Thursday, January 8, 2009.
The Book Passes. Zoe, Second Try.
Amy Wilinsky, my editor for the memoir, called today to say that she'd read the manuscript I sent Monday (in less than a week? she must be a fast reader). She thinks that it's well written, has compelling enough of a narrative arc (those are the buzzwords these days), and only needs a few amplifications here and there.
She surprised me by saying she thought I hadn't included enough personal stuff. I always think I put in too much. As in this Dining Diary, for example. As in these words. But she says that's the most compelling part, and wants to know more about the stress she detects during the long stretches when I was in New Orleans while the rest of my family was in Washington. I think I can do that easily enough.
This assessment was a great relief to me. I'm always trying to figure out what other people might be interested in, but never quite know if what I have written addresses that interests. Or creates one. Also, I wasn't sure whether I'd written enough. Or too much. Amy seems to think it's about right.
After the radio show, I walked across the street to Zoe again, hoping that the real menu would be in place, instead of the one I found last week. It was, and eating a good bit of it gave me enough material for this week's column. Once again, as it has 
been on my every visit (not just lately, but for years), the restaurant was nearly empty. It was also freezing. I asked the hostess if a little less air conditioning (in January!) could blast down from right above my table, which I chose because the light above was good enough for taking pictures.
The first course was one of the few items on the menu that lives up to Zoe's claim of serving tapas. It was a solidly Spanish idea: potatoes and chorizo, topped with a fried egg. This was peppery and really delicious. But the next course brought me all the way back to Tchoupitoulas Street: chicken andouille gumbo. Interesting texture, almost like that of a Chinese soup, seeming thickened with cornstarch instead of a roux. The
flavor was on the money, though, and that's all I care about. Oh, one other thing: the bowl was designed so that it tilted forward. Never saw the like of that before.
The entree claimed to be blackened redfish. There was a small piece of that in one of the four shallow pockets of the plate (on the lower left in the photo). Two of the other sections fleshed out the meal with some very good peeled barbecue shrimp, and a small oyster brochette topped with a garlicky red-wine bordelaise. A grilled lemon slice and some frisee filled the remaining corner. Very tasty, and a fine presentation.
I ate the whole dessert. I didn't mean to. I'm supposed to be eating half-portions. This was an orange-flavored cheesecake riddled with poppy seeds, light in texture but with a lot of appeal to the palate. (Orange is a favorite flavor of mine, and my own house cheesecake is made with a lot of orange.)
I was served by three different people throughout the evening. I gave them a big enough tip to divide. I feel for any waiters who must tend a sparse dining room. But how do you get people to eat in what is obviously a hotel dining room? Even a good one?
Zoë. CBD: In the W Hotel, 333 Poydras Street. 504-207-5018. Contemporary Creole.
