Thursday, July 26, 2012.
Spirited Dinner At The Pelican Club.
I plead guilty to the charge of non-participation in Tales Of The Cocktail. It wasn't been a conscious act. Purely by coincidence--my family makes such sketchy plans for everything that it could be no other way--we have always been out of town during Tales week. The conflict began when Jude and I were at summer camp with the Boy Scouts, and continued through the years when we cruised the Mediterranean and Alaska. Until this year, I never attended a single Tales event--although I always promoted it and usually had founder Ann Rogers Tuennerman on the show, even though she must have been frustrated by my lack of knowledge about what was going on.
Tales of the Cocktail celebrates its tenth anniversary this year. It has become huge--the largest consumer-targeted mixology event in the country, perhaps the world. It began as something like the New Orleans Wine And Food Experience, but focused on liquor instead of wine. In its early years, it was a quasi-promotional event for Southern Comfort. After the hurricane, Southern Comfort dropped out as the main sponsor, and Ann and her husband Paul had to hustle to keep things going. That they did, with perfect timing: the new interest in cocktails across the country was exploding into a mania.
Thursday night is reserved for Spirited Dinners, in which twenty-eight restaurants put forth many-course dinners interspersed with cocktails. I've been to a number of such dinners, and I can't say I think it's all that great an idea. Certainly not as good as a wine dinner. On the other hand, I do like cocktails, and I have been able to teach myself not to drink more than about a third of each drink when they're part of a parade.
And I don't say no to anything at The Pelican Club, one of my favorite restaurants.
The host of the dinner was Fred Noe, the master distiller of Jim Beam and its line of Bourbon whiskeys. Fred is the great-great-great-great grandson (that's seventh generation) of Jim Beam himself. His father was the colorful Booker Noe, for whom is named Booker's Bourbon--one of Beam's top-end products. When that and the other upscale Bourbons (Knob Creek, Baker's, and Basil Hayden's) first appeared, Booker Noe was on my radio show. One of his stories took a half-hour to tell, but I don't remember it. (I want to say a dog was involved somehow.) His son Fred also did a guest shot on my air after he took over.
The most interesting aspect of this dinner was the crowd. It filled every chair at the Pelican Club, to the point that its infamously loud acoustics (it rivals Galatoire's in that regard) made the walls ring. With the exception of a few people I know from the business, I didn't recognize a soul. At our table was an anesthesiologist from St. Louis. Others I talked with betrayed equally exotic origins. All were united by an avidity for cocktails that had them talking like wine fanatics.
This is a good thing. And a miracle. For decades, a succession of festivals tried to lure inbound tourism to New Orleans in the hotter months. None of them succeeded. Even NOW&FE didn't become the hit it is now until its date moved from mid-July to the comparatively cool late May.
The first course brought both the best dish of the night and the most interesting cocktail. Chef Richard Hughes stuffed a bunch of quail with foie gras, wrapped them in bacon, and sent them out with a Bourbon-flavored demi-glace. Wonderful. I could have eaten two.
The cocktail was based on rye whiskey--a spirit that is undergoing a major and overdue renaissance. The other ingredients were purees of apple and pear, with ginger liqueur and a little lemon to sharpen the flavors. The rye was Knob Creek, which I didn't know existed. This was such a good drink that Mary Ann--not a cocktail drinker--loved it. (Fortunately, we are staying in the French Quarter tonight, and I don't need her designated-driver services.)
Now a very rich crab bisque made with smoked gouda melted into the creamy broth. Nothing wrong with that. Nor with the cocktail, a take on the Manhattan. Its non-conformity--aside from its lack of a cherry--was apple-spice liqueur. I like Manhattans, and I liked this.
How is it that after trying dozens of versions of shrimp and grits, not one of them was less than wonderful? Especially since I'm not fond of shrimp entrees? That skein had to end someday, and it did tonight. This had the flavor of shrimp Creole (though not the sauce), with some country ham alongside the shrimp and a poached egg over the grits, which were flavored with orange zest. Even the best restaurants have a dinger once in awhile. The cocktail was a mint julep with pineapple. The anesthesiologist--a young guy who was very much into all this--was as unimpressed as I was.
After that we had cowboy ribeyes that had been dry-aged for thirty-five days by an outfit called Meats By Linz. It was good enough, but it's hard to get a sharp edge on steaks served for over a hundred people at the same time.
The cocktail was interesting, and moved Fred Noe to tell a long story from his teen years about the whiskey. Jim Beam Devil's Cut is made by steaming the inside of a recently-disgorged whiskey barrel and bottling what comes out. It's apparently a trick of the old-timers, who would sneak this off-the-books byproduct, and share it with the younger men. The cocktail made with it tonight was a large goblet that was red at the top (from Pinot Noir, of all things) and white at the bottom (lemon and ginger beer). The only good thing about this was that it was cold and low in alcohol, the like of which was needed at that point.
Peach and honey cobbler for dessert. Mary Ann was long since past ready to go. We walked the five blocks to the Audubon Cottages on Dauphine Street, a beautiful place where we were already checked in and ready to enjoy its historic comforts. I will tell about those in tomorrow's.
Pelican Club. French Quarter: 615 Bienville. 504-523-1504.
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.
