Thursday, October 22, 2015.
Trying Out Shaya.
It's a frenetic day, with a few minor crises (involving expensive car repairs) mixing in with the heart pang that grew out of the Twinnery Massacree. Mary Ann and I awaken early in the morning and have a long conversation about what it meant, what's next, and how to. No big answers emerge, but we feel a little better. We both have the feeling that Twinnery died so he could bless us somehow. (It's working, Buddy.)
One more item on that score: no other subject I have ever written about has drawn the number and warmth of messages from readers about Twinnery. We're up to almost a hundred.
The Chrysler 200 that Rainbow Chrysler has vouchsafed to me while they keep working on my PT Cruiser (it will be three weeks tomorrow) is, I'm convinced, the same car as the PT Cruiser, but with a wider and longer body. It's not my kind of car--way too conventional. But I've liked driving it, except for having to find bigger spaces in the parking garage than I am accustomed to.
[caption id="attachment_49332" align="alignnone" width="480"]
Back wall in Shaya's dining room.[/caption]
Mary Ann and I meet for lunch at Shaya. It's my first time here, because I've waited until the early-months euphoria over the place. I decide that the time has come, knowing that Esquire has just designated Shaya as the best new restaurant in America. As much as I like John Besh, Alon Shaya, and Esquire, this strikes me as an unlikely choice. Personally, I wouldn't say that Shaya is the best new restaurant on Magazine Street, let alone America.
But a lot of new restaurants have opened around New Orleans in the past year. Shaya's appeal (particularly to the Esquire writer who explained the choice) is that of the excellent ethnic restaurant. From my way of thinking--especially considering the emphasis placed on locally-grown foodstuffs cooked in methods from the local culinary culture--when one of New Orleans's restaurants is so highlit, it ought to be a distinctly Louisiana kind of place. Or is localism just another fad?
It never will be that for me.
[caption id="attachment_49330" align="alignnone" width="480"]
Hummus with lamb ragout.[/caption]
On the other hand, there is no way I could possibly gainsay the goodness of Shaya's food. I expected polished versions of familiar flavors, along the lines of what Alon Shaya created at Dominica, and what Besh had a hand in everywhere. But this is even more creative than that. The hummus, for example, currently comes in some five varieties. I can hardly imagine that the ragu of lamb inside a ring of smooth, well-made, classic hummus dip could possibly be more interesting. It has elements of bolognese sauce, or perhaps of South American picadillo. Whatever you call it, and whether you scoop it up with the puffy, house-made pita bread or a fork, this stuff engages the palate strongly. The flavors are so big that you can't eat a lot of it--a good thing, if you ask me.
[caption id="attachment_49331" align="alignnone" width="480"]
Shaya's fries.[/caption]
That was the centerpiece of our lunch, but not MA's favorite item. That honor goes to (hold onto something, here comes my wife) the French fries. Nothing Israeli about that. They are crisp, freshly cut, and irresistible. Covered with salt and herbs, the potato sticks seem to have been dipped in something to hold on to that coating. If you were to say that these are the finest fries in New Orleans, I would't argue with you. Mary Ann has dubbed them hers.
[caption id="attachment_49328" align="alignnone" width="480"]
Shipka peppers.[/caption]
We have some mild yellow peppers called "shipka," their insides scraped out and the cavity filled with a thick, tangy white sauce with goat cheese. That's all cold; so are most of the other items in the large selection of tapas-like appetizers for the table. This strikes me as a good deal at $15 for three items, $23 for five. We have an Israeli salad (by the way, Alon Shaya is an Israel native) of crunchy vegetables and za-atar seasonings.
We try six items total. Perhaps it's because we are here for lunch, this seems to be about a third of the menu, but the variety is wide.
[caption id="attachment_49326" align="alignnone" width="480"]
Custard with cherries and crunchy scattered crust.[/caption]
I finish up with a variation of custard with cherries and a thick sauce of that fruit. Pretty, delicious, and generous enough for two people to divide. The only failure is the espresso. It's only two dollars, but doesn't capture the essence. (This is normal in America, where we just can't seem to equal the espresso we find everywhere in Italy, no matter how much intensity and money we throw at the project.)
I have been hearing that Shaya is a constantly-packed house. It certainly wasn't when we arrived at about noon. By the time we leave, few seats and no tables are available inside or outside.
After dinner, I head home. I'm feeling out of sorts--something that often happens the day after an Eat Club event. It's caused today by the heart-to-heart MA and I had this morning at around five. But I get a good nap and the show sounds better than if I had just forced it through the daily routine.
Shaya. Uptown: 4213 Magazine St. 504-891-4213.
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Friday, October 23, 2015.
Enjoying A Solo At Pascal's Manale.
Hallelujah! My car is ready, three weeks to the minute since I brought it in. I can shift gears again, drive without anointing the city's streets with motor oil every time I get it changed, and spray my windshield to get rid of the millions of bugs traveling against me on the Causeway. Only $1600. That's only three hundred less than I paid for my first new car. But that was 1968.
Mary Ann is making a strong appeal that I should not expect her to be my dining companion nearly as often as she has during the first twenty-seven years we're married. If I were looking for the silver lining in this, it's that I am freer to attend restaurants that I love but she doesn't. She's not a fan, generally, of the hundred-year-plus restaurants, which I love.
Tonight I go to Pascal's Manale, which I consider about a dozen times for every instance of my actually dining there. Four to six times a year is about right. Not just because I have so many other restaurants to try, but because if I ate at Manale's more often than that, I'd get tired of it, and I wouldn't want to be jaded about food that I very much enjoy.
I begin out in the parking lot, where a young woman in a chef's jacket stops to talk to me for a few minutes. We talk about our favorite fish. She tells me that there are soft shell crabs tonight, but not many. Later, the man sitting at the next table fails to get the soft-shells, because someone else beat him two it.
[caption id="attachment_45482" align="alignnone" width="480"]
Manale's oysters Bienville (the three on the left) and Rockefeller (front right).[/caption]
I begin most meals at Manale's with oysters. Raw on the half shell, shucked by Thomas, one of the best oystermen in the business. Or a mixed half-dozen Rockefeller and Bienville. Both of these are made in an old style, the sauce thick with a light roux.
Not everybody likes this, but I love them.
[caption id="attachment_49325" align="alignnone" width="480"]
Tournedos with bearnaise at Pascal's Manale.[/caption]
On an ordinary night, I would have gone after a fish. But--as I tell everyone to whom I recommend Manale's--they have very good steaks here. The waiter notes a specialty of two tournedos with bearnaise and fried eggplant below each of the steak pucks. This is even better than I imagine it to be. The bearnaise is not only rich, buttery, and mellow with tarragon, but noticeably spicy with cayenne. Great, great, great. I will go to my online review and mention that this dish should be ordered anytime it's on offer.
The waiter tosses a custom-made Manale salad especially for me, then forgets to bring it out. I tell him that I am half French, and therefore can have a salad after or with the entree without breaking any classic dining rules.
Caramel custard for dessert. Another very good version of that, second one in two weeks.
It feels good driving home in my own car again. I hope I can keep it running for a year and a half. It's the perfect car (other than a 1960 VW Beetle with a sunroof, but where would I find that?) for marking the fiftieth anniversary of the Jesuit Junior-Senior Prom, the night I became a man (but not for the reason you're thinking).
Pascal's Manale. Uptown: 1838 Napoleon Ave. 504-895-4877.
Back wall in Shaya's dining room.[/caption]
Mary Ann and I meet for lunch at Shaya. It's my first time here, because I've waited until the early-months euphoria over the place. I decide that the time has come, knowing that Esquire has just designated Shaya as the best new restaurant in America. As much as I like John Besh, Alon Shaya, and Esquire, this strikes me as an unlikely choice. Personally, I wouldn't say that Shaya is the best new restaurant on Magazine Street, let alone America.
But a lot of new restaurants have opened around New Orleans in the past year. Shaya's appeal (particularly to the Esquire writer who explained the choice) is that of the excellent ethnic restaurant. From my way of thinking--especially considering the emphasis placed on locally-grown foodstuffs cooked in methods from the local culinary culture--when one of New Orleans's restaurants is so highlit, it ought to be a distinctly Louisiana kind of place. Or is localism just another fad?
It never will be that for me.
[caption id="attachment_49330" align="alignnone" width="480"]
Hummus with lamb ragout.[/caption]
On the other hand, there is no way I could possibly gainsay the goodness of Shaya's food. I expected polished versions of familiar flavors, along the lines of what Alon Shaya created at Dominica, and what Besh had a hand in everywhere. But this is even more creative than that. The hummus, for example, currently comes in some five varieties. I can hardly imagine that the ragu of lamb inside a ring of smooth, well-made, classic hummus dip could possibly be more interesting. It has elements of bolognese sauce, or perhaps of South American picadillo. Whatever you call it, and whether you scoop it up with the puffy, house-made pita bread or a fork, this stuff engages the palate strongly. The flavors are so big that you can't eat a lot of it--a good thing, if you ask me.
[caption id="attachment_49331" align="alignnone" width="480"]
Shaya's fries.[/caption]
That was the centerpiece of our lunch, but not MA's favorite item. That honor goes to (hold onto something, here comes my wife) the French fries. Nothing Israeli about that. They are crisp, freshly cut, and irresistible. Covered with salt and herbs, the potato sticks seem to have been dipped in something to hold on to that coating. If you were to say that these are the finest fries in New Orleans, I would't argue with you. Mary Ann has dubbed them hers.
[caption id="attachment_49328" align="alignnone" width="480"]
Shipka peppers.[/caption]
We have some mild yellow peppers called "shipka," their insides scraped out and the cavity filled with a thick, tangy white sauce with goat cheese. That's all cold; so are most of the other items in the large selection of tapas-like appetizers for the table. This strikes me as a good deal at $15 for three items, $23 for five. We have an Israeli salad (by the way, Alon Shaya is an Israel native) of crunchy vegetables and za-atar seasonings.
We try six items total. Perhaps it's because we are here for lunch, this seems to be about a third of the menu, but the variety is wide.
[caption id="attachment_49326" align="alignnone" width="480"]
Custard with cherries and crunchy scattered crust.[/caption]
I finish up with a variation of custard with cherries and a thick sauce of that fruit. Pretty, delicious, and generous enough for two people to divide. The only failure is the espresso. It's only two dollars, but doesn't capture the essence. (This is normal in America, where we just can't seem to equal the espresso we find everywhere in Italy, no matter how much intensity and money we throw at the project.)
I have been hearing that Shaya is a constantly-packed house. It certainly wasn't when we arrived at about noon. By the time we leave, few seats and no tables are available inside or outside.
After dinner, I head home. I'm feeling out of sorts--something that often happens the day after an Eat Club event. It's caused today by the heart-to-heart MA and I had this morning at around five. But I get a good nap and the show sounds better than if I had just forced it through the daily routine.
Manale's oysters Bienville (the three on the left) and Rockefeller (front right).[/caption]
I begin most meals at Manale's with oysters. Raw on the half shell, shucked by Thomas, one of the best oystermen in the business. Or a mixed half-dozen Rockefeller and Bienville. Both of these are made in an old style, the sauce thick with a light roux.
Not everybody likes this, but I love them.
[caption id="attachment_49325" align="alignnone" width="480"]
Tournedos with bearnaise at Pascal's Manale.[/caption]
On an ordinary night, I would have gone after a fish. But--as I tell everyone to whom I recommend Manale's--they have very good steaks here. The waiter notes a specialty of two tournedos with bearnaise and fried eggplant below each of the steak pucks. This is even better than I imagine it to be. The bearnaise is not only rich, buttery, and mellow with tarragon, but noticeably spicy with cayenne. Great, great, great. I will go to my online review and mention that this dish should be ordered anytime it's on offer.
The waiter tosses a custom-made Manale salad especially for me, then forgets to bring it out. I tell him that I am half French, and therefore can have a salad after or with the entree without breaking any classic dining rules.
Caramel custard for dessert. Another very good version of that, second one in two weeks.
It feels good driving home in my own car again. I hope I can keep it running for a year and a half. It's the perfect car (other than a 1960 VW Beetle with a sunroof, but where would I find that?) for marking the fiftieth anniversary of the Jesuit Junior-Senior Prom, the night I became a man (but not for the reason you're thinking).
