Thursday, September 29, 2011.
First Post-K Taste Of Figaro's.
Mary Ann told me today that between Christmas and New Year's we are going to Prague. Says she has the tickets bought. I'm reminded of a moment in the 1950s Superman television show. Clark Kent, Lois Lane, and Jimmy Olsen rush, one after another, into editor Perry White's office. They tell him they're off to cover a crisis they don't have time to explain. After the dust settles and White is alone, he exasperates, "People come and go around here and tell me nothing!"
I'm not the only one who is in the dark. Mary Leigh and I had our weekly dinner tonight, and when I asked her what she knew about this Prague business, she just said, "Oh yeah, that. Don't ask me."
Our dinner was at Figaro's. I had not been there since before the hurricane. It took owner David Shwartz three years to get it going again, but he has other businesses--one of them catering. I thought Figaro's was hors de combat even longer, because the couple of times I attempted to dine there it was closed. (Must have been on Monday or Tuesday, their off-days.)
It's back on my radar now. Figaro's opened in (I think) the late 1980s. It was at first primarily a pizzeria, but that was a time when gourmet chefs were beginning to use pizza as a platform. Its menu began expanding almost immediately, as one chef after another came though, often between more auspicious gigs. That almost always redounds to the benefit of the in-between restaurant, who get the services of a hot chef, even if temporarily.
Shwartz bought the place in the late 1990s. During his years the menu expanded even more, and he intentionally downplayed the pizza aspect. We had an Eat Club dinner there around 1999, and it was fantastic. Not only because the food was good, but because it was so varied.
Most people like Figaro's because most of its tables are outdoors, or nearly so. It's a charming little spot, built from an old gas station. (Someday I will make a list of all the restaurants around town built on top of grease racks and gas pumps. It's got to be at least twenty.)
The al fresco dining would charm Mary Leigh, I knew. We started by splitting a pizza--half pepperoni, half cheese. Better than I remember, nice crisp, thin crust, great sauce. Salads--included with the entrees--were well assembled from good ingredients.
ML had her eye on the lasagna, which she thought was terrific. It was the simple, straightforward style she likes. Lots of cheese, ground beef, and smooth red sauce. No spinach, calamari, or fried plantains. I liked it too.
Shwartz wasn't there when we arrived, but as the entrees came out he did show up and spotted me. So now I had a bowl of mussels, forcing me to overeat and soak up the good sauce with ciabatta (gesundheit!) bread.
My real entree was pecan-crusted redfish. It was done in the 1980s, Paul Prudhomme-inspired style, making an enormous flavor statement with the brown sauce. The fish itself was overcooked, but not inedibly so. I got an inkling from the waitress that the cook was stressed by my presence. I hate when that happens. If only they knew.
Despite that, Figaro's will become one of our regular places for our weekly daddy-daughter repasts. It has an insignificant advantage with me. I cut my teeth in journalism with the 1970s weekly newspaper Figaro, and anything associated with those heady times gets a mental asterisk.
Nothing much new in ML's life. She has dropped the course that overloaded her schedule, and she seems happy about that. She reported on some tiny change in the behavior of the guy she has her cap set for, as if it were a major breakthrough. Oh, how I remember!
Figaro's. Carrollton: 7900 Maple. 504-866-0100.
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.
