Feliciana Is Fabulous

When we moved to Covington we were charmed by the downtown area. That was 35 years ago, and it has changed so much. At that time the Southern Hotel was an abandoned eyesore right in the middle of downtown. And a block away was an adorable movie theater. 

Since then the refurbished Southern Hotel is now the crown jewel of the area, numerous first class dining establishments have moved in to create quite the restaurant row, and adorable shops with upscale merchandise occupy the old buildings. The century-old hardware store remains, but the adorable theater didn’t make it. I was devastated about the theater, until I heard it was to be a John Besh restaurant with a rooftop bar. Covington is hardly a place for high rooftops, but this outdoor space is beautiful, 

and the accompanying bar is mesmerizing.

The entire place is arresting. Even the corridors fascinate.

But it is the restaurant itself that wows me. I have been a John Besh fan since first meeting him near my home at Artesia. He was chef at Artesia, Vicky Bayley’s place that I miss terribly. He was the first chef I noticed liberally using microgreens, which have since turned up everywhere. I always joked with him that his food was so delicious I didn’t want to talk about it too much, for his sake. If I liked his food it would damage his gourmet street creds. I was and still am a proud non-gourmet, but I find his food outstanding, delicious, and still very approachable. It remains so to this day.

We went to the soft opening of Feliciana last week, and had to return immediately to eat more of some of the food we had that night. Yes, there were the requisite gourmet items, like foie gras and escargots and rillettes, Belgian endive as a nibble-plate for blue cheese and pecans. etc.  Upstairs in the bar was a beautiful spread of interesting cheeses as well as forcemeats and their accompaniments. Sausages and pâtés are something I love which does not comport with my general disdain for all things gourmet. (Must have been my early training on Vienna Sausages.) ML and I giggled about that as I immersed myself in not one but two different pâtés with crostini.

That evening we had a few of the gourmet apps. The foie gras had fig jam in the center. The rillettes were pork and duck, and did not have the stringy look that I find distasteful in rillettes. The escargots were a beautiful sight in cups of flaky puff pastry. 

There were a few “action stations,” but our favorite was the Bourguignon over Pommes Aligot. Large pots simmered chunks of tender short ribs, which were then ladled over Pommes Aligot, potatoes so creamy and cheesy they were impossibly rich. In another room that was for private parties there were two more “action stations:”one serving Royal Red shrimp over squid ink linguine, and another Bolognese with duck and pork, which they took liberal license to call a fricasse. The pasta looked as sturdy as Pappardelle, but it wasn't.

We passed a dessert table with tartlets and cups of chocolate mousse, but we forgot this before we left. Too bad. The party was so nice and piqued our interest in the food and definitely the place. We returned for dinner a few days later.

I asked about the pâtés then and was told by our waiter that we could order the chicken liver pate as an add-on to the bread service, which was sourdough. I also got the Pâté de Campagne. 

John Besh started his career with Chef Chris Kerageorgiou at La Provence. The pâté was a signature there, and was graciously offered to each table as they sat. It was insanely rich and buttery chicken liver spread, served with the most delectable and perfect crostini ever. That pâté is here, as an homage to John’s mentor and friend. We added it to the bread service.

The Pâté de Campagne came on a plate with four cornichons, a salad of radicchio and butter lettuce in a light French vinaigrette, and a tiny Le Creuset crock with Dijonnaise. I prefer a chunkier pâté and coarse French mustard, but this worked. It is impossible not to love pâté and cornichons, for me, anyway.

I also enjoyed the chicken liver pate, which was even more obscenely rich than the La Provence version, coming in a crock with a layer of fat on top. The crostini were not the same level of perfection as at La Provence, but I’m just nitpicking now. 

ML enjoyed the sourdough and the French butter, and regretted eating so much of it when her short ribs came. 

These short ribs have been on her mind since last week when we had them at the soft opening. There they had been simmering for hours in large pots with a mirepoix of vegetables, then served over Pommes Aligot, pureed potatoes she loves but whose texture offends me. They were every bit as good this evening sitting down at the restaurant. It was a generous portion of these medallions of braised short ribs served over the cheesy potatoes. There is nothing to say about this dish but that it is divine.

My burger was very nice, even though it was one of those “everything” burgers. I still crave a really great burger that is classic: a thicker patty, crusty on the outside, with simple condiments like mayo and mustard, with a sharp Cheddar added too late to completely melt. It should have pickles and lettuce and tomatoes (preferably Bibb). One of these days someone is going to take a chance on a basic delicious burger with a tasty patty and a great sturdy bun preferably coated liberally with sesame seeds. Instead the burger formula of the moment appears to be fancy Cheddar melted into the meat, and tomato jams or onion marmalades used as dressings instead of the classic vegetables. This one had slices of great bacon sealed to the patty with melted cheese. It was a nice burger but I have yet to be wowed by one of these “everything burgers.” With burger prices now starting with the number “2” I really want to like them. Basic frozen shoestring bistro fries came with this burger. They were hot and golden brown and they were breaded, which was a surprise. I just wouldn’t expect to see breaded fries here.

We had already had plenty to eat but this place is so comfortable, beautiful, and happening we didn’t want to leave. It would have been wrong to just hang around with so many people wanting to get in, so we ordered dessert, mainly to stay. A gigantic portion of double chocolate mousse came filling up a tall goblet. I was told it was milk chocolate and dark chocolate, tinged with coffee. This needed whipped cream and/or berries, or something to check the intensity of the chocolate. Too much, even for chocolate fiends like us. I asked for some whipped cream and was told there was none in the kitchen. As a chocolate devotee of the highest order, trust me when I say this needs tweaking. The waiter seemed quite proud to tell us there were chocolate shavings adding even more chocolate to this, but what it needed was less.

We sat at Feliciana people watching and savoring this delicious food far longer than we ever usually dine. It was painful to leave. It just felt so good to be there. That evening was  a special meal. It was the second one in a day with special meaning. The 12th was the first anniversary of Tom’s death. We wanted to go somewhere he would have loved. And he really would have loved Feliciana, just as we do.