[title type="h5"]Wednesday, July 16, 2014.
Jude Day. R'Evolution.
[/title]
It's not only Jude's twenty-fifth birthday, but if all goes well with his wedding plans in December, this will be his last birthday as a single man. Mary Ann is keenly aware of this. The birth date of a mother's child--particularly the first one, as Jude was--is remembered by the mother far more vividly than by the child or anybody else. She owns the franchise on that celebration, but only until the child gets married. Then she must share. This is not an idea MA finds appealing.
Jude's fiancee doesn't show up here until tomorrow, at which time they will check out the two finalists in the wedding reception derby. And whether the Yat Pack will perform there.
This means that Mary Ann will have what she considered the ultimate family gathering. Just the four of us: mother, father, son, daughter. Even The Boy has been left behind for this ultimate Jude Day.
The venue chosen is Restaurant R'Evolution, the collaboration of chefs John Folse and Rick Tramonto in the Royal Sonesta Hotel. This is the most spectacular restaurant to open locally in many years, perhaps even decades. The environment is superb, and even though the menu is peculiar, one is likely to leave the place feeling good about every aspect of the dinner. With the possible exception of the monetary investment involved. Which--now that the old Brennan's is gone--is near or at the top of the chart.
The table chosen by the Marys is a booth. That wouldn't have been my pick. A little too casual for a place like this, and denuded of tablecloths. Also, the sun is in my eyes, a problem that solves itself soon enough. I keep my mouth shut about all this.
The reason we have this table is that R'Evolution is pretty near full. That's quite an accomplishment for a Wednesday in July. Maybe these are people in town for the Tales of the Cocktail, which has evolved from a typical New Orleans festival into a major spirits industry event. A lot of big dollars come in for the T of C now.
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Soup amuse-bouche at R'Evolution.[/caption]
Our foursome has trouble figuring out what to order. Even though the thick green soup served in a Chinese ceramic spoon causes us to raise our sights, that effect doesn't last long. The steakhouse aspect of R'Evolution (they have every cut, many of them USDA Prime and dry-aged) serves as the easy out for the non-gourmets. The twenty-somethings each order filets, and the problem is solved. Mary Ann will order only a couple of sides, and pick off others' plates, the way she usually does. Why do we have to come to a place like this to order food like that? "You don't get it," says MA. "We like the place! It's not all about food! Like you think!" The kids refrain from entering this long-running battle of perspectives.
I get a glass of wine and the others drink iced tea. With two orders of fries. They are very good fries, it has to be said, served with both an aioli and spicy ketchup. We smile when the latter is mentioned. One item of our family lore is the day when, at Middendorf's, Mary Leigh created spicy ketchup by stirring Tabasco into the little cup of the thick, sweet red stuff. There was no such product on the market then. We consider this evidence of ML's genius. She was only five or six at the time. Remembering things like this when it's only the four of us warms MA's heart.
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Turtle soup.[/caption]
First course is soup. Seafood gumbo for Jude, turtle soup (excellent) for me, and "Death by Gumbo" for ML. A dark-roux Cajun gumbo served with a whole stuffed quail, this is the most talked-about dish at R'Evolution. This is the third time I've tried it, and I think it's fair for me to say now that it leaves me cold. None of The Four Of Us likes it, either. Besides that, this is a dish that Chef Chris Kerageorgiou was making at La Provence decades ago, and doing a better job with it.
[caption id="attachment_43141" align="alignnone" width="480"]
Trio of seafood, with the smear-sauce technique in strong evidence,[/caption]
I have an appetizer: the seafood trio, involving three cold mounds of shrimp, lobster, and crab claws. It is decorated with the smeared-sauce technique they seem to like here (not a design for the ages), and it tastes much better than it sounds or looks. A lot of the food at R'Evolution is that way. (Not Death by Gumbo, which is the other way around.)
And here are the filets. They look and taste perfect. Jude's came with marchand de vin sauce, to his special order. (You still can't get bearnaise unless you want lobster in it, a fact I find puzzling for such an ambitious, capable kitchen.)
[caption id="attachment_43143" align="alignnone" width="480"]
Cobia piperade.[/caption]
My entree is a piperade of cobia (a.k.a. lemonfish). Piperade is a Basque dish that's nearly identical to some New Orleans Creole dishes, with its chunky sauce of onions, peppers, and tomatoes. The fish is right off the grill and very good, the browning-red sauce making an understatement.
Meanwhile, Mary Ann is conducting a survey of Brussels sprouts, potato au gratin, and dirty rice. We decide that it has been a lovely dinner, tell the waitress we are not having dessert because Mary Leigh has baked something special for Jude's birthday, and it's waiting for us at home.
Everybody's happy as we close out the feast by having a picture taken of the sacred Four Of Us. The check comes to an even $300 including tip. That's less than I expected.
[title type="h5"]R'evolution. French Quarter: 777 Bienville (in the Royal Sonesta Hotel). 504-553-2277.
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Thursday, July 17, 2014.
The Restaurant Of My Life. The Yat Pack.[/title]
The Amazing Henna Head (I'm trying to come up with a nickname for Jude's fiancee, but nobody likes that one but me) is having trouble getting a flight into New Orleans from Los Angeles. It's those damned buddy passes again.
Those in residence at the Cool Water Ranch (The Boy, after cheerfully allowing The Four Of Us to dine together exclusively on Jude's birthday, rejoins the regulars) head out to Mr. B's, with the idea of hearing the Yat Pack perform at The Saint Hotel later.
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Gumbo ya-ya, Mr. B's[/caption]
If in my waning years I get the chance to write a piece (or a large hunk) summing up my thoughts about the New Orleans restaurant scene, I will call Mr. B's The Restaurant of My Life. Which is not the same thing as My Favorite Restaurant or The Best Restaurant in Town. But I was there at the birth of the place in 1979, and watched it and the many restaurants that it inspired completely change the nature of dining out in New Orleans. Its greatest achievement was in bringing to the world of serious cookery a host of everyday New Orleans dishes which for some reason restaurateurs disdained before that time. Dark-roux gumbo, fish grilled over wood, pannee meat with pasta, and a host of other dishes became standards for everybody else.
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http://nomenu.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/07/SummerDiningSpecials-200x200.png"[/caption]
I don't get to Mr. B's nearly as often as I'd like, and I'm ecstatic whenever I do. The five of us eat very well. Both kinds of gumbo, including the gumbo ya-ya with which Mr. B's blows last night's Death by Gumbo off the table. The best crab cake in town. Fried oysters with hollandaise. The best barbecue shrimp in town.
[caption id="attachment_43146" align="alignnone" width="480"]
Lamb chops with pesto.[/caption]
Lamb chops encrusted with mint pesto. Pecan pie. The lightest and probably the best bread pudding in town. Simply served, both in terms of presentation and efficiency. Mr. B's servers have a style all their own, and they've had it since the beginning.
Alton, the man taking care of us tonight, is solidly in that tradition. He also is a dead ringer for the young Louis Armstrong. Attention, casting directors!
Cindy Brennan, who owns the place, stops by to say hello. She looks as youthful as ever. Her kids are in about the same stage as ours. And how about the recent tumult four blocks down Royal Street, where her brother Ralph is about to re-launch Brennan's? We both roll our eyes. But Mr. B's is doing great, thank you.
The five of us walk up Iberville Street on a route dictated by Mary Ann, who considers herself to be the world's authority on the safe places to walk in the dark. For example, the Coliseum in Room with tens of thousands of people following the Pope in the Stations of the Cross: safe. (Until she got there.)
We pass through the lobby of the Ritz-Carlton Hotel, then out onto Canal Street. I recall that our footsteps--hers and mine--matched one another's twenty-six years ago tomorrow, when she and I separately ascended in the manually-operated elevators of this very building (the Maison Blanche Building then) to the roof, where we each would perform the first broadcasts of new radio shows on WSMB. We were seven months away from getting married, although neither of us would have considered that a possibility at the time.
[caption id="attachment_43147" align="alignnone" width="480"]
Yat Pack's Tim Shirah.[/caption]
The Yat Pack is just about to begin when we land at a table adjacent to the bar. I have a Campari and soda. The others order water. (They kill me this way everywhere we go.) Singer Tim Shirah begins the show, backed up by eight well-tuned jazz musicians. He does a shtick about some high-powered streetlights that shine right through the window behind him, blinding the audience. On the other hand, this allows him to see who's there. He mentions my name, tells a few jokes about the nature of my job (which richly deserves to be made fun of), and says I might come up to sing a song later. He has no idea how early is the bedtime for everybody in my cadre, including me.
We are here that Jude may see the Yat Pack act and decide whether it's right for his wedding reception. We are lucky: the Yat Pack has an open date on Wedding Day. Jude uses his highly advanced miniature media array to shoot a few minutes of the Pack in full career, and sends the clip to The Blaze Of Red. She is on a plane en route to New Orleans, but won't make it in time to see the Pack live.
She sees enough of the Yat Pack to say yes, it would be great to have singers doing Frank and Dean and Sammy and Bobby and Fats and Satch at her big party. Now: how many musicians can they afford? Good sign: nobody has asked me for money yet, beyond the rehearsal dinner I know I am on the hook for. I keep quiet.
[title type="h5"]Mr. B's Bistro. French Quarter: 201 Royal. 504-523-2078. [/title]
Written by Tom Fitzmorris July 24, 2014 12:01 in
