Tuesday, January 24, 2012.
Fried Poor Boy At Jacques-Imo's.
Intuition told me that if we wanted to dine at Jacques-Imo's tonight, we might be able to do so. It's a restaurant I don't visit very often, for two reasons: 1) it hasn't changed much since it found its groove about fifteen years ago, and b) they take reservations only for tables of five or more, and smaller parties stack up on the sidewalk waiting to get in.
But it's a Tuesday in January--not an especially strong time of year for the hip, young individual visitors from elsewhere who deliver up a large part of Jacques-Imo's business.
The "we" above is Mary Leigh and me. We planned to begin the spring semester's daddy-daughter dinner date series tonight. "That's amazing!" she said. "I was thinking about Jacques-Imo's, too!" It's a restaurant she'd never been to, but was curious about. It's a hot eating place among Tulane students.
My instincts are not especially good, but they delivered truth tonight. Many tables were available when we arrived at six-forty-five. That would not last long. By the time we left, the crowd on the sidewalk was not dense, but thick enough to slow one's progress.
We encountered Jacques "Jack" Leonardi on the way in. He was carrying his cute little white mop of a dog in his arms, and was headed to his office. We saw him again, sans pup, on the way out. "This is slow for us," he said. It must be nice to have a restaurant with a cult following. For many people who dig the New Orleans vibe, no eatery is more "authentic" (whatever that means) than Jacques-Imo's. It seems contrived to me, but not in an offensive way. A visitor could do a lot worse than to get a sense of the taste of our cuisine from this place.
ML and I sat in the room just past the kitchen, through which one must pass to get to the two main dining rooms. Our table was next to the main waiter traffic stream, and a support column jammed into my space. It's crowded, but probably not the tightest spot in the restaurant. It may, however, be the darkest. The big votive candles didn't throw enough light for reading the menu, making me glad I had my camera light with me.
All of the dishes I've loved in the past here are still here, notably the Cajun bouillabaisse, blackened fish, and the fried chicken. Looking as much like a tourist as I could (I was the only one there in jacket and tie), I asked the waitress what was good. What she told me jibed with my database. No sense in having all those proven dishes again.
So I put in an order for the deep-fried roast beef poor boy. It's one of the most famous dishes here, the kind of thing that shows up on television as an example of outrageousness. All my instincts said that this was going to be gross. On the other hand, I'd never tried it, and I must fight prejudice.
For the second time tonight, my instincts were on the money. A fried roast beef poor boy's primary value to your dining experience is that it allows you to say, "Hey, guess what? I ate a deep-fried roast beef poor boy!" Then you have to say you liked it, to avoid looking goofy. I don't mind looking goofy (to the chagrin of my daughter), and I say that frying a poor boy is as absurd as it sounds.
ML went through a bowl of chicken-andouille gumbo while all that was going on. We agreed it was decent but unexceptional. Fresh spinach salads came, topped with three or four crisp fried oysters. That's a nice lagniappe on what is already a free salad.
My entree was blackened lamb sirloin with a sun-dried tomato and mushroom sauce. It was tenderer than I was expecting, and a little less peppery. I liked it okay, but I wouldn't call it one of the great hits here. The corn macquechoux and red beans and rice on the side (again, free with the entree) were homely but tasty.
ML, who remembered that she had a big lunch and had all but stopped eating, had a mound of Creole jambalaya. She had never had that kind before, with the zippy tomato sauce. Only the brown kind. Wasn't crazy about it.
The best item of the evening was the bread pudding, apparently right out of the oven, rich and moist, just right. A caramel sauce was unique and nice.
The check revealed another appeal Jacques-Imo's has for young diners: it's a good deal. Before tip, with a couple glasses of wine, it came in at a mere $67. That's a shade above the typical tab for this kind of neighborhood café, but not for one with a national reputation.
Jacques-Imo's. Riverbend: 8324 Oak. 504-861-0886.
