Jacmel Inn was recently awarded “Most Romantic Restaurant in Louisiana” by someone, and I couldn’t agree more. Nooks and crannies abound, and two people can dine very privately in one of the tiny dormers.
Paul started Jacmel in the early 1980s, at the beginning of the Contemporary Creole Revolution, as Tom called it. Even though it was far from the nexus of this, it gained notoriety because of its excellence. Since COVID Paul has claimed the retirement he has earned, selling off his three restaurants one by one. Jacmel went to his manager, and his longtime chef Josh Garic bought Nuvolari’s and moved to Mandeville. Brady’s was the last to go.
We have been meaning to visit Jacmel Inn for a while, to see how things have changed. In the many meals we have had at Jacmel, only one was a disappointment, and that was immediately before the papers were signed. We could tell something was up that day.
We went on a recent weekday evening, Arriving to see the patio overflowing with people. We sat by the window in one of the charming downstairs rooms. I briefly thought it might make a difference getting food out, and it did. Not too bad, though.
The first change post-Paul was the bread service. Paul always served the most wonderful bread. It’s a seeded French loaf with a delicate crumb and a nice crust, served with butter. It is toasty warm and irresistible. The bread this evening was a little different but still good.
The menu wasn’t all that different from the Paul era. I recognized a few apps I liked. The trouble was that I had already tried them, and nothing else much interested me. I’m sick of crispy Brussels sprouts and definitely bored with Shishito Peppers. That left the steak tips which I have had before and loved, and the gnocchi which I got.
Tom gets redfish everywhere, so we passed on that, settling on the chicken dish which sounded interesting. For an entree, I got the special soup for the evening, which was leek and potato.
The gnocchi was utterly superb. Each delicate pillow was submerged in a luscious garlic cream sauce, studded with slivers of smoky thick bacon, dusted with breadcrumbs, and replete with shiitake mushroom pieces.
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Across the table, Tom was happily devouring crispy oysters with house bread and butter pickles perched over a dollop of jalapeño aioli.
When the soup arrived I regretted getting a bowl. When someone tells me potato and leek soup I picture a thick creamy white soup with bits of leek. This was just bizarre in every way. It looked unappealing and was so spicy it was inedible to me. Very disappointing.
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The chicken was marginally less disappointing. Billed as Tamarind Chipotle chicken over mashed potatoes, what arrived for $28 was a small airline breast over a mound of mashed potatoes that were uninteresting in every way. The chicken was tender and had a lot of flavor with Chimichurri and rosemary salt rounding out the dish.
It was getting dark and the meal with all the elements together didn’t make us want to stay for more.
I knew that Paul would not let his baby go until it was in good hands. It seems to be, just not as skilled as Paul’s hand. And that’s okay.
