Tuesday, February 7, 2012.
Chocolate Lady. Champagne Lady. Bouche.
Over the weekend, an outbreak of norovirus aboard the Royal Caribbean Voyager of the Seas made the news when passengers disembarking from the ship in New Orleans complained to the media about it. Channel Six said that 200 of the 3100 passengers were sick with the stomach virus. This is the ship Mary Ann and I will sail this Saturday. I hope they have it cleaned up by then.
We have run into norovirus before, on a two-week Panama Canal transit in 2006. I got the bug, which created some inconvenience but wasn't especially uncomfortable. It lasted two or three days, then was gone. Where does the ship find enough staff to constantly wipe down everything people touch on a ship that big? I will carry a little wooden stick for pressing elevator buttons.
The Tuesday round-table radio show could have made do with a cocktail table. Only two guests. It's either feast or famine. Last week we had a packed studio of eight.
First on was Sara Kavanaugh, who runs the dining room and wine cellar at the Windsor Court Hotel. She's a striking, well-spoken, knowledgeable young woman who has been a big part of the Grill Room's turnaround in the past few years. She also has a head of flagrantly curly hair, a look I've always found eye-catching. (Cruel fate destined all the women who ever let me get close to them to have poker-straight hair.)
More to the point of the show, Sara brought three bottles of excellent Champagne, looking forward to Valentine's Day next week. The first of these was spectacular: Pierre Gimonnet 2004 "Special Club." The cheesy-sounding soubriquet is the name of a small association of Champagne producers who make their wines exclusively from the produce of their own vineyards. That is rare in Champagne, where even the big-name, most expensive bottles use wines from many growers in their cuvees.
The Gimonnet blossomed on first sip with a citrusy flavor. Sara called it "bruised citrus," a new one on me but apt. The flavor kept opening for a while after I swallowed, and lingered long. A beautiful Champagne, one that everybody in the room agreed was the better of the two we tasted. The other wasn't bad, either: a rose, also a single-grower bottle.
Also in the room was Cheryl Scripter, the owner and tastemaker of Bittersweet Confections. It opened ten years ago, but has moved at least twice. The current location premiered late last year at 725 Magazine Street. That's a block and a half from the radio station. I will have to stop in sometime on my way in, because aside from making chocolates by hand, Cheryl also bakes a wide assortment of breads and pastries, including real water bagels.
This being radio, the first thing everyone noticed about Cheryl was her soft, alluring voice. Quite a few male listener-callers began their comments by saying how easy she was to listen to. This would continue the next day on the air and in e-mails--about a dozen in all.
As if Sara and Cheryl didn't provide enough pulchritude, Mary Ann showed up, eager to get into the conversation, particularly about chocolate. She asked Cheryl a question that revealed just how exacting Bittersweet's work is: "What kind of retail chocolates do you like?"
"I don't like any of them," Cheryl said. "Really, I buy the best chocolate available only to the trade for my chocolates, and everything else tastes inferior to me. I never eat them."
Callers were fascinated, and asked about both exotic aspects of chocolate (cacao nibs, for example) and the mundane (about the harmless, light-colored bloom that sometimes covers chocolates you've had lying around for awhile). Cheryl had all the answers. Clearly knows her stuff.
Going back and forth between Sara and her Champagnes, Cheryl and her chocolates, and Mary Ann and her opinions made for an unusually pleasant show. Beautiful women make life worth living.
My scheduled birthday dinner with the Marys was once again postponed. ML was too busy at school. I willingly canceled it completely. Really, why do I need a birthday dinner if we're going on a cruise next week? That logic wouldn't work for Mary Ann, but her rules are different.
I did want dinner, however. I drive in front of Bouche almost every day as I leave the radio station, but for some reason never tried it. It's open two years now. My interest in the place was heightened when owner Carol Logreco joined me for a round table show a few weeks ago. Another of my mistaken impressions was erased that day. I thought the place was more bar than restaurant. That's true, but only by a sliver.
Hardly anyone was there, but for the usual reason: it's early on a Tuesday evening. More people showed up later, particularly in the bar, which sports a long list of wines by the glass. The Champagne I had earlier momentarily sated my wine thirst, so I checked out Bouche's cocktail prowess with a Negroni. The server--new on the job--made the face I know means that she's never heard of the drink. I suspect that the bartender hadn't, either. It was badly made--way too much Campari, not enough gin, and I'm not sure if any sweet vermouth were in there. Yeah, I know it's an old drink, but it is a classic. Maybe I should have ordered something from their special cocktail list.
The menu was more adventuresome and extensive than we expected. Mary Ann, in a bar-food frame of mind, grilled the server on the density of the hamburger. "I know what you mean," said the waitress. "And I don't think this is the kind of hamburger you're looking for."
Mary Ann, who lives under the tyranny of a hamburger addiction, pressed on. "Could we pretend that this is Morton's Steakhouse, and could you bring out a raw hamburger for me to look at?" Sure, the waitress said, thereby ratcheting up our tip percentage ten points. She brought a very large meat patty, safely enclosed in plastic wrap. It looked hand-made. Mary Ann approved, and the most complex hamburger order placed in New Orleans today went to the kitchen.
I was thinking about getting the barbecue shrimp and grits. That ended when Bouche amused us with tastes of very dish. The shrimp were a little on the small side for barbecue shrimp, but that had no effect on the flavors of shrimp, sauce, or grits, all of which were fine. As a bonus, they merged well with the off-balance Negroni.
That left me free to follow a nutty idyll that entered my mind when the server described the chef's salad du jour. Salad of the day? That's not something you hear about often. But why not? She described it in detail, the variety of lettuce (Boston, I think) with a citrus vinaigrette, pecans, and a little blue cheese. At the moment, only two other people were in the room. But this was The Salad Of The Day! Begging for attention on its big day! With nobody but me to appreciate it! Compassion alone was enough to ensure its ordering.
It proved to be a happy victory for the Pathetic Fallacy (look it up), a very good salad in every detail. And it provided the first notice of the propensity of Bouche's kitchen to serve overly large portions. The Salad Of The Day was big enough for a light entree.
Mary Ann started with an order of thinly-sliced, toasted ciabatta (gesundheit!) bread topped with tomatoes, garlic, goat cheese, and balsamic vinaigrette. Then came her hamburger, complete with the freshly-cut-and-fried gaufrette potato chips whose inclusion had much to do with the burger deal. This was the first hamburger of my life accompanied by a side of marchand de vin sauce. It was grilled over a wood fire. Yet, it was still only a hamburger. And Mary Ann didn't like it. Texture problem. I could have predicted all of this, but it would have been more futile than worrying about the feelings of a salad.
My own meal continued on its nice way with a quintet of sea scallops the size of beef tournedos. They were on top of a well-made risotto of wild mushrooms, which dammed up a pool of a brothy brown sauce on one end of the plate. Grilled asparagus took over the opposite end. I have had better scallops before, but these were beyond reproach. And far too much food to finish comfortably.
Mary Ann was now ticked off about not only the hamburger but about my having dessert (white chocolate bread pudding with berries). "I've sat here long enough watching you eat," she said, and left me behind in favor of some other item on her agenda.
A group of people wandered through the unique restaurant. One of them said, "I love this place! I could move in here!" That didn't add up to me. Bouche is somewhat less than brilliantly designed. Half of it refers to the 1700s, and the other half to the 2100s. Nor is it funky in the distinctly New Orleans way that lets bar-and-restaurant owners get away with almost nothing in the way of creature comforts. But by now the bar and a lot of the tables were full, with people eating more from the small-plates side of the menu than the entrees. I still can't make up my mind whether it's more bar or restaurant.
Bouche. Warehouse District: 840 Tchoupitoulas . 504-267-7485.
