Monday, May 16, 2011.
Spectacular Dinner With New Friends At Chateau Du Lac.
The most productive thing I can do for non-profits I support is to host dinners sold at charity auctions. The bidding almost always goes into four figures, and all I have to do is have dinner with the buyers. Which always makes for a fun evening.
Tonight it was time to deliver my presence at a dinner at Chateau du Lac. Mary Ann volunteered my services to her friend Paige Saleun, who with her chef husband Jacques operates that superb French restaurant in Metairie Road. Paige is also active in Lycée Français de la Nouvelle Orléans, a new French public school that will begin operation this fall Uptown.
I was supposed to have emceed and auctioneered a fundraisng party a couple of months ago for the Lycee, but I was laid low by my ankle injury. Mary Ann took over, and did so well with it that I think she may have the job for life. The money she pulled in for the dinner for six with us was gratifying to all concerned.
The real host (the guy who wrote the check to the school) had a long career working in casinos in Las Vegas and elsewhere, though he's originally from here. He was full of stories about that, so I asked him to clear up a mystery for me. When I was a teenager working at the Time Saver, we were visited regularly by an old guy who had worked at the old Beverly casino, back when gambling was legal in Jefferson Parish. The man bragged about how much money and how many girlfriends came from that job. A fellow Time Saver drudge was fascinated by this, and wanted to know how he could get into that line of work.
The old man said, "I promise you two things about that. First, when gambling comes back, I'll put you in the sky. Second, those days are gone forever!"
Little did he know. But what did he mean, "I'll put you in the sky?"
Our benefactor tonight explained, "In the old days, there was a walkway around the ceiling in all the casinos, and the bosses walked around looking down from the little one-way windows to make sure none of the dealers were working with any of the players. The bosses were in the sky. They use cameras for that now." After forty-five years, I now understand.
The dinner was spectacular. Mary Ann--who passed on three of the seven courses, getting salads and stuff instead--said that she thought it was one of the best dinners she'd had anywhere, and that Chateau du Lac is one of the best restaurants in town. Some of that is due to her friendship with Paige, but a good case can be made for Chateau du Lac's excellence. And it was, by all but one dish tonight.
First came a plate of amuses bouche. That included Chef Jacques's magnificent rabbit pate, as well as a pate de foie gras, a triple-creme cheese, and a couple of other nibbles. The Scharffenberger brut bubbly was no bringdown.
What most of us thought was the best dish of the night was next. An artichoke bottom was cut unusually with not only the dish-shaped thing at the base, but a half-inch or so of the inner leaves, all tender and edible. On top, jumbo lump crabmeat in hollandaise. This was insanely good, and the cry went up to put the dish on the menu permanently.
"No, I cannot," said Chef Jacques. "You can only get the right artichokes this time of year, and it would be too expensive. I'd have to charge $17 or $18." Everybody said they'd pay it gladly. Now they would, having tasted it. But I think Jacques is right about the reluctance of first-timers to pay that for an appetizer.
Next the low point of the meal: a beautiful duck consomme, with a rich, long-lingering flavor. But it had a problem: too salty. Mary Ann, who seems to have no upper threshold for salt, loved it. I couldn't finish it, and enjoyed the rose of Malbec instead.
A "petite marmite" in France is almost anything served in a little covered cast-iron pot. All the ones I've had were soups, but not this one. It was a thick stew of rabbit with a creamy, Dijon-mustard-inched sauce. Marvelous; I left not a bit of it.
The fish course involved Chilean sea bass, a fish I am not fond of, for both gustatory and environmental reasons. On occasion, I've witnessed a terrific chef take a poor fish and turn it into a magnificent dish. Richard Hughes at the Pelican Club and Kim Kringlie at Dakota have both turned that trick with tilapia. And now Jacques has done it with Patagonian toothfish (the real name of this non-Chilean non-sea bass). It is a very pretty fish, that must be said. Here it sat atop some seaweed, all moistened with a beurre blanc flavored with a touch of vanilla. The sauce made it happen.
Vanilla sounds strange as a flavoring for fish until the first time you tried it. I forget where or when that was for me, but I love the idea now. It's especially good with delicately-flavored seafood--lobster, to name one.
The heaviest course of the evening was beyond criticism. A pair of lamb chops, with a generous crust of bread crumbs and herbs at the edge and a moistening jus scented with rosemary. "Hey, chef!" I asked. "Is this mashed potatoes or grits?" He gave me the kind of amused look French chefs do when someone asks an absurd question.
We ended with tart Antoine, that thin rectangle of pastry topped with translucent-thin slices of apple arranged like roof tiles. Funny: I just ran this as my Chef d'Oeuvre du Jour in the newsletter. Always happy to see it again.
The company was delightful, and included a young man who is a regular listener to the radio show. Always nice to meet one of those. Questions One And Two (1. "What's the best restaurant in town?" and 2. "How did you get this job, anyway?") came up and I answered them. We talked about other restaurants we like. My favorite dinner topic, really.
I autographed copies of Hungry Town for everybody, and we were about to ease into that extended tail of the evening when the chef comes out and we shoot the breeze over the remaining wine. This was cut short when Mary Leigh called to say that there was something wrong with the electricity at the Cool Water Ranch. It was dimming and brightening, and numerous appliances were beeping. She was afraid. With good reason, I thought.
We excused ourselves and began the forty-five minute trip home. En route, I learned that it was a problem at the substation, and that it would be two hours before it was repaired. That put our minds at ease, even though it left our poor adult daughter alone in the dark.
The whole neighborhood was dark when we arrived, but the moon was bright enough for use to make even my convoluted way inside with no trouble. It was a ten-thirty, but all we could do was go to bed.
Chateau Du Lac. Old Metairie: 2037 Metairie Rd. 504-831-3773.
