Fifty years ago, Tom walked into a deserted Crescent City Steakhouse on Mardi Gras day to “say goodbye to beef.”
He wrote about the experience in such glowing terms that the next year a few more people were there at Mardi Gras.
Each year this phenomenon had repeated itself and now the Crescent City Steakhouse is THE place to be on Mardi Gras day. The experience is emblematic of what it means to be a New Orleanian.
The parking lot is small but adequate on most days. On Mardi Gras day the overspill goes way back, and double parking is common. Someone yelled through the room, “Is the owner of a Cadillac with Mississippi plates in the dining room?” The person who double-parked us was gracious enough to leave space for maneuvering out, and some people are lucky enough to come in as a new space in front opens. I want to share a lottery ticket with them. Even I, the parking witch, as Tom has always called me, am always relegated to the deep overspill lot.
On our way in we passed a group of tailgaters in the parking lot. There were lawn chairs open for visitors, coolers, wine, cheese, crackers, and appetizers. “Tom Fitzmorris!” a member of this group exclaimed, “Have a seat! How about a drink?” The group had a pretty decent bar and Tom accepted a drink and sat.
I asked about this outdoor party and they explained that they tailgated until their reservation came up. (The wait is hours, plural) Their group was 8…or 17. It mattered little to them. They were having a blast in the parking lot, and were most hospitable to all who passed, whether they knew them or not.
That is Crescent City Steakhouse on Mardi Gras day. The ultimate New Orleans party. Friends, strangers who become new friends, new people who then make it a tradition, they are all here along with the original patron - Tom Fitzmorris.
It was sweet to see the people come to our table to say, “Tom, we are here because of you. Started coming 20 years ago because of what you said about it.” The number varied with each person but the text was the same. Three years, thirty, twenty, fifteen, all ending with a thanks for something fun to do on Mardi Gras.
And it is fun. The buzz in the room is deafening, and the spirit electric. The poor waiters, especially Anthony, (one of the owners,) are tasked with being in ten places at one time. Staffing issues what they are now made this kind of crowd especially difficult this year. But they made it look effortless, and food delivery was quite timely. Everything hot, they didn’t miss a beat.
What was missing this year was the family matriarch Krasna, a woman who exemplifies the concept of European gentility, hospitality, and grace. She recently had a knee replacement and is hobbling too much for such an event. That meant no tripe soup for Tom’s group this year, something she always brings him. For me that meant no visiting with the lovely Krasna, with whom I discuss her city garden and visits to Croatia. We always talk about our mutual friend Ceil, who I actually brought this year.
Krasna's tripe soup was always Tom’s first course, but this year we would get everything off the menu. The last few years I have done the ordering, and last year we got filets which were a terrific, tender, beer-can-sized hunk of meat wrapped in bacon, sitting in a pool of sizzling butter. For $34!! Sides are fantastic in that unpretentious how-Mom-would-have-done-it way. These are the best cut-in-house fries in town: long, bendable, crisp, greaseless, always golden brown. Again, absurdly cheap.
The menu is straight out of another era, 1934 to be exact. That was the founding of Crescent City and absolutely nothing has changed. They serve steaks, so don’t go looking for anything else. We had Tom’s sister with us this time and she mentioned she doesn’t eat meat. I had never looked for anything else here and assured her there would be something, but a quick glance of the menu proved they are true to the name. This is a steakhouse. Period.
That said, they do steaks very very well. It’s USDA Prime Beef, dry aged in-house, presented in sizzling butter by the people who invented the concept. Tom has always gotten the porterhouse here, until a few years ago when we switched to filets. Yesterday he noticed, and lamented that he wanted a “real” steak, so I switched the orders for filets to the porterhouse. My friend still got a filet, but Tom’s sister’s thoughts about meat allowed me to give her the filet from the porterhouse.
I felt better about sticking with Tom’s Crescent City MOJO, but I became jealous looking across the table at my friend’s $34 beer can filet.
The orders of creamed spinach, au gratin potatoes, Lyonnaise potatoes, and the spectacular shoestring fries all came to the table just as they have since Day 1. The stress created by the current climate for restaurants was nowhere to be seen. Everywhere there was great food and good will.
The creamed spinach was better than usual, the shoestring fries absolutely consistently delicious. The Lyonnaise potatoes were a little off, and the au gratin not all that good. We also got garlic bread which was terrific as always. Onion rings right on par and the stuffed mushrooms were excellent.
Our radio show producer Patty brought her own party of five and sat at an adjacent table. It was their first time for this event, but it will not be the last, she assured me. Between their group and the Cadillac with Mississippi plates duo I invited, it seems like the wait for a table at Crescent City next year just got longer.
So why wait for Mardi Gras? The food is just as great any other day.
