Saturday, May 29. A Study Of Magazine Street. The Grand Tasting. Mary Leigh's post-graduation, parent-free party went on until one in the morning. She will neither confirm nor deny a rumor that one of the many fellows at the party took an interest in her. Jude outlasted her by quite a bit. He and his friend Trevor--one of the two Jesuit boys who wound up graduating with Jude from Georgetown Prep. Jude pulled up at the ranch at four. He said he was still on L.A. time, as if I cared. At that age, I used to stay out as late for much less reason.
I was up and out early. I performed my annual assignment of moderating the Max Zander Memorial Seminar for the New Orleans Wine and Food Experience. It was in the Royal Sonesta this year, and the theme (Anne Gooch's idea) was the bistros of Magazine Street. Kevin Vizard (Vizard's, top photo above) made a brilliant take on vitello tonnato, with fresh chunks of tuna. Justin Devillier (La Petite Grocery; I couldn't seem to take his picture) had the best dish of all, a pate wrapped with smoky bacon. Michael Stoltzfus (Coquette, bottom photo above) had something that looked like daube glace, but tasted different (he called it a veal terrine). Isaac Toups (Cuvee, photo below) made a fine little torchon of foie gras. Hmm. Everything here was some sort of pate. (Although the French would insist on using a different word for each of them, as did the chefs themselves.)
The wine pairings were, I thought, less than inspired. But that's no big deal. I persist in a big-time nonconformity in saying that wine pairing is one of the most overblown exercises in the culinary world. But I seemed to have been in the minority in this thinking. The attendees--we sold out a rather large room to what looked like more people than usual--thought it was just fine.
I made everyone uneasy by singing a stanza from "Street of Dreams," a Victor Young tune from 1932. In 1973, Figaro--a weekly newspaper where I worked throughout the 1970s--did a cover story headlined "Magazine, Street of Dreams." The line has been widely used since then as Magazine Street redeveloped itself, but I think Figaro introduced it.
Once we were past that, the seminar grew into a good conversation among the chefs, all of whom were were articulate and had interesting ideas. They agreed that Magazine Street was as fine a location as exists for a hip New Orleans bistro. So our theme held true. We went overtime, as usual.
After the seminar, it was off to the Superdome, where I thought the Grand Tasting would open at one. That made me an hour early. They let me in on my own recognizance, and I had time to talk with the chefs, wine guys, and others at leisure before the crowd hustled in. They didn't have a lot of time to chat, but enough to volunteer these two thoughts: a) it's been a terrific year for business so far and b) there has been no interruption in the supply of seafood, except for a marked increase in the price of oysters. Almost all of them told me that.
I spoke for a longer time with John Seago, the winemaker for Pontchartrain Vineyards. He is very pleased with last year's limited production of what I consider his best wine. That's Rouge Militaire, made of an American grape variety known both as Cynthiana and Norton. It has about the same heft as Pinot Noir, and a unique flavor. His vines for this grape were severely damaged in the hurricane. The winds appear to have twisted the vines enough that they needed to be pruned almost to the ground. The vineyard is on the North Shore, at a 100-foot altitude. He thinks the winds there were over 100 miles per hour for an extended time. A few steps away I encountered John Burke, the discoverer of Louisiana choupique caviar. He gave me an ample spoonful of the stuff. It's delicious. I didn't need to remind him that I was one of his earliest customers, buying two pounds of caviar (at $25 per) for our wedding reception. It impressed everybody.
Peter Sclafani Jr. and III were there. Peter III is a partner in and founding chef of Ruffino's in Baton Rouge, and he was cooking for the tasting. His dad, now retired, used to manage the first restaurant I ever reviewed--the Flambeau Room at the University of New Orleans, in 1972. Peter III and I are trying to assemble a road-trip Eat Club to Ruffino's sometime during the summer. It will require a bus. Too bad there's no train from New Orleans to Baton Rouge. The track it would travel passes right next to the restaurant.
Then the gates opened up and a tremendous mass of foodies flowed in. I was there waiting for Mary Ann, Jude and his buddy Trevor. The boys were here for their first time. Jude was jumping the gun: he doesn't turn twenty-one for another three weeks. But he was more interested in eating than drinking anyway. He gave me an early lead on the gumbo from 5Fifty5. Jude is a gumbo fanatic, and has excellent taste in the stuff.
The food was widely varied, plentiful, and very good--in the top two or three Grand Tastings through the nineteen years since NOWFE began. The only disappointment (and only to MA) was that John Besh hadn't brought his fantastic barbecue shrimp. His steakhouse was serving a miniature wedding cake instead. Is that for very abbreviated marriages?
Besh was center stage with an even bigger cooking celebrity. Paula Deen offered to come down and cook in support of the oil-sullied local fishermen. What she did, really, was get up there and cut up, pronouncing one-syllable words in three syllables ("grey-ee-ats"), and saying that she didn't like John's stone ground grits. "I like my grey-ee-ats soh-uh-aft," she said. About a third of the total crowd stood watching and laughing, while the other two-thirds took advantage of the shortened lines to get more food or wine.
Not far away from the stage was the longest line of all, for Silver Oak's famous Cabernet. Clearly a lot of people here know that label is delicious. Less easy to explain was the extraordinarily long line in front of a couple of chain restaurant serving standard chain food. Familiarity, I guess.
When the parade featuring the St. Augustine Marching 100 passed through the stadium, Mary Ann and I thought it was a good time to leave. I had been on my feet for six hours, and was ready for a nap. Jude had purloined MA's car for further adventures (I heard something about going sailing), so she came home with me for a change.
