Saturday, July 27, 2013.
Dinner With The Montaigne Club At Restaurant August.
One Buddy Bolton (no, of course not the famous early New Orleans jazzman) contacted me a couple of months ago with an invitation to dine with his associates tonight. The Montaigne Club (named for the French philosopher) is composed of a dozen or so male gourmets living in the vicinity of Lake Charles, Louisiana. They regularly meet in the better restaurants in their hometown for stag, black-tie wine dinners. One of their number gets up and gives a talk about a subject other than what he does for a living.
A couple of times a year, the club includes spouses in a dinner in New Orleans, with a guest speaker who they allow to speak about his area of expertise. Why they chose me I don't know, but I was happy to be there. I have a very good story to tell about Restaurant August, its admirable performance during and after Katrina, and my first time dining there (or anywhere else) after the storm. It's good enough that it was the first chapter of my book Hungry Town.
The dinner began in the spacious second-floor dining room of August with the opening of a six-liter bottle--a methuselah!--of Taittinger Brut Champagne. It flowed freely, yet I think there may have been some left. Nine bottles divided by twenty-four guests is. . .
The bubbly went well with the assortment of passed appetizers. Enough of those that I lost track of them all, although I do remember with pleasure some little crabmeat "melts." (As in "patty melt," which may announce the replacement of the overused slider concept in the near future.)
At the table, before any further food showed up, Jay-Ray & Gee--a trio of a cappella doo-wop a la Motown singers--came in and did a half-dozen songs. I keep running into these guys, who have a finely tuned harmony going on. They were at my sixtieth birthday party, and they let me sing with them at the Royal Sonesta's big Christmas party last year. They sounded better tonight than they ever had.
A salad appeared with roasted garlic, artichoke hearts and potatoes, all imbued with the flavor of crab boil. After which a decision had to be made about the entree. We had to choose between:
Almond-crusted speckled trout, crabmeat and hollandaise
and
Moroccan spiced breast of duck, pickled cherries, seared foie gras, and creamy Anson Mills grits
Before I could catch myself in a clear breach of guest etiquette, I asked the captain whether these dishes could be served in demi-portions so we could have both. I personally didn't see how I could have only one of these, and I figured everybody else felt the same way. Fortunately, I didn't push any harder, and avoided offense.
I did, however, wind up getting both. (The chef liked the idea.) I still would not be able to choose. The trout was the less exciting, but the more polished and familiar dish. The duck was reaching out to far-flung flavor fields, and had a rustic quality.
I got up to say my few words as dessert arrived (peach tarte Tatin, vanilla creme mousseline, raspberry sorbet). Opened with the three stories I tell everywhere. As in all previous, nobody in the room had ever heard them, and I got all the laughter I needed. Then the post-K August story. And the giving of the restaurant population, which inevitably draws applause. Which is when I sit down, quitting while I am ahead.
Chef Michael Gulotta joined us to accept another ovation. He said that he is now officially the executive chef at August, explaining that while Chef John Besh was still the tastemaker of all his restaurants, he could not be expected to be in the kitchen at August every night. Well, we knew that already, but it was nice to have it made official.
Restaurant August. CBD: 301 Tchoupitoulas. 504-299-9777.
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