Tuesday, November 22, 2011.
Ruffino's.
We're getting a little rain today, but in New York, it's raining like hell. I did not report this to Mary Ann, who has another vexation on her mind. One of her family wants to join us for Thanksgiving. But this person is getting over an illness which has been deemed contagious and dangerous by the patriarch of the biggest branch of her family. He says his gang will not come over to the Cool Water Ranch if the recoveree is there. Surely this will all work out, right?
Meanwhile, I learned that everybody on my side of the family, after I told them a few weeks ago that we would not be doing Thanksgiving here, has other plans.
Not going to New York this week gave us permission to do darn near anything we wanted all this week. The idea of a shopping trip to Baton Rouge followed by dinner at Ruffino's was floated and unanimously approved. We departed for Red Stick at three-thirty, lining us up perfectly for rush hour in Baton Rouge in the rain on I-12--a singularly unpleasant combination of conditions. We screwed down our courage and worked our way to the Mall of Louisiana.
Inside the mall, Jude bought a cup of pretzel nuggets and a frozen lime-flavored non-alcoholic drink, both of which he passed off to me while he spent the next forty-five minutes shopping in a sunglasses store for a new pair. The Marys joined him in that effort. The store wouldn't allow food inside, so I moseyed down to the nearest place to sit down, in front of Victoria's Secret. The big posters in the windows there provided me with more pleasant eye candy than the passing shoppers, who were as hard to look at as I was to them. Something's not quite right with shopping for stylish clothes while wearing rags.
Back into the traffic and rain as darkness fell. Is it my imagination, or has the entire Interstate highway system leading into Baton Rouge been under deep construction for the past twenty years? How can they stand this? You call that living?
The parking lot at Ruffino's was nearly full. A lot of the occupants of those cars were not in the dining room but the bar. the whole big place was impressively full for a rainy Tuesday night.
We got the same great table we had last time, right next to the fireplace. Amuse-bouches of braised pork belly came and went, mostly to Mary Ann, who loves stuff like that.
Then a pizza, with all the pepperoni on one side for the satisfaction of the children. (I say pepperoni marks people who are not into the fine points of pizza.) Ruffino's presents pizza as both bar food and a statement of Italian culinary irony, as many upscale restaurants do these days. It was a great appetizer in combination with the generous Manhattan they brought me. I must acknowledge that drinks this size break my one-cocktail limit all by themselves.
Chef and co-owner Peter Sclafani III (yes, he's the grandson of the guy who used to have the restaurant in Metairie and, before that, in Mid-City) urged his appetizer assortment upon us. We had that last time, but it was good enough to revisit. Here's a slice of crabmeat cheesecake--the best such thing I've ever encountered (although the Palace Café gets credit for coming up the with idea first). Headless barbecue shrimp with a thick, opaque sauce a bit like the one at Emeril's. A fried croquette of rice and red sauce--an arancini, in other words--with cheese in the center. And shrimp and grits. All terrific.
I discovered that Jude--who spent much of this morning shooting potential filming locations in Madisonville with my camera--had engaged settings that ruined all the pictures I'd taken of this meal so far. I will have to get him to show me how he obtained such exotic effects. They made the appetizer assortment look as if it had been photographed on the surface of Mars by an earth-bound camera.
Mary Ann was intrigued by something Peter had brought when he was on the radio show a couple of months ago. The base of the dish is an assortment of heirloom tomato slices, topped with what looked like caviar but were really globules of balsamic vinegar that bubbled up frozen after being sprayed with liquid nitrogen. The chemistry-set approach to cooking left me cold every previous time I've been served something prepared that avant-garde way. But this was the second time I loved this. And our picky Tomato Editor, Mary Leigh, found the whole thing marvelous.
The entree orders were routine. Mary Leigh had spaghetti with one of Peter III's five red sauces. ("I'd like to cut back to two," he said.) Mary Ann ate lasagna with a different, thicker red sauce that reminded me of the one Peter's grandfather used to serve. Jude had chicken parmigiana.
My main was truly ridiculous--in terms of size, anyway. Two double-cut pork chops, topped with the same barbecue shrimp we had earlier. I hadn't reached for one of those fast enough, so it was not repetitious. It was, however, absurdly too much food. I passed one of the chops over to Jude, who could only get through half of it.
I don't know why or how, but I finished the dinner with a very light white chocolate bread pudding.
Our foursome was unanimous in its rave for Ruffino's. I have only one complaint other than the Baton Rouge location: the prices seem a bit on the high side to me. But they're packing the house every night. I guess Peter and co-owner (and former LSU star) Ruffin Rodrigue are whittling down their nut after buying Ruffino's from T.J. Moran during the past year. Fair enough, especially with food, wine, and service this good. It's certainly worth the drive to Baton Rouge.
Ruffino's. Baton Rouge: 18811 Highland Rd. 225-753-3458.
