[title type="h5"]Wednesday, September 10, 2014.
Big, Young Roomful At Pardo's.[/title]
The people crossing the parking lot at Pardo's nondescript strip mall make an impression on Mary Ann. "I feel out of place with people this young and this well dressed," she says. I think (but don't say), why doesn't she just lose some more pounds and buy some more clothes?
Ladies: don't roll your eyes too much, or they'll get stuck that way.
A lot of people to whom I have recommended Pardo's say they can't find it, even though they remember looking directly at the strip mall. The exterior doesn't stand out. If these seekers had only stepped inside, the spare but elegant dining room would have given a different impression. And eating the food would have erased all doubt.
Pardo's is an adventuresome bistro of a kind common on the South Shore, but almost unknown across the lake. We have liked the place since our first sampling, and lately our appreciation for chef Marvin Tweedy's work has been increasing exponentially.
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Osman Rodas, proprietor and tastemaker of Pardo's.[/caption]
Owner Osman Rodas--who came up the Emeril's ladder before opening his own place--offered to host an Eat Club dinner as long as two years ago. We finally got a round tuit tonight. The price tag topped $100, but before I even had a chance to let the Eat Club know about it, Osman had already sold the dinner to sixty of his regulars.
This kind of dinner would be an easy sell, even at the price of $120 per person. The food would be easily up to that level, and the wines even more so.
We begin with Montmartre Brut. A French but non-Champagne bubbly, it's the first entry in an all-French wine list for tonight's dinner.
The bubbles precede several passed appetizers. Tuna tartare, salmon relish on crostini, cured duck breast with apple chutney. Then an amuse-bouche of lane snapper--a fine but little-known Gulf fish) with hummus made from edamame beans. Who says you always have to serve fried oysters, shrimp remoulade, and crab claws? Not Chef Marvin.
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Scallops, Pardo's.[/caption]
The first sit-down course is Pardo's reliably excellent diver scallops, sent forth with fried parsnips (like carrots, but not as starchy), peach couscous (first time for me) and saffron-scented gastrique of something.
As good as that food was, the ruling flavor came from a beautiful white Burgundy (Domaine de la Valances, St. Veran). I haven't had a wine from that district since a Martin Wine Cellar tasting in the mid-1980s. It is surprisingly lovely tonight, enough that I go around from table to table (one of the nicer prerogatives of the host) to ask diners whether they had noticed this excellence.
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Panned rabbit with couscous, Pardo's.[/caption]
Now panned rabbit, something I always like. It is abetted by wild mushrooms, cipollini onions in a risotto, and a smear of sweetbreads on a crouton. I like everything about this: its reference to a homely cooking style, the somewhat (but not too) exotic ingredients, and the flavor ensemble, which bespoke epicurianism start to finish.
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Veal cheeks at Pardo's Eat Club Dinner.[/caption]
The big red wine of the evening is Chateau Valcombe, from the general vicinity of and with the same grapes as Chateauneuf du Pape. I know from past dinners that Osman is a big fan of such Rhone wines, and it is just a matter of time before one of them would appear. It pairs with a truffle-braised veal cheek, all but falling apart in a dense, imam richness. Even Mary Ann--who initially considered skipping this dinner because it was too gourmet--thinks this is wonderful.
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Pear crepe at Pardo's.[/caption]
The dessert is a study in pears, collected by a crepe that wraps itself around the ripe fruit with Riesling, creme fraiche, and a pear tuille. Even the wine is pearlike: a late-harvest sweetie from Chateau la Rame, south of Bordeaux in the St. Crois du Mont district. I can't begin to recall the last time a wine of this ilk graced one of our dinners. I hope that we made some converts to sweet French whites with it.
We certainly got our money's worth in this feast. And I feel even surer of my adding a fifth star to Pardo's rating, which I did about a month ago. Osman Rodas has the sophistication, knowledge, staff, and attitude of a restaurateur at the top of his profession.
[title type="h5"]Pardo's. Covington: 69305 Hwy 21. 985-893-3603. [/title]
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[title type="h5"]Thursday, September 11, 2014.
Annunciation Has A New Topper.[/title]
As I pass Annunciation every day during my escape from the radio station, I look through the big windows to see what the crowd looks like. Then, if I don't have any other plans, I scout around for a handy parking place. Most of my visits to Chef Steve Manning's contemporary Creole bistro are dice throws, with the parking situation the element of chance.
It must have been the rain that kept the early crowd away. Lightning boomed through the downtown skyscrapers about an hour earlier and left a minor flood behind. I find a gap for the PT Cruiser a half block away, jump over one large puddle, and make my way inside Annunciation.
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Annunciation's ground-floor dining room.[/caption]
Shortly after the waitress brings a featured glass of Spanish red, Chef Steve visits my table. Have I seen the upstairs yet? he asks. No, I haven't. I know there is a full upper floor--it was there even when the building housed Deanie's from the 1960s into the 2000s--but I'd never been up there.
It's a good thing I hadn't, Steve says, because the space had serious structural problems that required a big fix.
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Upstairs bar at Annunciation.[/caption]
Now it more than doubles the number of seats at Annunciation's command. They need that. A half-block from Cochon and one more to Emeril's and Tommy's, the place is in one of the most active blossoming of major new restaurants.
The first thing one notices about Annunciation's menu is that it is abbreviated. Even with the specials added, it feels to me as if two or three more choices are missing. That's one of the reasons I'm here, frankly. It has been a week of big eating--especially that six-courser last night at Pardo's. I need a light supper.
Chef Steve says that one of his sous has been messing around with papayas and melons to make a salad with a Thai-style spice and sweetness. Bring that, I say.
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Trout with crabmeat,[/caption]
And Steve himself avows that nice speckled trout has arrived. He is adding crabmeat in a veloute. Sounds like something you might get at Galatoire's, I say. Chef nods. His former post--Clancy's--is often compared stylistically to Gal's. So bring that trout.
Food and wine are good as expected, except that the trout would have been better had it been slapped with higher heat. Not enough textural or flavor contrast, I'd say. The sauce and nice lumps of crabmeat are beyond reproach.
Between courses, I read an article in the New Yorker from my cellphone. I brought in an actual magazine, but it's too dark to read in the dining room. I notice that the layout of the New Yorker's mobile site is almost identical to that of my own, save for a few clumsy elements I haven't figured out how to improve. Another big project waiting for me.
Back to the New Yorker: the article is about the events of thirteen years ago today. I hadn't thought about it until then. During the disaster, I experienced the greatest and longest-lasting anxiety in my life. If I had known that things would be where they are now, I wouldn't have worried so much. Somewhere between that fright and the philosophy of Alfred E. Neuman is the place to be, I guess.
Homemade peppermint gelato for dessert. Why did I think coffee would be good with that? Why am I drinking coffee anyway, what with my head still in repair after too much java today and too much wine last night? Why can't I imbibe all these things the way I used to?
What did I do to deserve such a wonderful life?
[title type="h5"]Annunciation. Warehouse District & Center City: 1016 Annunciation. 504-568-0245.[/title]
Written by Tom Fitzmorris September 19, 2014 12:01 in
