Tuesday, March 30. A Mano Surprises Me. Last week, when Emeril was on my radio show at his restaurant's twentieth anniversary celebration, we entered a brief discussion of cooking trends in restaurants. We both hit on one that we both thought was unlikely--although Emeril himself has been indulging in it for a long time. It's the slow but steady spread of charcuterie. It's hard to say who started the trend locally, although Cochon is a likely suspect. Delmonico and Palace Café both have been curing and smoking a substantial array of meats since shortly after the hurricane. Domenica took a major plunge into the industry, going so far as to raise its own pigs as well as hanging up the meats to dry-cure for months.
The newest player in the salumi field is A Mano--meaning "by hand" in Italian. Chef Adolfo Garcia (he of RioMar and La Boca) opened the place in October, promising that it would be more true to the actual food of Italy than anything we'd previously seen. (That pronouncement made me wonder which part of Italy?) It's at the other end of the block from Emeril's, and from there you can see Cochon's new neon sign (from which the "n" always seems to be blown out) down Tchoupitoulas Street. Add to that Cochon's casual café and deli Butcher, and we can just about call the neighborhood the Charcuterie District.
Tonight, A Mano had a parking space in front and couple of tables available. (Most nights when I've passed lately, it had neither. People ask me how I choose which restaurants to visit; this is a primary method.) I was surprised by the menu. It's dominated by small plates, of which the salumi is a minority. Only a half-dozen or so entrees. The only one that really appealed to me was a Cornish hen. The server's first words to me upon approaching the table were that everything was available except the Cornish hen.
I took this as an opportunity to build a dinner of appetizers. The first was a pair of fennel-flavored sausages--house-made, I assume. They were tough, and the fennel flavor was all but indistinguishable. The caponata underneath was better.
Next came a fun dish you see all around Italy, but especially in Rome. It's called suppli al telefono--literally, "telephone wires." They're balls of rice with plugs of cheese that melt when they're fried. A lot like arancini, if not exactly the same. When I cut in to make the "wires" stretch from the rice ball to the fork, what I found instead was a core of cheese at about room temperature. No melting, no wires. Maybe these were supposed to be cordless phones. It was that way in both of the two balls. I know exactly why. The rice for this usually has a light coating of red sauce. These didn't have that or any other source of moisture. The rice was so dry that the steam that should have melted the cheese didn't. If it had tasted like anything, the day might have been saved. They need to take these back to piazza uno.
Gnext came gnudi con funghi. Gnudi are little dumplings made with flour and ricotta cheese--third cousins of gnocchi. They came with brown butter and some mushrooms. Better than the suppli, but still not a mid-blower of a dish, and a bit oily with the oversupply of butter.
By this time, I was beginning to wonder what the hell was going on here. Chef Adolfo has shown me nothing but brilliance in all the years I've eaten his food around town. Three courses and nothing to get happy about?
The gnudi brought me to the end of my initial order. I clearly needed more food. I looked over the menu and asked for the sampler plate of salumi. It came with two slices of bread spread with fegatini--chicken liver mousse. And duck prosciutto, a very fatty capicola, something like sopressata, and a blood sausage. All we sliced too thickly for best flavor release, and struck me as not especially well made to begin with. Better than I could have done, of course, and the restaurant gets points for even attempting to make stuff like this. Nothing easy about it. But better versions of the same things could have been bought from, say, Stein's Deli.
I started thinking about consomme. Not many people like consomme. If they did, it would be on more menus. But chefs love consomme, because it allows them to demonstrate their skills. Consomme requires careful attention and a couple of counter-intuitive tricks. Show me consomme in a restaurant less than seventy years old in this country, and I'll show you a chef who's showing off, mainly to himself.
I think charcuterie may be the new consomme.
The meal ended on a pleasant note: panna cotta, enthusiastically recommended by the server, was indeed luscious, wiggly, sensual, with fresh strawberries and balsamic syrup. Four appetizers, dessert and a glass of wine: $81, inclusive.
I have a feeling this restaurant has some more evolving to do. Even after seven months, it may be too early.
A Mano. Warehouse District: 870 Tchoupitoulas 504-208-9280. Italian.
