[title type="h5"]Friday, March 7, 2014.[/title] A couple of weeks ago Mary Ann and I hung out at Parkway Poor Boys with owner Jay Nix and his wife Sandy. We attended their wedding--was it really three years ago? At that time and again a few others, we thought it would be fun for the four of us to go out to dinner somewhere. Tonight was the night. Going to Tujague's was Mary Ann's idea, a surprising one for her. She doesn't share my love of historic old restaurants. And only Antoine's is older than Tujague's. Opening in 1856, under a succession of long-standing owners it managed not only to stay in business but also to hang onto its unique service style. For most of its history, diners at Tujague's came in, sat down, and with no questions asked would receive a procession of small courses: shrimp remoulade, the soup of the day, a salad, a small block of the house's famous boiled beef brisket, the entree of the day, dessert, and coffee served in a rocks glass. Last year, a concurrence of events brought Tujague's to the brink of extinction, then gave it a promising new lease on its distinguished life. It started--at least from my perspective--with a dinner at Muriel's with Steven Latter, his son Mark and me. Steven owned Tujague's for over thirty years, and had great respect for the restaurant's history. But he knew that it was time to move forward. Mark seemed to feel this even more strongly. But I had no idea at the time how intent he was on making deep changes. Then came the double contretemps. Steven Latter, who seemed to be in reasonably good health, suddenly died at 69. Then his brother Stanford, who owns the building Tujague's occupies, said he would sell it. The most likely new owner was the operator of tourist shops. It looked as if Tujague's would be homeless. We soon found out what force Mark Latter commands. He managed to patch everything back together. He acquired a long news lease on the building. His uncle continued to be the landlord, and Mark became the majority owner of the business. Mark set about reworking the menu and tearing out a dark renovation from the 1970s. The kitchen developed a full card of contemporary Creole dishes. Although it included most of what Tujague's had been serving for the previous century, that did not make a thick cookbook. Most of the menu will be new to most Tujague's customers. The renovation of the two main dining rooms made them resemble other restaurants from the long ago. Mirrors along the two long walls are reminiscent of those of Galatoire's and Antoine's. Tujague's once again looks like what it is: a link to the earliest days of the New Orleans restaurant business. We arrived early, but without a reservation. The front room was largely occupied by a bachelor party. The only tables available were in the windowless back room. It had been a gloomy spot, as we recalled from my mother's would-be 100th birthday there two years ago. Now it's much brighter and more pleasant. The kitchen grabbed our attention directly with the opening course. A generous amuse-bouche of gnocchi with mushrooms, crabmeat, and grated Parmigiana soaked up a cream sauce. This was so thoroughly impressive that Sandy Nix order a bigger dish of the same concoction for her entree. I had the same temptation, so I'm glad she did. This was not our great-grandfather's Tujague's eating. The next round of courses brought a stunning crab cake, striped with a zingy, mustardy mayonnaise. It was chock-a-block with jumbo lump, served in enough volume to make an entree. Elsewhere on the table were some shrimp and more lumps of crabmeat on top of a fried green tomato. Most of us ordered two or three courses. We would have been remiss if none of us asked for the full five-course parade. I volunteered myself for the job, and went right to work on the shrimp remoulade. Tujague's old version of this old Creole classic was very good but oily, a relic from another time. Hail and farewell to that. In its place are big firm shrimp with both varieties of remoulade sauce, white and red. The latter was even zippier than its notably sharp ancient forebear. Like everything else so far, it looked at least as good as it tasted. Next course, soup. Again, it was not one of the homely old broths Tujague's served for a century and a half, but a very classy, rich asparagus and crabmeat job, thick with cream and with an asterisk of fresh asparagus floating on the surface. The only item the chef has left alone is the brisket. But he apparently doesn't know that the brisket has to be cut a certain way. Instead, here was a thick slice running parallel to the grain. That made it tough to eat, and also was a cheap presentation. It needs to be a cube. The entree course brought us back to the new culinary highway. Jay and I succumbed to the fish of the day, a thick slab (about the size and shape the brisket should have had) of lemonfish, prepared simply and well. Mary Ann took the blackened redfish, which made a strong statement on the pepper channel. And Sandy had her seconds of the aforementioned gnocchi, as good in a big serving as it was as a tidbit. An assortment of beautiful desserts followed next. I thought the best was the grasshopper pie, a dessert version of the well-known cocktail. It is less well known that it was invented in this very restaurant, with green creme de menthe as the active ingredient. Other finishers included a white chocolate bread pudding and a cheesecake, both topped with a big sliced strawberry. As in all the other courses, all of this was much more appealing to the eye than the good but homely desserts Tujague's had so long made. We now know whether the old restaurant can survive such a radical upheaval of its cooking style without upsetting the longtime customers. It certainly can, and does--by sheer dint of polish and excellence. Two-thirds through the meal, we asked to be relocated to the front room. And we found that one eternal truth about Tujague's remains. Tile floors, tall ceilings, and narrow dimensions make for a really loud dining room. Especially when a bachelor party is in the room. I don't know what could be done about this without changes too radical even for the newest caretaker of this fine old dining tradition. Tujague's. French Quarter: 823 Decatur. 504-525-8676.
