Thursday, July 25, 2012.
Exploding Skies And Moat-Like Rues. Eat Club At Bayona.
It was a lovely day when I left the North Shore for our remote radio gig at Bayona. The sun was shining, it was July-in-New Orleans hot and humid, and puffy clouds scudded across the lake. But I was no sooner on the Causeway when I saw a black cloud on the other side. I watched it grow, darken, and begin to send down tendrils of electricity, the latter more frequent and insistent the closer I came. The rain began as I was on land, and by the time I was on I-10 it brought traffic to a careful, white- knuckles creep.
It didn't seem possible that this deluge could get worse, but when I came down to earth around the Municipal Auditorium, trees of substantial size were bending back and forth furiously as the pelting rain intensified. Crossing into the French Quarter put us into a curb-to-curb flood, one that seemed to grow as I inched through four blocks to the parking garage. I parked all right, but it was clear that white rubber boots would be needed to walk to the restaurant.
But it takes a downpour of tremendous mass to flood the streets of the French Quarter, the highest land in town. Without a hurricane to feed it, this shower couldn't last long, and when it slowed down to normal rain the drains sucked the sluices down in about ten minutes. The lightning was still shooting down at me and my umbrella, but I made it barely in time to go on the air.
The electrical impulses wrought havoc on the transmission to the studio, and we kept going on and off the air. Ironically, I tried five time to enunciate a commercial for Bayona's block-away neighbor the Bombay Club, but was never able to finish one before the line went down again.
I wasn't surprised that about a dozen of the eighty people signed up for our Eat Club dinner at Bayona tonight didn't show. That was the scariest isolated thunderstorm I've ever witnessed. One funny thing about it: I would expect hail from something like this, but it's clearly too hot for iceballs.
Susan Spicer turned over the creation of the menu to her sous Chef Brett Duffee. The theme was Tuscan, and he was determined to make it as true to the food of that region of Italy as possible.
We began with an amuse-bouche of shrimp on a crostini with some kind of creamy cheese. Then a platter of salumi, including a couple of slices of lardo. That's a hot items among chefs these days. When I did Anthony Bourdain's show a couple of years ago, it's all he talked about. Lardo--which is well named--is nearly lean-free pork fat, cut from the fattest, youngest hogs and cured. It looks like raw bacon. I have not been a fan of things like this (for example, braised pork belly, lardo's more familiar cousin). But if Bourdain likes it. . . well. . . well, I still don't understand the appeal, other than the hipness of it. Everyone likes to feel hip, except perhaps for superannuated restaurant critics who, having never succeeded in being cool, give it up and just go for things that taste good.
The good stuff on this plate included a marvelous pate of rabbit and duck liver, some house-cured salami, and crusty bread.
That was followed, in pure Italian style, by pasta. The shape was a new one on me: pici, which is made by making a flour-and-water dough, then rolling it into thick, irregular strings. The advantage of this is uncertain, but Chef Brett thought it important enough to stay up until two this morning rolling it himself. It was tossed with a rabbit ragu, and whether it was that or the pasta that made the difference, this was a delicious plate, very Tuscan, and enjoyed by all.
The next course was equally unusual and even better. Chef Brett made a stock with "collars" of tuna. Those are the bony rear parts of the fish's head, and popular in Asia, where people are more adept that we are in picking out little shreds of meat from between bony enclosures. The stock tasted acidic, suggesting vinegar. It was wine that did that--both red and white. The finished dish had two medium-rare slices of fresh tuna lifted out of the broth by an underlayer of lady peas (tiny blackeyes) and farro (an ancient ancestor of wheat, making a comeback in recent times among hip chefs).
The next course was academic. Classic Tuscan ingredients and techniques, with a story to boot. The dish's name "valigette" translates as "handbag" in Italian. The bag part was made of thinly-sliced beef, rolled and folded around a collections of ham, artichokes, bread, and savory vegetables. The first thought I had was that this was a variation on the familia braciolone, but smaller and not simmered in red sauce. That was the problem. The dish was dry, very herbal, and in need of some kind of moistener--anything from a broth to a salsa, even if the latter were not made of tomatoes (too South Italy for this dinner). What we wound up with was more accurate than good.
The dessert was a panforte of sweet cheese, almonds, and chocolate. It tasted good enough, but my teeth could not handle it. Panforte is a holiday dessert anyway. Opinions varied on its goodness, but what was not in doubt was the excellence of the Chianti Classico Vinsanto. That's new to me: the classic red wine of Tuscany made in the late-harvest, sweet style. The crowd went wild, and I'm sure I would have, but this was the part of the meal during which I wasn't where the waiter thought I would be. (This happens to me at every Eat Club dinner, as I act the host.) I did have all the other wines, though, and there were without exception very well chosen and highly drinkable. (The 2006 Renieri Brunello di Montalcino in particular.)
Susan Spicer shares both the spotlight and the workload with her sous chefs. She was back there all night long, working as hard as she always has done.
Bayona. French Quarter: 430 Dauphine. 504-525-4455.
It's over three years since a day was missed in the Dining Diary. To browse through all of the entries since 2008, go here.
