Tuesday, January 26. Another Look At Atchafalaya. The Times-Picayune finally got around to publishing an obituary for Richard Collin, who died a week ago. For a decade in the 1970s Collin wrote the newspaper's first and standard-setting restaurant review column. I was starting to wonder if maybe he hadn't died after all, and that the information on which I based the obit I wrote about him last Tuesday was bogus.
The TP article had the one bit of information that I had been unable to discover: he was seventy-eight. I knew it was something like that, but I couldn't nail it down. Collin is not survived by any close relatives living in this country, which may explain the paucity of information. The memorial service will be in New Orleans and private. It would have been interesting to see who'd show up for that among the restaurant community.
I returned for another dinner at Atchafalaya, which was so impressive a couple of weeks ago. Tonight they had a full house again. That's terrific for a Tuesday, especially in competition with Who Dat Fever. I had the choice of waiting in the bar for a table or actually eating in the bar. Neither was a bad prospect: I'd have another of the cocktail creations from Matt Palumbo, their adept bartender. His first offer was what he said was a variation on a Negroni, using a different liqueur than the standard Campari (less bitter, he said) and Champagne instead of club soda. That was good enough to get me through the first two courses.
The downside of eating in the bar--not just here, but almost everywhere--is that bars are usually furnished with high tables and high chairs. Those put the seated at the same eye level as the standees--a good dynamic in the cocktail-party setting that bars encourage. But I find them very uncomfortable for long sitting. Well, it was my decision, so I have nobody else to blame.
Last time I was here I had half an entree for an appetizer. I wanted to do that here, but the quail main course has only one overstuffed quail. I asked them to just leave off the sides and charge me whatever they wanted. The bird was stuffed with boudin from Creole Country, the good sausage makers in Mid-City. And wrapped with what I've heard called "a jockstrap of bacon." They set it on some greens. Just right. Spicy, crisp skin here and there, that bacon flavor coming in for brief cameos, the rice of the boudin acting as a dressing. Good dish.
I ordered the soup of the day, a fresh vegetable potage, which seemed right for the cold weather. Tony Tocco, one of the owners, came out with a fried green tomato topped with crabmeat and a bold, orange-brown remoulade sauce over the top. And an apology: the soup had run out, so try this instead. Fair enough: I'd been looking at this appetizer replacement anyway.
By that time I was into the second cocktail, made with rye whiskey and something sour and something mellow in a sweet way. (If I could find my cellphone, onto which I typed my notes on this, I'd have a better description.) This was not only a good drink but a very generous one, sharp on the palate and appetizing. But a glass of red wine with a moderate body would have to come for a meaty entree. (Its name is also in my cellphone.)
The main course was something new to me, sort of. I've had veal loin chops, and I've had porterhouse steaks. This veal porterhouse was somewhere in between those two. The veal must have ranged free--it was quite red. It had the conformation of a porterhouse, but in about two-third the size of the full-grown steaks at the Crescent City. It was held by some asparagus spears above a reduced veal stock. In the rear was a pile of brabant potatoes, rapidly losing any semblance of crispness in their veal semi-demi bath. A big plate of food, this, but I took pretty good care of it. If Mary Ann had been there, the dog Suzie would have had a nice bone tonight. I never remember.
Chef Mark Springfloat had time to come out and shoot the breeze. He played down the veal porterhouse. "It's just classic," he said. "Grilled meat with the bone in, good natural sauce, potatoes." Mark made the transition from the previous ownership when Tocco and his partner Rachael Jaffe bought Atchafalaya a year ago. Good name, Springfloat.
I could not even think of dessert, and it was getting late. Made it home at eleven fifteen. I need to move the radio show an hour earlier so I can get home sooner.
Atchafalaya. Uptown: 901 Louisiana Ave. 504-891-9626. Contemporary Creole.
