Every milestone anniversary we stay at the Windsor Court overnight, to relive the earliest days of our marriage, We stayed there for two nights before heading to Belgium for a week.
The hotel was kind enough to give us two nights in a penthouse suite as a wedding gift. It was a fabulous place the size of a two or three-bedroom house, with two spacious outdoor balconies: one with a river view and one with a city view. Many years after our stay, when luxury hotels began offering a “club” as an amenity, this penthouse was converted to the Windsor Court Club, one of the best travel deals we’ve encountered. (Afternoon tea service pictured.)
I decided on this anniversary year to stay at The Windsor Court early because our anniversary is Super Bowl Sunday, which is also Mardi Gras weekend.
Since we were doing a staycay down there, it was a good opportunity to visit Palace Cafe, a place we never go, mainly because of its location. I am newly interested in the Dickie Brennan collection of restaurants. A newfound love of Tableau and wonderful experiences at two of them on consecutive days have piqued my curiosity about the group.
I thought we might park at the hotel and walk to Palace Cafe, but the distance was much greater than I realized and it was bitterly cold the day we went. Unfortunately, all the spaces in front of the place designated drop-off were occupied. We circled a bit before seeing a space across Canal but right at the corner. I hated to have Tom out in the cold even that long, but I was able to pick him up in front when we left.
Once inside the helpful revolving door, I was immediately transported back to the very first visit there, when Ella took us on a tour. We climbed the sweeping staircase and I told her about Jude, who was only a toddler then. The place looks the same, with the addition of festive Mardi Gras garlands everywhere. There has been a renovation upstairs, creating a beautiful large bar.
One of my past complaints about Dickie’s restaurants which their charm has finally caused me to overlook is that they are filled with tourists. Waiters assume you are a tourist as well. When Tom was in much better health and very recognizable, I resented waiters schooling Tom Fitzmorris on gumbo. This may be a particular quirk of mine, but I feel if a diner wants a tutorial, they’ll ask for it. If it is a conversation starter, there are other ways to begin a conversation other than assuming your patrons are dodos.
After the sweet memory of our very first visit, I realized that nearly everyone in the place did indeed appear to be from somewhere else. And they were having a very good time. Having an especially good time is one of the aforementioned traits about the Dickie group that seems to be ever-present in his restaurants.
We were seated in a corner by the window behind the entrance wall, well tucked away from any cold air blowing in. I was grateful for that, though a chill remained in me long after we sat down. As soon as the waitress arrived I asked her to put in a turtle soup for Tom and Gumbo YaYa for me. She left the trademark white bag of warm French bread and a little ramekin of butter.
Fortunately, the soups arrived quickly. The Gumbo YaYa was a lighter color than usual but I preferred that. A large pile of rice sat in the center, flanked by chunky pieces of chicken and andouille. It had a great spice level and I could have made a meal of this with another bowl.
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Tom was equally smitten with his Turtle soup. It looked darker than usual, and Tom specifically said it had “something extra,” though he didn’t elaborate on that. Since Tom gets turtle soup everywhere we go, I assumed he felt it was special.
It was a very long time before our waitress returned. I wondered if she thought that two soups were our order. She did have a lot of other tables, but she seemed confused by Tom and I think she felt uncomfortable returning to the table. Right before I asked a manager to intervene, she arrived. It was also after three of her other tables had left.
I got the signature crabmeat cheesecake to split as an intermediate appetizer. And Tom got the signature Brennan pecan-crusted catfish. I wasn’t attracted by much on the menu, so I settled on Duck Hash.
When the Crabmeat Cheesecake arrived, I wanted another without even tasting it. The smell of brown butter emanating was divine. There were crab claws laid across the top and a puddle of brown butter underneath.
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It was so rich the portion size was enough, but I would have eaten another of this as well. I get this much-copied dish wherever I see it, but the original is bar far the best. And that is rarely the case.
Tom’s Catfish Pecan had a thick crust replete with pecans. It was a nutty crust. It was a little too dark for my taste, but it was a Creole Meuniere Sauce, and that is dark. It was served atop a generous mound of popcorn rice, which seemed to lack the flavor of popcorn rice. I love to eat popcorn rice with nothing on it, and I find the flavor spectacular. This was devoid of that signature flavor, which wouldn’t be noticeable if eaten as a single bite with all the other elements of this dish. All of these nitpicky criticisms were lost on Tom, who ate his Catfish Pecan with great relish.
I had lukewarm feelings for the Duck Hash. Described on the menu as Brabant sweet potatoes with duck confit topped with two poached eggs and Hollandaise Sauce, this came in a little cast iron dish. I subbed out the poached eggs for two over easy, which appeared as a blanket over the rest of the dish. Other than a lack of runny yolk, there was nothing wrong with this dish. It was fine, but I found myself remembering the cheesecake I had just eaten, and wishing for more of that.
I am still wishing for more of that. It is one of those top-tier dishes that brings fame to a restaurant. One that is often emulated. One that is remembered. And talked about. I wish I encountered more standouts like this.
It is maybe a little harder to “stand out” in a city where the average food is as good as it is. And that is a wonderful thing to ponder.
