Tuesday, August 17. Farewell Dinner At Arnaud's. Mary Ann thought we should ask the Tim Connells to dinner at Arnaud's tonight. Their daughter Hillary leaves for college in Memphis tomorrow. One thing you can say about our family: we get the most out of good-byes. Just a few days ago, Mary Leigh and Hillary spent the day and night together, allegedly for the final time, after dozens of sleepovers since they were very little girls.
Our two families have enjoyed many dinners together at Arnaud's. I took the then-little girls upstairs to its astonishing, beautiful, and somewhat creepy Mardi Gras Museum. Count Arnaud's daughter Germaine Wells--who operated Arnaud's for many years until Archie Casbarian bought it in 1979--was an avid Carnival ball attendee and frequent queen. All her gowns, crowns and trains are up there, along with a lot of photographs.
While Hillary and Mary Leigh looked raptly at the dresses I'd sneak into a corner where they couldn't see me. They'd find themselves alone and a little scared. Then I'd leap out, snarling. They screamed, of course, and laughed. We did this every time we went to Arnaud's. The day came when they knew it was coming, and I had to work a lot harder to scare them. Now they're grown up and just yawn at it all. But the ritual must be followed.
While waiting for everybody else, I asked Arnaud's brilliant mixologist Chris Hannah to just make me something. The first drink he handed me was the Movie Goer, named for Walker Percy's book. This was a martini variation, with gin, curacao, Averna (the hot ingredient of the moment) and lemon juice. That was great, but the second drink was even better. The Thamyris also started with gin, then one of Chris's own drams, and an ingredient I've always regarded as the world's most disgusting liqueur. Cinar is made in Italy from--of all things--artichokes. I guess I just never had it with the right mix of other ingredients. It's bitter, like Campari, sort of. (And I like Campari.)
Even more interesting was the new menu of food in the bar. They've always served soufflee potatoes. (Few things go better with cocktails than fried potatoes.) Now they have these marvelous, cloudlike cheese puffs, smoked pompano on canapes with horseradish sauce, shrimp stuffed with Brie and jalapenos, oysters en brochette, and a few more things like that. The French 75 Bar at Arnaud's gets cooler with every visit. I even like those strange brass monkeys along the walls. (And that they're properly attired.)
The Tims arrived and we headed for the table. We had a very traditional dinner. Two orders of baked oysters five ways, shrimp Arnaud (their matchless version of remoulade), gumbo (for Mary Leigh, who has taken a liking to the stuff), trout meuniere and amandine, a pork loin special, a filet mignon for my daughter, and chicken Rochambeau for me.
Chicken Rochambeau may be a disappearing dish. The idea sounds weird to begin with, and chefs are always trying to brush it up--but their changes are never improvements. On the bottom is a slice of ham, thicker than you'd put on a sandwich but not what you'd call a ham steak. Atop of that is (in the classic version) half a roasted chicken, mostly boned out. Then a brown sauce with a touch of sweetness, and bearnaise over that. The dish came from Antoine's, but ever since the storm not even they make it as well as they once did. (They now use a boneless chicken breast instead of the half.) Nobody else does it that well. I keep having to be reminded of this every time I sample it at Arnaud's or Galatoire's or (most recently) Delmonico.
Hardly what I'd call bad, though. And the company was good, as we reminisced about all the days we. . . well, you know. Here were two no-longer-baby birds about to fly from their nests, and the two pairs of parents who must now adjust to having no children in their homes. We took turns being emotional. The girls, however, could not hide their giddy anticipation of their new deal.
Arnaud’s. French Quarter: 813 Bienville. 504-523-5433. Classic Creole.
