Thursday, October 1, 2009. The Marys, Al Fresco, And Me At Martinique. The weather has been lovely enough that Commander's Palace is serving in its courtyard. That's as sure a sign of fall as anything I know. The Harvest Moon arrives this weekend, too. It's been dry enough that the ground at the Cool Water Ranch is almost solid enough to carry a big man on a small tractor. I should be able to cut the prairie that I used to call a lawn this weekend.
The Marys stayed in town after the younger got out of school. They instigated the idea of having dinner with me, but we had to go through the usual charade first. They ask me what restaurants I need to visit for the sake of my reviews. I tell them to forget about that, because the intersection between what they like and where I need to go is as hard to find as the corner of Magazine and Tchoupitoulas. They insist that I pick a place.
"Okay," I said. "Let's go to Martinique. I haven't been there since the new chef came in. They want to run commercials on my show and to do an Eat Club, but I can't until I check it out. And they have a courtyard! We can dine outside!" I hate Al Fresco myself, but I know the girls like it.
The whining began immediately. "Do they have anything we'd like?" they asked. I'm sure there's something, I assured them. And wasn't it they who insisted that we choose a reviewable restaurant? I stood my ground. They sighed and said they'd meet me there.
I was in dutch the moment I arrived. "Why did it take you so long to get here?" the Marys asked. Well, I don't get off the air until seven, it's a long way Uptown, and it's hard to find a place to park. As it was, I was three blocks away. (This is a major problem for Martinique, as well as its across-the-street neighbor, Bistro Daisy.) "But it's seven-thirty!" they cried. They like to go to bed around nine. And it's an hour's drive to get home. I understand. Girls need to be pampered.
My luck turned. I have a knack for showing up on the last night of a restaurant's old menu, leaving me with no good information. But today, it was the third night of the new menu! This is, in a way, almost as bad, because they're still working the kinks out of new dishes. And a few kinks did turn up. The first was in my appetizer, a baked oyster casserole along Italian lines, but a little different. Different enough that I wasn't sure whether the oysters inside were supposed to be cold. As they were. "You can have them any way you like!" said the server, not catching on to my intent. We went back and forth until we agreed it would be a good idea to run this past the chef one more time. When the dish came out again--the same dish--it was hot. Good enough, but they need to work on this a bit more.
Mary Ann wasn't happy with the gnocchi starter, but I don't know why. The gnocchi were a little too firm, but otherwise I liked the flavors of the creamy sauce, the sweet potato cubes, and the flakes of Parmigiana. It was generous enough for two, and I at my half.
The first unqualified hit of the night was what the menu called a crabmeat Cobb salad. Here was a formed cylinder of spinach, arugula, bacon, avocado, egg, and blue cheese--the ingredients of a Cobb salad, all right, with the crabmeat making a penthouse on top. But no Cobb in my experience looked or tasted like this. A very good taste, at that, tangy and mellow, the crabmeat in enough quantity to stand out. It would have had a better texture had it been served normally, because after all that fooling around the greens were a little limp. But we all loved it anyway.
By this time I had begun to worry about Mary Leigh. She had eaten only bread. (The bread was good.) None of her fallback dishes were on the menu: no filet, no acceptable pasta. She ordered the flank steak. I like flank steak, but she'd never had it. Against the wall, she was forced to try. Alleluia! She loved it. But not the mashed potatoes. They didn't compare with her dad's.
Mary Ann, who is thinking much more about health than flavor in her dining choices, had the most beautiful dish of the night. It was a thick cut of salmon, broiled to a nice crustiness, set atop fingerling potatoes and topped with leeks and butter and a few other things. Delicious, too.
I was not so lucky. I was intrigued by the pompano (my favorite fish) with lobster and Clemenceau broth. All parts of that were disappointing, but especially the fish, which tasted less than vivid--not spoiled, but dry, as it would be after spending too long in either the pan or the refrigerator. I did not recognize the Clemenceau aspect of the sauce.
The girls gobbled their entrees and were itching to leave. They had their own car; there was nothing I could do to stop them. Good-night, ladies. See you tomorrow morning. I'll take care of this $175 check--don't you worry. What, no kiss?
Martinique. Uptown: 5908 Magazine 504-891-8495. French Caribbean.
