Thursday, December 23, 2010. Dinner At The Sign Of The Gaslights. Mary Ann had dinner at the Bon Ton last week with a client. She has never been as much of a fan of the Bon Ton as I am; the Bon Ton was the client's idea. But she said it was one of the best meals she's had in awhile, involving a dish she eats everywhere she can find it: grilled fish with crabmeat on top and a light butter sauce underneath. She couldn't wait to have it again.
Tonight was the perfect night for that reprise. I have a tradition since 1974 of having dinner at the Bon Ton on a cold night before Christmas. That year, I had just taken over as editor of New Orleans Magazine and worked late every night. The office was on Gravier off Magazine, at a time when the CBD was deserted at night. I left at around eight and pushed my way through the chilly wind. When I passed beneath the Bon Ton's awning, something about the gaslights that flanked the door looked warm and inviting. I went inside and had a comforting dinner. Ever since, I always think of the Bon Ton this time of year, whether I go or not.
On top of all that, Jude flew in from Los Angeles at five-thirty. We all met at the Bon Ton right after the radio show. The gaslights were still flickering. The dining room was still cozy. It was busy but not full.
I couldn't imagine a cocktail. Too cold outside. A good time to give up drinking, although I don't think I'll do that just yet. Glass of wine, then. And, just on time, here was a plate of fried catfish goujonettes (a.k.a. "fingers") and fried crawfish tails, with that mayo-ketchup-Creole mustard dipping sauce they make here. (It's a twin of Cane's sauce, but decades older.) Gumbo for the young adults, both of whom have come to live the dish even as they disdain the city it comes from. Turtle soup was still on my mind, lingering from a conversation on the air Monday. The Bon Ton's version of that is famous but just okay.
Mary Ann didn't know exactly what that dish she loves so much a week ago was called, but I was pretty sure it was redfish Bon Ton. That's broiled fish (usually drum, but close enough, and unlike redfish it's wild-caught). She decided not to order that, but to have a grilled shrimp salad instead. So I got it. I'm not sure, but I think this was the very dish I had on that original 1974 visit. It was good as usual--maybe too good. Mary Ann and Jude stuck forks into my plate. Only by fast eating was I able to keep MA from getting half of it. That's one way to fool yourself into thinking you're dieting.
Jude had the filet and Mary Leigh helped him decimate it. I like the way these skinny kids of mine eat lightly and still seem to enjoy it. This may mean that they've managed to eschew their parents' bad habits. At least some of them. This is what the rebelliousness of teenage and early adulthood is for. Both my parents were heavy smokers; all of their four children found the habit disgusting and never ever lit up.
The Bon Ton's bread pudding is so famous that they have special, inscribed plates for it. My picture of it was one of the few I ever take that I'm actually proud of.
The discussion at the table--between visits from owner Wayne Pierce--concerned the vacation we are alleged to be taking next week. But as yet there are no plans, no reservations, no flights. Not even a destination. We seem to be going back and forth between Washington, D.C., San Francisco, and Prague. I haven't bothered to book vacation time for it. I don't really believe it will happen.
Bon Ton Cafe. CBD: 401 Magazine. 504-524-3386.
