Going Fishing At Peche.

[title type="h6"]Tuesday, September 3, 2013.[/title] The hottest new restaurant of the year so far is probably Pêche, a seafood specialist with a strong South Louisiana accent. It's the latest project from Chef Donald Link and his chef partners Stephen Stryjewski and Ryan Prewett. It's in a familiar location. The old building was for over a century the home of the best New Orleans-style coffees on the shelf: French Market and Union. All roasted and packed in that ancient structure, whose upstairs floor was like a roller coaster, says chef Ryan. [caption id="attachment_39632" align="alignnone" width="480"] Dining room at Peche.[/caption] [caption id="attachment_39633" align="alignnone" width="480"] Fish sticks?[/caption] The building's owners performed a thorough and excellent exterior restoration. The inside looks as if it has been mostly left alone. Heavy planks of distressed wood, with layers of paint piling up, now held in place by polyurethane, are used everywhere, including in the construction of tables and chairs. Concrete and brick are everywhere. The feeling is frankly industrial, living up exactly to the image one gets from the words "Warehouse District." The menu is down to sea level. Here is a good deal of raw fish and shellfish, whole finfish, and cuts of seafood not often seen except in the fishing camps where the residents eat everything. The kitchen, which is wide open not only to the visual sense but also the tactile and olfactory, has a pile of burning wood alongside an open hearth. The wood burns to the point that it becomes charcoal, then falls down under the grill to do its work. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="480"] Oysters on the half shell. Be careful with the hot sauce![/caption] We started with a half-dozen oysters--$1.30 apiece, with no credible evidence that they have anything on the oysters I'm ordering at half that price elsewhere around town. No less good, either. Cold and briny on ice. After tasting one, I asked for Tabasco. They don't have it, the waiter said, but they do have their own Cochon brand of hot sauce. That would do just fine, I said. I shook the bottle, unscrewed the cap, and gave the bottle the familiar jerk that releases just the right amount of Crystal or Tabasco for one oyster. Instead, a tablespoon of the stuff flew out, covering the oyster and its shell almost completely. What the? If the little attachment to the bottle to control the flow is not standard equipment on Cochon hot sauce, it either a) ought to be or 2) should show a warning on the label. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="480"] Artichoke and crabmeat fritters.[/caption] Next came some fritters made with artichokes and crabmeat, with a rough red-and-green salsa underneath. Crunchy, fresh, good. Also fried and on a softer note were some goujonettes (Pêche calls them fish sticks) of what the waiter said was trout. Mary Ann said it had the texture of tilapia, but I insisted that there was no way a fish like that would be served in a place like this. We asked the waiter again to check on it and the word came back: trout. I accept that as true. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="480"] Grilled fish of the day with corn.[/caption] Then the main food came out. I had the fish of the day, a nice, thick, firm, whitish, grilled fillet whose identity I either failed to ask about or forgot. It could pass for either lemonfish or sheepshead, both of which I love. It came out over a generous pile of creamed corn (more corn than cream, I was pleased to see). That obviated the need for the field peas I ordered, to take advantage of the affinity between fish and beans. I didn't have room for it all, what with the corn and a pile of mushrooms over the fish. Just as well: these beans didn't fit my (or Camellia's) definition of field peas, which I know as like a small crowder. These were more like fat little limas. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="480"] Field peas, but not the kind I know.[/caption] [caption id="" align="alignleft" width="188"] Royal red shrimp.[/caption] They have royal red shrimp here. Those are deep-water shrimp from the Florida panhandle Gulf Coast. People ask me about them all the time, usually after the Jazz Festival, where they have long been on the menu. I was never much impressed by them until today. Served with a garlic butter, they were like an extra-mild version of barbecue shrimp. Once again, I liked them better than Mary Ann did. Mary Leigh was struggling to find anything to eat. She doesn't go for anything closer to seafood than the butter on the shells of char-grilled oysters. Nor would she get the grilled lamb and eggplant skewers, or the $60, twenty-two ounce ribeye for two. She settled for the chicken with white barbecue sauce. That last item is something we puzzled over the rest of the evening. Mary Ann found it delicious. White barbecue sauce, I say. Most unusual: we all ate dessert. The Marys loved both the flourless chocolate cake and the custardlike chocolate peanut butter banana pie. I was less happy with the peach almond crisp, which was neither peachy, nutty, nor crisp. I was mainly interested in the cinnamon ice cream it came with, but that was understated, too. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="480"] Flourless chocolate cake.[/caption] Today is the day after Labor Day, a slow day in what is probably the slowest week of the year for restaurants. The place was about one-third full. Yet the thing I have heard most consistently about Pêche still proved true. This is one loud restaurant. Hard surfaces everywhere. I cannot imagine what the din must be when the place is full. Why are restaurant designers continuing to torture us with this acoustic problem? One more thing. Given the history of the building, why does Pêche not serve coffee with chicory? Pêche Seafood Grill. Warehouse District & Center City: 800 Magazine St. 504-522-1744.