Friday, January 15. Delmonico. Cold and rainy. When January is over, we will be happy to see it go. On a sunnier note, Mary Ann said that she would be free for dinner tonight. Which leaves only the inevitable indecision about where to go. "You know what I like," she said, as if I do. "Nothing old and worn out, nothing ethnic, nothing in a neighborhood I don't like, nothing too gourmet." But, I thought to myself, none of that is what she likes. It's what she hates. Leaving me with no clues. My only recourse is to go to the expensive end of the spectrum. I suggested Delmonico, knowing well what her next line would be.
And yes! Here it was: "What do you need to go there for?"
"To make you happy and to be happy myself. I like it," I said. "No column to write, no commercial for which to gather data. Just for pleasure."
I got there first, running across the sidewalk from the parking valet to the door, trying to keep from getting wet and not entirely succeeding. She called to say she'd be a few more minutes. I infiltrated the bar, whose front was full. Two doctors at one end, who were getting ready to dine right there, recognized me and let me squeeze in. They even offered to buy me a drink, but I said their little act of hospitality was friendly enough.
I ordered a Negroni, which aroused their curiosity. One liked it, the other didn't. They then wanted to know what Campari tasted like, and the bartender poured a generous taste for them. I told them about the Campari ad a former girlfriend appeared in thirty years ago, with the headline "Nine out of 10,000 People Prefer Campari." The doctor at the end of the bar said that he is one of the 10,000, not the nine.
Mary Ann showed up then, and after lingering a few minutes with the doctors for the sake of politeness, we took a table in the front room. "Do I have to eat?" MA asked. This diet of hers is very boring. I'm almost tempted to bring up a political question to break the monotony.
The chef sent out amuses-bouche. Ever get one of those and not know what it was? This was one of those days. Here's a picture of it. Maybe someone can identify it. It's was good, whatever it was.
An appetizer special was fish and cips. Mary Ann persists in believing that she likes fish and chips. I keep reminding her that every time she gets it, she complains that she doesn't really like tempura battered fried things, and that's more or less what you get on fish and chips. But this had another problem. It was inedibly salty. They made it with salted cod, and I guess they didn't soak or rinse it well enough. I keep reminding anyone who will listen that salted cod should be allowed to recede into the culinary past, and not be brought back again. The management agreed with our assessment, and eighty-sixed the dish from the menu. The chips were good, though. Fresh-cut.
We got luckier with the next thing: some grilled vegetables with a tangy romesco sauce. This was pretty and very tasty. That was from the small-plates menu, as was a dish of indifferent gnocchi. Mary Ann commanded that crab cakes replace the fish and chips. These were stunning in their ordinariness. And now she was finished eating.
I wasn't. I had a real entree coming, and it was the dish of the night. A Moroccan-spiced lamb loin, with meguez sausage and chickpeas in a stew with some bell peppers. This was not only delicious to my palate, but to that of the guy at the next table, who all night long asked me for recommendations. And he was from out of town and didn't know who I am. I told him I thought the lamb would be a good bet, and that I knew the duck would certainly be. He and his cohorts had both, and wound up with a happier table than ours.
A little dessert of a ball of dreamsicle-flavored ice cream and some citrus sections wrapped up the dinner. I succeeded in having whoever is in charge of making espresso to make it almost properly intense.
The rain had stopped, but the cold hadn't. We drove home in separate cars. Meanwhile, Mary Leigh was at a bar with all but two members of her class, celebrating something. She doesn't drink, but she loved the party. It kept her out far too late.
Delmonico. Lee Circle Area: 1300 St. Charles Ave. 504-525-4937. Contemporary Creole.
