gerard's funerary services some five or six years ago. She and Gerard had moved to Nashville, and I gather that she still does live there. But she has many friends here, and one of them is having a birthday. The table of celebrants is long and very full, so nobody suggests that I join them. Eveline is still her smiling, stylish self, and it's wonderful to encounter her here tonight.
My dinner at Antoine's becomes, with that, everything I wanted tonight. I'm a lonely guy who at least has a place to go that makes me happy. As Antoine's always does.
I walk along the old Choctaw trail through the Royal Orleans Hotel, stopping when I hear the pianist playing something like "Street Of Dream." I join him sotto voce. He remembers who I am (I don't think we've ever met), and I hang around and listen to him play with a complex, gentle hand.
I still don't know where all those people lining the streets came from.
Antoine's. French Quarter: 713 St Louis. 504-581-4422.
