Thursday, July 29, 2010. On TV In Dallas. To Houston. Quattro. We went to bed last night with a disturbing uncertainty. We didn't know what time I'm supposed to show up for my appearance on Good Morning Texas this morning. Such shows are notorious for requiring guests to be in the studio at 5:30 a.m. We were operating under that painful assumption.
At five a.m., we learned that Good Morning Texas doesn't go on until nine, and that eight-thirty was plenty early enough. We're only five minutes from the station. Yes! Back to sleep.
We awoke with time to have breakfast in the Mansion on Turtle Creek's marvelous dining room. We were the first ones in there. We had a more or less standard breakfast, with fresh juice and caffe latte and fruit around the eggs and bacon. Sixty-two dollars.
Good Morning Texas is not a typical lame morning show--but Dallas is a big market. The hosts--Rob McCollum and Amy Vanderoef--were network-quality sharp and smart. While I began cooking my sweet-heat pork tenderloin on the set, I watched them with the other guests. The most interesting were a half-dozen dancers for the Dallas basketball team. They were in full dance mini-outfits, which yanked the eyes of all the men on the set in their direction. Few things are more alluring than the figure of a dancer.
Also on the show before me were the Girls Scouts with their cookies, a woman who talked about eating healthy, and the Blue Bell Ice Cream guys. Texas is Blue Bell country. They had a couple of new flavors. I asked one of them why they stopped making Garlic Sardine. I think the guy took me seriously for a microsecond.
Then, my turn. Rob came over and volunteered to finish the pan sauce. The pork tenderloin was already seared and cooked. I had to perform the latter task in a microwave oven; there was no other way. While Rob reduced the sauce of apple juice and pepper jelly, he asked all the right questions: about the New Orleans restaurant scene, about the safety of Gulf seafood (he know it was fine, but wanted to make that point again), and about the dancers, who continued to distract us by standing near the stove, bending over and looking at my pan. I persuaded Rob to go along with a dumb skit. He tasted the sauce and said it needed a little Tabasco. I whipped out one of those teeny bottles of the stuff and said, "Well, here's a little Tabasco for you!"
The video of all this is here.
We checked out of the Mansion and left for Houston. We had to take I-45 all the way, to get my radio show on the air. So far, we've driven almost nothing but freeways. This is a far cry from the leisurely wandering I envisioned for this trip. And, so far, more work than work.
Mary Ann is a hamburger hound. She was intrigued by an article in Texas Monthly about the state's best burgers. One of the nominees was a Texas chain called Whataburger. I remember trying one of these on an early trip to Texas in 1976. I didn't think much of it then. But thirty-four years can make a lot of changes. We planned on lunching at a Whataburger en route to Houston, but every location was on the wrong side of the highway and back a few miles. We almost found one in Huntsville (home of Texas's hyperactive Death Row), but road construction separated the restaurant from the exit. No Whataburger today.
The metropolitan area of Houston is now as far north as Conroe. I remember Conroe's being a country town last time I was there (1976). It's unambiguously suburban now, with all the chain malls that implies. We continued into the heart of Houston, and the caliber of business changed. I saw an establishment called "Dago Tattoos" advertising to the I-45 stream.
I stayed at the then-new Four Seasons Hotel in 1984, when it hosted a conference on New Southwestern Cuisine. A terrific event, it turned me on to that exciting cuisine. One evening, the New Orleans contingent had a late-night party in my suite (press weasel perks were common back then), attended by Emeril (who'd just started at Commander's), Gerard Maras (then chef of Mr. B's), Cindy Brennan, Lally Brennan, and a few others. I had a great picture of all of us at that youthful time, but Katrina got it.
The Four Seasons looks dated. It's in good shape, but the style is too old to be hip and not old enough to be retro. Its main advantage is that it's a block or so from the Convention Center. That is on the less glittery side of downtown. Mary Ann wanted to walk the few blocks to Pappas BBQ, but when she asked for directions the concierge warned her the neighborhood wasn't safe, and that she should take the hotel's free shuttle. Mary Ann was not impressed by any of this. But she found the hotel, and cut the two-for-one deal for the room. So she's stuck. As for me, I can stay in any kind of hotel as long as the dataport on the phone works, so I can get my radio show on the air. It did, and I did.
On the way from Dallas, I asked Mary Ann (who let me drive!) to look through the restaurant listings in Texas Monthly for a place for dinner in Houston. She was intrigued by an avant-garde Italian restaurant called Quattro. By marvelous coincidence, Quattro turned out to be right in our hotel! Well, the Four Seasons always did have good restaurants.
We were served by an older waiter, originally from Portugal. I got his attention by ordering a Negroni cocktail. We struck up a conversation about linguiça, comparing and contrasting the Brazilian and Portuguese versions of that sausage. He decided that we were not conventioneers, and gave us great advice on the menu.
Which was, indeed, not just unusual but very good. We began with hand-carved Parma prosciutto, cut off the whole pig leg, right there in the dining room. This was part of what they called an "enoteca" menu--small plates, essentially, matched with wines. We stayed with that for an amazing dish of a long board of eggplant, topped with scoops of burrata. That's an interesting item: it's a not-quite-finished, whole-milk mozzarella, and with a curd-like texture and a creamy milky flavor. The waiter insisted that I try this, and it was as good as advertised.
Then some cavatelli pasta (like tiny canoes) with house-made pork sausage (not linguiça), porcini mushrooms and a light demi-glace-tasting sauce with rosemary.
And wild mushrooms, speck, and a couple of foldover ravioli, in a rich sauce that hit a crescendo with a fluff of foam.
What about this rack of lamb with a coffee glaze, and a crust of ciabatta (gesundheit!) and basil, I asked the waiter. He said there was no need to investigate the menu further: that was the dish for me. He was right about that. Very juicy, and the crust brilliant.
The coffee that glazed the lamb was identified by the menu as being from Illy, the biggest producer of espresso in Italy. (How could anyone note a flavor distinction?) I told the waiter that about twenty years ago I had lunch with Ernesto Illy, who owns the company. He wasn't too impressed. Whoops. I forgot. This is Houston, where everybody has money and a good story to back up his claims to being substantial.
Mary Ann finished with a light enoteca dish made of sheets of phyllo and some kind of filling. This was after I'd had a second Negroni and most of a bottle of Tommasi Amarone. I have no recollection of what it was, but the picture is certainly striking. I must be forgiven for this. It was a long day.
One dessert, as usual: a creme brulee topped with a citrus rind filled with granita, berries, and grapes. Pretty and good. Espresso.
Two hundred thirty-eight dollars, this meal was. No tablecloths. I am becoming more alarmed daily by this trend toward placemats.
Quattro. In the Four Seasons Hotel. Houston: 1300 Lamar Ave. 713-276-4700. Contemporary Italian.
