Saturday, January 9. Mary Ann Wants Ruth's Chris. The chill continues, and although the sun is brightly beaming, the air will keep getting colder for a few days. The dog Suzie ran outside at the first opportunity, and seemed to have loved the cold. Don't dogs' feet get cold? I have shoes and socks on and mine are cold all the time. My fingers, too. I hate winter. That's something Mary Ann and I agree on.
Mary Leigh had another big event going on tonight. I have been warned that I must not say another word about what she and her friends are up to. Mary Ann is having the classic motherly worries about our daughter's hanging around with bad company. Considering who it is, this is laughable. Also funny is that just a couple of months ago MA was concerned that ML wasn't making enough friends, and not doing anything with the ones she had. My observation continues to be that everything ML is doing is in sync with all the tides of a typical teenager's life. As I did when Jude was this age, I envy her a bit.
I mollified Mary Ann with dinner at Ruth's Chris Steak House. She is mad about the place lately. Going there tonight involves a lake crossing, something she is reluctant to make on a weekend. But a side benefit is that it will put us within striking distance of ML's activities, should it devolve into a bacchanal.
I had a tough time getting a reservation. I mistakenly tried to reserve a table at the downtown location, where I was told that no tables were to be had at any hour. When I realized my error, I called Metairie to be told that the only time I could come in was five-fifteen. This actually worked out fine for us. All I had to eat all day was my usual toasty breakfast, and no lunch.
We sneaked in unnoticed last time we were here, but not tonight. We had a good four-top waiting for us, and a waitress who had the moves born in Ruth's Chris's old school. We began with barbecue shrimp made with biggish but not eye-popping peeled shrimp, served in a spicy sauce with a creamy texture. It was beyond reproach on its own merits, but not what I would call barbecue shrimp. Of course, what we call barbecue shrimp in New Orleans is such a misnomer that it's hard to complain about further deviations from the word's meaning. But the dish is well enough known that I suspect most locals had the same reaction I did. That's what happens when dish development goes on at the out-of-town corporate HQ.
Then an appetizer that's called to me with no response during our last several meals. Osso buco ravioli is an intriguing idea, and carried out well. Five pillows of pasta stuffed with the tender shreds of veal relaxed in a stocky sauce quite like what would come with a full-fldged osso buco, and some sauteed spinach. This was an appetizer, but I think it could pass as an entree. I asked where it came from, knowing well that the answer would be the one I got: Ruth's commissary. Meaning it wasn't made here. This is the biggest departure from the old days. A lot of dishes arrive finished at the restaurant, and even though the science of doing that has become amazingly good, it leaves a hollow pit in my heart to know that it's cooked far away.
Salads next. The one before me was so peculiar I'm glad I took a picture of it. It was a cylinder of finely-chopped vegetables, with a final texture not unlike that of cole slaw. The ingredients were intriguing, and most of them have big flavors--artichokes and blue cheese, for example. The cylinder had a roof of onion rings. But for all that, some sort of flavor-cancellation dynamic is here, and the thing winds up not tasting like much. Mary Ann had a much better salad--a Caesar--but even that was no great shakes.
Mary Ann's wanted to take advantage again of the three-course special for $40, which includes a small filet--just the right size, she says--surmounted with grilled shrimp. Same thing she had last time. She doesn't care. She just likes being here. Something about it pushes her button.
I can't remember the last time I had lamb chops here. They were also $40-ish--but that was a la carte. I think that when it stopped being way too expensive to eat there, Ruth's Chris lost something. I hold up my end. I received three double-cut chops, sizzling in the house's famous butter, and they were as good as I expected--which is to say better than most, but not quite the equals of the chops at Commander's, Galatoire's, or Antoine's.
We asked for the shoestring potatoes, which Ruth's Chris has always done well. These were fresh cut and nicely fried, but must have missed the shuttle from the kitchen to the table, and appeared cold. The waitress took this seriously and replaced them in rapid order.
The new fries appeared when Mary Leigh did. Apparently the parties ended early. She went after the shoestrings between bites of the second half of MA's filet. That worked out well. The meal played on while the girls whispered to one another about what had gone down in ML's social whirl. They kept me in the dark, as usual.
Ruth’s Chris Steak House. Metairie: 3633 Veterans Blvd. 504-888-3600. Steak.
