Friday, November 4, 2016.
Speaking And Singing For My Supper.
I get a dozen or so requests to speak before groups that range from clubs like Rotary to business meetings from out of town whose organizers want something light in their programs. I deliver a mix of anecdotes and advice on how to get the most out of eating around New Orleans.
I begin these presentations with three stories I have used for this purpose for over forty years. They get the biggest laughs of the evening. I ask if anyone in the audience has heard them before. Nobody ever has, unless Mary Ann is in the room. She claims that she can finish all my sentences, so well does she know what I am thinking.
The group I address today is high caliber. A lady who looks to be about thirty-eight is celebrating her fiftieth birthday. Her gift is to be with forty friends from all over the country for a few days of enjoying New Orleans. They have done this in good style. I don't know what the whole agenda is, but tonight it begins with a cocktail party in that handsome, masculine private bar on the third floor lobby of the Ritz-Carlton Hotel. This is where I deliver myself of my talk. After the Three Stories comes a short Katrina tale, then a report on New Orleans food in general.
In it, I introduce the concept of Theoretical Cuisine. This is what you get when you go to a classy restaurant for a dinner of ingredients you've never had before, prepared in ways you've never imagined. Another aspect of Theoretical Cuisine is that it doesn't always satisfy one's appetite for, you know, like. . . eating.
My part of the program complete, the group walks the seven blocks from the Ritz to the restaurant where dinner will be served. It was chosen well: Restaurant August. The party room is on the third floor--the very same place where my son Jude had his wedding reception two years ago. That was a spectacular evening of food, drink, and music, and it was again tonight, in a more formal way. Six tables each had an an empty chair for me, so I could move from table to table all night--just like I do with the Eat Club dinners.
The wines were certainly a strong start: Pouilly Fuisse for the white, Chateauneuf du Pape for the red. These two were chosen by sommelier and friend Erin White, who has been part of the New Orleans wine scene for at least thirty years.
I imagine that some of the people attending this dinner made a connection between Restaurant August's menu and my Theoretical Cuisine. I didn't mean that to happen, if it did; I find August quite satisfying, and few of the people I spoke with were any more puzzled than I was.
Example: the first course was smoked swordfish with a crudo quality. Among three kinds of citrus and other tropical fruits in the recipe, one was "finger limes." New to me. These look like little elongated spools, with juice and oils at the highest imaginable level of acidity and astringency. The persimmons lower the sharpness.
Second course: Roasted garlic tortelli pasta, with pink-eye peas (not contagious). Now grilled octopus with roasted tomatoes, chiles and green beans, with some brilliant, crispy farro grains. Cooked then fried, the chef told me.
By this point I learn that most of the guests are in one way or another in the financial business. But they all seem to have curiosity about my occupation, and how a radio show about nothing but food three hours a day six days a week could possibly be viable.
Round four: roasted duck breast glazed with sugar and spices, peaches and seared foie gras. Ah, I knew that last item would be coming. Foie gras is rarely absent from August's larder. In somewhat the same vein, we now have roasted lamb loin and shoulder with, for the third time tonight, a kind of pasta. The Chateauneuf du Pape bottles get a good workout in this course.
The Joe Simon five-piece band plays at perfect tolerable level all evening long. One of the members knows me and I him, and that connection winds up with my taking the microphone and delivering "Laura," into which the band had already launched. That's one of my favorite songs. The birthday girl was at least little impressed.
I don't remember getting dessert--too many good conversations going on. But it's a dirt cake, a refugee from Halloween. Chocolate pudding and coconut sorbet, among other things.
The dinner has no slack spots, and persists until after midnight for a very happy group. The hubby of the celebrant brushes past me with something in his hand. My price is whatever the buyer thinks it's worth. Further evidence that I can get away with performing in public.
Restaurant August. CBD: 301 Tchoupitoulas. 504-299-9777.
