Thursday, December 9, 2015.
Boulevard, Nee Houston's. Frankie & Johnny's. Blam!
As insistent as I am that it's a bad idea to dine in a newly-opened restaurant, Mary Ann has a good time traducing that idea, often being the first customer through the door. Too many other enthusiasts were in front of her to pull that off at Boulevard, but she was there within days of its opening. Bouleverd American Bistro is the reborn Houston's in Metairie, taken over by Creole Cuisine--the restaurant group that reopened Broussard's, created Kingfish and renovated Maspero's. All of its restaurants so far have been in the French Quarter.
Mary Ann is a big fan of Houston's. Boulevard isn't the same restaurant as that national chain, although the two places have a lot in common. For starters, the new guys didn't do much to the dining room or the style of the menu. The manager is a Houston's alumnus. The Creole Cuisine guys correctly surmise that the many people who were surprised by Houston's closing would be happy to find that gap refilled.
And so Mary Ann and friends (she was being treated to lunch as her 2015 birthday festival moves into Day Five) begin with spinach-artichoke dip that she says is was identical to Houston's. Chicken salads and seared rare tuna salads, also just what they were hoping for. With the salad hunger salved, MA now plans to get the club sandwich next time.
All the tables are full, and waiting-list people stand in line. The Earth remains in its gyre.
My radio show is extraordinarily busy. My only clue as to why is that I had nineteen live commercials to squeeze into the three hours. Or perhaps it could be the subject matter: today is the Annual Fruit Cake Controversy. Our listener poll came in with likers of that holiday specialty topping those who hate it--but not by much.
We were able to learn that Baker Maid fruitcakes--the pre-sliced and individually wrapped kind with a painting of St. Louis Cathedral on the top of the can--are selling for between $13 and $18. Dillard's is on the high side, but has more varieties.
A caller wanted to know whether an unsliced version of their Creole Royale fruitcake is available. The answer is no.
[caption id="attachment_48760" align="alignnone" width="480"]
Frankie & Johnny's outside.[/caption]
To dinner at Frankie & Johnny's. Squeezing through the door simultaneously with me are Tommy and Sandy Zander, friends and frequent Eat Clubbers. (When he calls the radio show, as he does often, Tommy is "The Gourmet Retired 747 Captain.") They are with friends whose personal histories are so rich I'm not even going to begin telling their story.
There is a good bit of sharing at our table. We begin with oyster toast, sort of a take on oysters Rockefeller, with puff pastry where the shells would ordinarily be. Then we down two dozen raw oysters. They are the best I've had in many months. Big, plump, and oyster-licious.
[caption id="attachment_48758" align="alignnone" width="480"]
Oyster toast at Frankie & Johnny's.[/caption]
Then we have red beans and rice with hot sausage (a bit too thick, I'd say), a meatball poor boy with no red gravy (which is the way it was ordered, although the but lettuce, tomatoes, and mayo had been ordered against). I have a roast beef poor boy, very easy on the gravy. As always here and elsewhere, there is so much gravy that not even the first bite could be taken without the bread's disintegration. The beef is cooked down to the debris degree. Tasted good, but needs to be eaten with a knife and fork.
The onion rings are hot and crisp but too thick for me. (Ring thickness is a matter of personal taste.) Three slices of pecan pie come for dessert. They are compared with the Camellia Grill's in its heyday--a match that can only go one way.
We dine in a room I had forgotten was there, all the way in the back. It's soon to be renovated, they say. A fine New Orleans supper for us five New Orleans people.
There are too many candidates for a definitive statement, but I believe that the stretch of Magazine Street beginning at Nashville Avenue then continuing on Leake Avenue to the Orleans Parish line is the place most likely to blow out a tire when you slam into any of the many sharp-rimmed street craters. They are utterly invisible at night. I hit one so hard that I pulled over to see whether I can make it across the Causeway. I do.
Boulevard American Bistro. Metairie: 4241 Veterans Blvd. 504-889-2301.
Frankie & Johnny's. Uptown: 321 Arabella St. 504-243-1234.
Frankie & Johnny's outside.[/caption]
To dinner at Frankie & Johnny's. Squeezing through the door simultaneously with me are Tommy and Sandy Zander, friends and frequent Eat Clubbers. (When he calls the radio show, as he does often, Tommy is "The Gourmet Retired 747 Captain.") They are with friends whose personal histories are so rich I'm not even going to begin telling their story.
There is a good bit of sharing at our table. We begin with oyster toast, sort of a take on oysters Rockefeller, with puff pastry where the shells would ordinarily be. Then we down two dozen raw oysters. They are the best I've had in many months. Big, plump, and oyster-licious.
[caption id="attachment_48758" align="alignnone" width="480"]
Oyster toast at Frankie & Johnny's.[/caption]
Then we have red beans and rice with hot sausage (a bit too thick, I'd say), a meatball poor boy with no red gravy (which is the way it was ordered, although the but lettuce, tomatoes, and mayo had been ordered against). I have a roast beef poor boy, very easy on the gravy. As always here and elsewhere, there is so much gravy that not even the first bite could be taken without the bread's disintegration. The beef is cooked down to the debris degree. Tasted good, but needs to be eaten with a knife and fork.
The onion rings are hot and crisp but too thick for me. (Ring thickness is a matter of personal taste.) Three slices of pecan pie come for dessert. They are compared with the Camellia Grill's in its heyday--a match that can only go one way.
We dine in a room I had forgotten was there, all the way in the back. It's soon to be renovated, they say. A fine New Orleans supper for us five New Orleans people.
There are too many candidates for a definitive statement, but I believe that the stretch of Magazine Street beginning at Nashville Avenue then continuing on Leake Avenue to the Orleans Parish line is the place most likely to blow out a tire when you slam into any of the many sharp-rimmed street craters. They are utterly invisible at night. I hit one so hard that I pulled over to see whether I can make it across the Causeway. I do.
