Diary 6|27, 28|2014: Delmonico. Oak Oven.

[title type="h5"]Friday, June 27, 2014. Crabmeat Remick, Pork Chop At Delmonico.[/title] Antoine's sends an invitation to a Christmas In July party for their regulars, industry connections and media weasels. I can't go to the party--it coincides exactly with the radio show--but the note lodged two matters in my mind. The first was about Christmas music, an admittedly strange thought this time of year. But Mel Torme and Bob Wells wrote their famous Christmas Song (chestnuts roasting, etc.) on a hot day in July just to cool off virtually. A certain number of radio guys are thinking about Christmas, too. I am one of them. Every year, WWL Radio plays continuous Christmas music from midday Christmas Eve through Christmas Day. The music is good, but it has that nobody's-at-the-station sound that bugged me even when I was eight years old, but already thinking how cool it would be to be on the radio. I want to talk the powers into letting me host that show. The music would be the same, but between the carols I would tell a story set in New Orleans at Yuletide. My wish is that it would be so charming and interesting that it would become a classic, played every year until radio ceases to exist. But even if that never happens, it would be fun to produce. All be recorded ahead of time, of course (how else to perform for thirty-six hours?), but it would sound live. As if I don't already have enough to do. The other notion triggered by Antoine's note was to go there for dinner tonight. Mary Ann has something else going on, and hasn't told me where she thinks I ought to go. Antoine's is always on my mind on Fridays, a remnant of a habit from my long-ago single years. But it's only a few weeks since my last time, and I couldn't grant myself permission. Instead, I betake myself to another historic restaurant: Delmonico. Under Emeril's ownership the place has been a mixture of classic French-Creole and trendy eats. The current chef Anthony Scania is the best Delmonico food guy since before Katrina, and I like his mix of classic and new food. [caption id="attachment_42916" align="alignnone" width="480"] Crabmeat Remick.[/caption] I begin with the former: crabmeat Remick, a dish I love. It's somewhere between crabmeat au gratin and crabmeat imperial, with a sauce made of mayonnaise, Creole mustard, and chili sauce with a scattering of bacon. When it roasts under the broiler, a little of the bacon fat (drops) percolates through the crabmeat and gives the dish its distinctive flavor. This version is light on the tomato and mustard components, but there's no reason the chef has to follow the old recipe exactly. The finished product is terrific. [caption id="attachment_42917" align="alignnone" width="480"] Guappo salad.[/caption] Next, Guappo salad. "Guappo" is the word from which comes the offensive term "wop," which still can be found in reference to an Italian salad in a few restaurants around New Orleans. (All of them are owned by Italians, for what that's worth. And no, it doesn't mean "without papers.") Delmonico's version is light on the olives and heavy on the tomatoes, Parmigiano Reggiano cheese. A sharp, enjoyable vinaigrette ties it together. [caption id="attachment_42918" align="alignnone" width="480"] Pork chop with red beans at Delmonico.[/caption] The entree is a Berkshire (so what?) pork chop with a Latin American treatment. That starts with a rum-and-Coke glaze, and finishes with red beans and rice made congri-style (mixed up and thick). I like it about halfway through, but I can't say it knocks me out. My experience with pedigreed pork is that the thickness of the chop is attenuated to make it fit into the food-cost scheme decreed by the back office. The best pork chops in town (Muriel's, Rue 127, Baie Rouge) all carry no certificates of bloodline.) The dessert is bread pudding made in muffin tins (bad idea, makes the pudding dry) topped with ice cream of an offbeat flavor (praline? ginger? I forget to write it down). On the other hand, Ron Jones is at the piano, as he has been on weekends for some time at Delmonico. He is largely in a pop and R&B mood tonight, but his range also takes in the American songbook and jazz. He keeps the bar full all night. And the front dining room is well populated, too. Looks and sounds like out-of-town overflow from Emeril's. Fair enough. Service could use some polish. The waiters know what they're talking about, but they sound as if they memorize the lines instead of carrying on a conversation. But that's true of a lot of restaurants these days. [title type="h5"]Delmonico. Garden District & Environs: 1300 St Charles Ave. 504-525-4937. [/title] [divider type=""] [title type="h5"]Saturday, June 28, 2014. Boomers Are Getting Old. First Taste: Oak Oven.[/title] The radio station cluster assembles an annual (this is the second year, so it qualifies) expo of products and services of interest to members of the Baby Boom generation. I am nearly in the exact center of that demo, which makes me at first wonder and then become aghast about what that means. Almost everything here is for people who are getting old. Those bathtubs with the doors that make it easier to get in and out, for example. My first reaction to things like this is to think about getting one. Then Mary Ann reminds me that I am not old yet, unless I see myself that way. My bosses ask me not only to broadcast my Saturday WWL show from Boomers And Beyond, but also to do a cooking demonstration--the last in an all-day parade of chefs. The Pontchartrain Center in Kenner, where all this takes place, doesn't have a particularly good setup for cooking. No oven, for example. I worked around this by doing a cold dish, one whose recipe I am often I'm asked about: guacamole. And I thought of a gimmick. I would grab a bunch of hot sauce from among the 100-plus bottles in my pantry, and make the guacamole with twenty different hot sauces. This would get a response from the audience, I know. But then I'd point out how absurd this is, and how restaurant chefs are always conjuring up such ideas to make their food sound special. But before I can get to any of that, I run into an unexpected problem. After going to four supermarkets, all the avocados I find are so underripe that I can throw them through a plate-glass window. After my last stop--the Winn-Dixie near the Pontchartrain Center--all I had were five usable alligator pears, plus two more that were iffy. That proved to be enough, though, mainly because none of the ripe ones were over the hill. (I always assume that one in four avocados will be partly brown.) To add tension to my cooking demos, I build in a few details I haven't tried before. Today, it was the knife I used to chop the onions, tomatoes, and cilantro. It was the ulu knife I brought back from our last cruise to Alaska. An ulu is a crescent-shape blade whose handle is across the top instead of the end. You rock it back and forth to do the chopping. It worked better than expected. I also learned today how long it takes to open twenty brand-new bottles of hot sauce. I should have removed the plastic capsules at home. When it was done, I had enough guacamole, chips and printed recipes for all fifty of the people there. The biggest part of the crowd by now was in the adjacent auditorium, where was the live music. Quite a few people were interested in what I thought were antique cars, until one of my listeners told me, "Those aren't antiques! Those are hot rods!" I never knew the distinction before. The Marys cross to the South Shore, but not with me. We unite at the Oak Oven in Harahan, which Mary Ann is wild about. She isn't the only one. Almost since the place opened about a year ago, all I hear about the place are touts. Mary Ann talked at length with chef and co-owner Adam Superneau on one of her early visits to Oak Oven. (She doesn't subscribe to my proscription against going to new restaurants.) He told her that he spent two months in Sicily, where he found a way of life that most Americans would think of as primitive. But he came back with a strong sense of what Sicilian cooking is all about. His two partners also have Sicilian heritage. And enough old photographs of their ancestors to cover most of the walls. I know from my callers that Oak Oven is too small to handle the business it attracts, so as soon as I wrap up my duties at the Boomers Expo I head for Harahan. Even though I take the shortest route, I pass within a few blocks of five houses where I grew up, two schools I attended, and my first two places of employment. Oak Oven was almost empty when I arrived, but they weren't officially open yet. The place began quickly to fill up, and I ordered a glass of Pinot Grigio to establish that I wasn't taking up a table for nothing. [caption id="attachment_42920" align="alignnone" width="480"] Antipasto at Oak Oven.[/caption] They didn't recognize me, but when MA arrived they knew her, and quickly figured out who I was. Out came a board of antipasto. Four cheeses, two of them made in house. The leanest slices of pork belly I've ever seen (upper left in the photo). Pickled okra, purple pepper and green beans, all grown in their own garden. [caption id="attachment_42921" align="alignnone" width="480"] Pizza Salsiccia, right out of the oak-fired oven.[/caption] That treat filled the short time between our ordering a pizza Salsiccia and its arrival. The wood-burning oven is made like its counterparts in Naples, running at temperatures so high that it only takes a couple of minutes for the pizza to bake. It's topped with Italian sausage, roasted peppers and onions, and cheese. Charred here and there, the crust is just the way I like it, and not overloaded with the toppings. The three of us polish off the whole pie quickly. [caption id="attachment_42922" align="alignnone" width="480"] Italian chicken soup.[/caption] I have a bowl of the zuppa del giorno--a rustic Italian-style chicken soup with a clear but dark broth. The Marys get grilled chicken on top of a romaine salad and grilled drumfish with crabmeat over pesto pasta. On my plate is veal piccata in a form I haven't encountered (except in Italy) in a long time. The four pieces start off thinly sliced across the grain--a trick most chefs seem to have forgotten. The medallions are further thinned by pounding. The sauce is of olive oil, lemon, and capers. The pasta is a very mild version of aglio olio, seemingly designed for kids who like buttered pasta. But kids are welcome, and there are many who come. [caption id="attachment_42923" align="alignnone" width="480"] Veal piccata.[/caption] [caption id="attachment_42924" align="alignnone" width="480"] Drum with pesto pasta and crabmeat.[/caption] I finish with sorbetto. The girls and I part ways. Homeward bound, I pass yet a sixth house where I once lived, and a church where I sang in the choir for many years. Mary Ann and I went there once early in our marriage, and I learned that being on time for Mass is unimportant to her. Even when we hand Baby Jude back and forth to one another as we stand through the whole ceremony in the back of the church, as we did that day. [title type="h5"]Oak Oven. Harahan: 6625 Jefferson Hwy. 504-305-4039.[/title]