Sunday, June 20. Father's Day At La Provence. The Marys said I could choose any place I liked for dinner. I know better than to push that too far. Even if everything about the repast is perfection for me, if the girls don't like the place they will make the time pass very, very slowly, as if I deliberately chose the place in order to make them miserable.
I gave three options, from which they chose La Provence. We went there on Father's Day a few years ago. It was in the early months of John Besh's ownership of the place. The waitstaff and kitchen hadn't gelled yet, and my kids were less tolerant of what to them was a weird menu with nothing appetizing on it. But the Marys had no recollection of that disappointment, and the restaurant itself is back up to the excellence of Chris Kerageorgiou's time.
A chill of concern set in when I saw that the restaurant was running a special, limited menu for the day. We were home free when Mary Leigh agreed to venture away from her default filet mignon to try a hanger steak. And then everything about the special menu was glorious, including the price. At $45 for four courses, this was a giveaway.
The crock of gratis chicken liver pate took its time-honored place in the center of the table with some crisp homemade croutons. MA and I proceeded to stuff ourselves with that, in the time-honored La Provence tradition.
The first official course brought grilled oysters on their shells, the bivalves sizzling in pesto. As she does when we go to the Acme, ML went after the sauce left behind after I cleared the oysters out the way. A happy daughter allows her dad to be happy, too.
Accompanying the ersters to the table was house-made prosciutto, from pigs raised on the premises, served with purple heirloom tomatoes also brought forth from these grounds. And a bowl of soupe pistou, a vegetable-studded broth with small dice of pork belly (at last! a sensible use for pork belly!). I love this stuff and get it almost every time I come. Mary Ann had an offbeat starter made entirely of various vegetables, most of which had sort of been fried. We scratched out heads about the function of that one.
Entrees: pork cooked three different ways, making MA happy. The hanger steak was entirely acceptable to its owner. But I had the best dish by a mile. It was a bowl allegedly full of pasta, but in fact dominated by rabbit prepared a couple of ways (better way: the spicy little rabbit meatballs), little crisp summer vegetables, and a brothy sauce (below). This dish is what La Provence is all about. Exactly the flavor and spirit Chef Chris was always playing around with. I thought of him looking down smiling as I enjoyed it.
The great dessert today was a tart of blackberries and blueberries, both peaking right now in their local season. A ball of ice cream on top. Marvelous.
"Just Joyce," the longtime waitress and mother hen of La Provence, was so busy running the bar that I didn't see her until late in the meal. She had written a poem for me, of course. It wouldn't have been Father's Day without one. For once, I had something for her: a copy of Hungry Town. One of the photographs in the book was taken at La Provence about twenty-five years ago. Joyce gave it to me after Chris died.
We started dinner at around two-thirty and didn't get back home until six. So much for getting anything done today. But Mary Ann reminded me that I had a bunch of ads to design for the web site. Then reminded me of the tuitions coming, and all those things that dads take care of. I guess if I can't get a lot of work done on Sunday, I should forget about coming in on Monday.
La Provence. Lacombe: 25020 US 190. 985-626-7662. Mediterranean French.
