Tuesday, January 12. Atchafalaya. The Siberian deep-freeze that of the past week finally passed us, leaving us with one final morning in the teens. I look forward to more moderate days, and not having to think about water pipes.
The owner of Le Citron Bistro wrote me a couple of weeks ago to say that he's upgraded his menu, is buying better ingredients, and thinks the place is ready for another look and maybe a review. Leaving the radio station, that was on my mind for dinner. But it's closed on Tuesday. I continued uptown on Tchoupitoulas Street, thinking through the possibilities. At Louisiana Avenue, a good one came to mind: Café Atchafalaya. It has new owners since the last time I was there, and the reports I've heard from readers and listeners gave the place a halo of promise.
The first signs were good. The place was full. I pulled up to the bar, hoping that the cold drafts through the single door would be balanced by the warmth of a cocktail. I asked the bartender if he had anything novel for me to try.
"What do you like?" he asked. I'm a gin kind of guy, I said. "Great! My favorite spirit to work with! I have a drink that uses some Chartreuse and a rare Italian fortified wine with some interesting botanicals. And lime." I watched him assemble the concoction with unusual care, particularly when he got down to the lime peel. He uncurled it from the fruit in a way that gave it the shape of a green Slinky, then stretched it across a martini glass. It was as intriguing in its flavor as it was in its appearance. And the bartender seemed to have as much fun assembling his creation as I did drinking it.
While this went on, one of the owners recognized me and came over. Tony Tocco said that he remembered waiting on me a long time (over twenty years) ago at Gautreau's. And the Upperline, and the extinct Prytania Bar & Grill. That didn't surprise me; good waiters never forget anything. (Beware of what you say in their presence.) He owns a couple of bars now, and got into this restaurant when the previous owner let it go about a year ago.
"We dropped the 'Café' from the name," he said. "It's just 'Atchafalaya' now. That let me raise the prices a little." His card noted that the place is New Orleans's only five-A restaurant. I could come up with no challenge to that claim.
At the table, Tony and his business partner Rachael Jaffe descended with the waiter to ease me in the right directions. I don't mind that; indeed, I ask for such urges. They all agreed that their shrimp and grits was so supreme that the dish should be renamed for the restaurant. Tony said that he has been eating the chicken entree three to five times a week, so much does he like it. They touted the filet mignon as being the "foie gras of filets." Strong claims. I asked whether I could have an appetizer of the shrimp and grits. The soup of the day as the second course, and finally the chicken. It all sounded very good.
And it was. The shrimp and grits had a spicy, ruddy sauce over big, heads-on shrimp atop creamy, firm grits. It was a decidedly Creole flavor. We may not be far away from the day when New Orleans surpasses the Low Country of South Carolina in cooking this dish, even though they invented it. The soup was perfect for a cold night, made with butternut squash, tomatoes, and some other vegetables. Hearty, hot, and rustic. They also sent out a cup of the chicken-andouille gumbo, which took the current vogue for extremely thick gumbo to a new plateau. The taste was good, but I don't go along with this trend.
The chicken was indeed worth eating more than once a week. It was what's called in the biz an "airline breast," meaning half the breast with the first, meatiest section of the wing. They said it was pan roasted, but it more resembled a job from the oven. A nearly-perfect crust of skin and coarse pepper covered an ideally moist interior. The sauce was good, too: exotic mushrooms in a cream sauce with a little Cognac. I love a well-made chicken dish. They have become rare. This was just the sort of thing I'm thinking of when I order it. Even the mashed potatoes were up to snuff, pleasantly lumpy, just creamy enough.
Everything about Atchafalaya represents an advance beyond what the three previous Café Atchafalayas accomplished. (Yes, even better than in Iler Pope's hegemony, which was good but much less ambitious than this.) Tocco and Jaffe have taken advantage of the place's antiquity (it's been a restaurant since at least the 1920s) to make a cool dining room. It's the nicest restaurant surprise I've had lately.
Atchafalaya. Uptown: 901 Louisiana Ave. 504-891-9626. Contemporary Creole.
