Friday, January 27, 2012.
Sylvain. The Moon Brings Me To Andrea's.
A steady hum has attended Sylvain since it opened a bit over a year ago. It was time I tuned into it and added a hum of my own.
Sylvain occupies what for decades was La Marquise, a marvelous and beloved French Quarter pastry shop. The building is ancient even by New Orleans standards, having gone up in 1796, replacing an even older one where the Great Fire of 1788 was rumored to have begun. The premises lives up to all this history. Sylvain looks as if it's been in business for a century or more, and is saturated with old Creole ton.
The owners are connected with Ste. Marie, Capdeville, and Patois. All of these have a common currency: the clientele skews to the young side, and the food and drink are right up with the times.
Knowing that, I was taken aback to find that the place was almost empty when I made the high step through what I mistook for the entrance. (It was wide open.) The actual portal is at the end of a short alleyway to the courtyard. There a hostess told me that the only tables available were out in the cold courtyard. All those inside were for later reservations. Ah. I am too early for the Real People, an error I frequently make.
I could also dine at the bar, I was told. It wasn't comfortable--you have to lean far in across the top rail in order to eat. But I'm glad I did. During the two hours I was there, people came and went, kicking up conversations with me.
The first of these was a couple that asked for martinis. "We don't make martinis," said the bartender. What? I'm not sure whether he meant that literally, but I did understand his point: this was a bar that was selective in its ingredients and artistic in its mixing. They even use non-standard utensils, notably cut-glass shakers. I ordered one, a variation on a Negroni called the Aviator. Instead of Campari, it has maraschino liqueur--not a common ingredient. It was stiff and good.
The menu strikes me as bar food. A lot of appetizers, followed by a list of entrees with more than a few sandwiches and burgers included. On the other hand, here is a duck confit, there are beef cheeks, and at the bottom are clams and shrimp with chorizo.
Since I was eating at the bar, I did small plates. They started with fried eggplant with aioli. They were cut not into sticks but cubes, resembling brabant potatoes. And they were fantastic, particularly with a cocktail next to them. Hot, crisp, nicely seasoned, splittable by two people, although I ate them all.
Now a bruschetta topped with roasted beet cubes and goat cheese. I didn't think much of this, and I love beets. They're best when mixed with other, contrasting, leafy items.
Next, a trio of seared sea scallops, served atop a pile of farro. That's one of the oldest cultivated grains still being grown, going back to prehistoric times. Ironically, farro is very hip these days. It gets caught between your teeth, but I liked it anyway. I gave the lady behind the bar carte blanche to pick out a glass of white wine for that. She came up with a Cousserges Sauvignon Blanc--good, light stuff.
The dinner finished up with panna cotta made with local honey and almonds. I struck up my third conversation of the night and whiled away enough time for a second glass of wine, also chosen by the barwoman. By then, the youngish (younger than me, anyway) crowd did indeed fill the place, with standing room only in the bar.
"What do you mean, you don't make martinis?" I asked the barguy. "We don't," he insisted. I think he means those non-martini martinis. Next time, I will ask for a real one and see what happens.
On my way home, the crescent mood shined brilliantly in a clear, cold sky. I recognized that face immediately. I saw it when, on the night before my wedding, it hung in the sky as I left Andrea's after my second bachelor party. (My best man Oliver Kluna and Andrea both thought that my first one was nowhere near bawdy enough.)
At this time of year, the cusps on the waxing crescent moon are on a line parallel to the horizon. Back on my last night as a single guy, my mind pleasantly addled, it looked like a big grin in the sky. The heavens seemed to be approving my big move.
Seeing the smile again moved me to stop in at Andrea's for a cappuccino. And to see how Chef Andrea is doing. (Fine, after major surgery a couple of months ago.) I lingered long enough to listen to Baby Ruth, the good pianist he has in there on weekends, and join her ina couple of songs.
The sky smiled at me all the way across the Causeway. Shows how much the sky knows.
Sylvain. French Quarter: 625 Chartres St. 504-265-8123.
Andrea's. Metairie, 3100 19th St. 504-834-8583.
