Friday, December 17, 2010. Eat Club Black-Tie Gala At Le Foret. The Eat Club's first visit to Brennan's, during the Reveillon season in 1996, was a singular evening. Sixteen of us met at a single big, round table in the Gold Room on the second floor--the one with the working gasolier. I brought the wines back then, and we ran out of them so fast that it made our heads spin, in more ways than one. Brennan's filled in the gap without even asking, and we kept partying. The unanimous feeling was that we should reprise this every year. And we did. The Brennan's dinner evolved into a black-tie affair, always a fast sellout.
But Brennan's couldn't fit us in last year or this one. We kept the tradition alive last year at Arnaud's. This year, tonight: Le Foret. Manager Danny Millan was thrilled to assemble a lavish party plan for us.
The evening began with my walking around the radio studios in the tuxedo. It's a style gaffe: one shouldn't wear such formal attire before six. But I have no place to change. (It's times like this when I wish I had an apartment in town.)
A few of our people were already in the handsome, brick-walled upstairs dining room when I arrived. I joined them in the short line at the open bar, where the favorite tipple was Prosecco. I, however, wanted a martini. So did those guests who have traveled with me on cruises. We began every shipboard dinner with a round of cocktails. Or two. Or three. It was nostalgic.
Mary Ann was there too, and I was glad she was. She will be my designated driver tonight. No skin off her nose: she doesn't really drink, and can go the whole evening with just tea and think it's just fine. This is of particular importance tonight. I learned yesterday that the New Orleans Police Department is setting up DWI checkpoints in exactly the area where our dinner is taking place. I made an announcement to that effect to the Eat Clubbers, none of whom seemed concerned. Turns out that most of them have booked rooms in nearby hotels, arranged a pick-up, or planned to use taxis to get home. I was proud of them, so--after assuring them I would not be quitting my day job--I regaled them with the best version I could sing of "The Christmas Waltz."
The pass-around appetizers started coming. The best were the fried oysters with a truffle aioli, followed closely by the tomato bisque, with a touch of cream and cognac. On the other hand, two people stepped up and said that they though there was too much of a cucumber base holding the salmon tartare. What a thing to complain about.
A strudel stuffed with fresh sturgeon, choucroute on the side and a caviar cream began the festivities at the table. This was accompanied by what I thought was the best wine of the evening. Joseph Faiveley's 2007 Chablis had depth, crispness, and a long aftertaste. Not what comes to mind when I think Chablis, one of the lightest of the many wines made with Chardonnay. I could have drunk this almost all night.
Next came the foie gras. Of course there was foie gras. A gourmet dinner these days cannot be served without it. This one came with an assortment of contrasting items: roasted pear, chestnut fritters (you can make chestnuts into a flour), and a sabayon made with Madeira. A sweet wine called Chamarre came alongside. It's made in the Jura, in Southeastern France. I haven't had a Jura wine in a long time, and don't think I've ever had a sweet wine from there.
The main course was a saddle of lamb, atop a white bean and barley risotto, with wild mushrooms and a natural jus. A saddle is both loins, roasted in one unit, then carved. Someday I will prove to chefs that lamb is not better when cooked rare, as this was. There is no question that you get a better flavor release--to say nothing of a tenderer piece of meat--when lamb is cooked to just the rosy side of medium. Chef Gunter Preuss turned me on to that fact years ago, and I think he's right. (He says it's also true of veal chops and sirloins.) Brancaia Tre Sangiovese, a Chianti-style wine accompanied this. I've heard worse ideas. And better ones.
Next was a salad of watercress, Gorgonzola blue cheese, apples, walnuts, and pumpkin seed oil. The vinegar-free salad dressing allowed for wine Number Four: a Viognier by an outfit in France called Little James' Basket. Nice. Everybody I talked to seemed to know what a Viognier is. Ten years ago, I had to explain it every time it turned up.
The last course was a classic Sacher torte, perfectly made, with cherries and chocolate. And Tawny Port, twenty years old, Fonseca. That works.
It was a glorious, sociable evening for most of the Eat Clubbers. Even Mary Ann, who had to be pressed into service as the hostess. Two men who had come alone wound up sitting at a table with nobody else there. This has a funny way of happening, and it means I must spend extra time at that table. Not that I mind, but inevitably the people at other tables notice, and some say something to the effect that I didn't stay as long at their table. But these are the dynamics of a party. If I made any money with these dinners I'd say that keeping things balanced is what I get paid for.
We didn't see the cops stopping cars anywhere along our route home. Still, it was nice to have a chauffeur for a change, and I fell asleep on the Causeway as we crossed it at about eleven. I would have preferred to get a hotel room. But that part of the budget, Mary Ann told me, is reserved for the big Mardi Gras party she's planning for us at the Windsor Court.
Say what?
Le Foret. CBD: 129 Camp. 504-553-6738.
