Saturday night offered an opportunity to do something we have been meaning to do for years. We had a chance to revisit Nephew’s, where Tony Angello’s nephew (hence the name) and a lot of the crew from there landed after Tony passed away and the restaurant closed permanently.
My most prominent recollection of Nephew’s dates back to its beginning in 2018, when Tom couldn’t stop marveling that he couldn’t find the place, tucked into a little strip mall in Metairie. When seen through the prism of his current situation, that bizarre recurring episode makes sense.
In truth, Nephew’s is not the easiest place to locate. It is tucked way back into the end space of a strip mall whose side faces West Esplanade, not the front. Hopefully, at some point, Nephew’s will follow the lead of its former neighbor Amore, who has since relocated to the north shore. That seems unlikely though because Nephew’s seems quite settled into a charming space that they have made to look like it has been there forever. And the legions of Tony Angello’s regulars that poured in throughout the evening have found a home at this place.
There are more problems with this new home than simply finding it. Parking is really quite the issue. We were lucky to have arrived as one of the very first customers, but our great space proved a nuisance when we left because the valet had to move a few other cars for us to back out.
This valet is really, really special. He behaves more like a trusted, helpful neighbor and true friend. I was touched that he grabbed the door for us, and wanted to help Tom step down the curb.
But that kind of genuine caring extends beyond the valet at the front door. The hostess had it, our waiter had it, and the busboy had it. Eating at Nephew’s is a warm embrace. Tom used to talk about the old place with a tone that implied a lack of understanding of the Tony Angello’s “mystique.” Its clubby atmosphere and passion for food that Tom considered fine but nothing special. He always felt like an outsider viewing something he didn’t quite “get.”
That is exactly how I felt that night. The place was fully booked all evening, and we got in as walk-ins only because we walked in as the doors opened. Everyone seemed to know everyone, making for a happy buzz throughout the place.
The famous “Feed Me” menus made the move to Metairie as well, and that is what we had that night. This seemed appealing because I had been eating all day, running around picking up food, and my sister is not much of an eater at all. She and Tom had snacked all afternoon on banana bread, so we went to dinner not being too hungry.
We got only one of these menus for all three of us to snack on, and the waiter could not have been more accommodating. I felt a little silly doing this, but he offered small plates for us to share small plates. More of that Nephew’s hospitality on display.
We started with pasta with crab gravy, something I had never heard of before. A nice portion of angel hair was covered in a red gravy, and the only hint of crab was the aroma when it was placed before us, as well as a part of a crab leg on top. The combination of seafood and red gravy has been questioned here many times, with this no exception. None of us understood what seems to be a signature dish to the regulars.
The crab gravy was followed by a course of two stuffed shrimp that were sauteed in a delicious lemon butter sauce. I wished I had a whole plate of these. It was one of the two highlights of the night.
The famous Lobster Cup, which we talked about last week on The Food Show (airs 2-4 pm weekdays on 990 AM) prompted this visit to the restaurant. I couldn’t picture what a caller was explaining. Even though I had no idea what to expect, I was still surprised to see what amounted to an oyster patty-type mousse dressing minus the patty shell. It came in a small white dish and was a bit toasted on top, maybe having been run under a salamander. The waiter informed us that it was lobster stock rather than lobster meat, and the dish was made with pureed shrimp and oysters. While that sounded very unappealing, it looked blonder than oysters would, so it had that going for it. A very good thing. This did not have a strong flavor, but I liked it much more than I expected.
The next course completely mystified me. An Italian salad, everywhere I have had it, has olive salad on it and often salami, as well as the assorted deli meats one sees on a muffuletta. This was a beautiful salad of strikingly fresh greens, with none of the other trademarks I just mentioned. It also had a balsamic dressing. This was fine, with a nice fresh dressing, but nothing special.
The minestrone soup was also fine but unremarkable, except for an elevated salt level. Tom liked it.
The star of this menu was nearly the last course, consisting of “Mama’s Eggplant” and Cannelloni, both buried under an old-style-cooked-all-day red gravy. This sauce was not sweet but bursting with dense flavor. The cannelloni was delicious and the eggplant falling apart. This was a plate of food your grandmother would have placed before you and you would be delighted. We all wanted much more of this.
A paneed veal dish came last, replete with chunky mushrooms and oddly flanked by a sliced of seemingly raw green bell pepper. This sat in a puddle of lemon butter sauce. The veal was ideal: thin, crispy breadcrumbs, nicely seasoned. Good stuff.
Only Tom got dessert. It was a cup of two scoops of spumoni ice cream, something he gets whenever he sees it.
Tom has always maintained that he did not see the cult obsession Tony Angello’s enjoyed. It certainly wasn’t about the food, which is not bad but not extraordinary. But there is something charming about this place that is special. I see it.
