Wednesday, July 7. Frank's Revisited. I don't think I've dined at Frank's on Decatur Street since the days when it called itself Frank's Delicatessen. The year was in 1974, when Frank's had a one-item menu. I worked for an ad agency a block away, and we often picked up muffulettas from Frank's. They were always in a league with those of its neighbors (on the same block, yet) Central Grocery and Progress Grocery. That's saying something, because in the 1970s those two places were considered the apotheoses of muffuletta manufacture.
I've hardly given Frank's a second thought since then. Then last year "Pal" Al Nasser told me that he went to Frank's often and loved the food. Pal is a voice on our FM music stations, and co-hosts WWL Radio's live broadcasts of Mardi Gras and the French Quarter Festival with me. He's been in radio as long as I have. We have lunch once in awhile to talk about old times.
I've registered another recent enhancement of Frank's profile. Ristorante Filippo--the terrific little Italian trattoria near the Galleria, where we've had a couple of Eat Club dinners in the past year--has a blood connection to Frank's. Phil Gagliano is second generation of the eponymous founder of the old Decatur Street stand. His brothers run Frank's now.
The imperative to renew my acquaintance with Frank's floated to the surface of my consciousness today. I made a beeline for the place right after the show. The dining room was nearly empty. That figures. Frank's--like the Central Grocery--survives largely on tourist business, and that's slow this week.
A waiter who later told me he remembered me from some other place stopped his schmoozing with some other folks and sat me down. "What do you feel like eating?" he said.
"I think I'd like some Sicilian Italian food, if you do that sort of thing here," I said.
He looked back at me with a semi-smile, like he was sizing me up as either some kind of wise guy or his kind of customer. I let him know I was the latter by asking him what I should be eating, and taking his advice. If you give a waiter (one who seems to know something, anyway) that kind of leeway, he takes very good care of you.
First came the crabmeat-stuffed mushrooms, made with the familiar Italian stuffing of bread crumbs, garlic, parsley, parmesan cheese, and olive oil. That concoction turns up in a lot of dishes--notably Italian baked oysters and stuffed artichokes. But I never get tired of it. This was an enormous plate of food--certainly enough for two people--and very good.
By this time what little cover I had was blown, and the chef sent out a freebie quartet of fried shrimp. It's a good thing he never read my frequent statements that I find fried shrimp boring, or else I wouldn't have tasted these. They were actually great: big, crisp, hot, not overfried, tails on, really nice. So that seafood platter on the menu is probably pretty good.
I was sold on veal, but I asked the waiter for advice vis-a-vis parmigiana or piccata, both of which he'd touted. "I'll surprise you," he said. This usually means I'm going to be given both candidates. But not this time. It was the parm. It was everything it should have been: tender, panneed just long enough to make it toasty without burning. A mellow cheese layer, but not enough to asphyxiate the dish. The angel hair pasta underneath was tossed with the sauce, the way it always should be. Way too much to finish, of course.
They only have two desserts here: Brocato's cannoli and their own tiramisu. I had the latter. Very light and fluffy, all the flavors in harmony, easy on the sugar. The plate was autographed in chocolate syrup with the restaurant's name, as if this were some kind of fancy bistro. Although nicer inside than it looks from the sidewalk, the downstairs dining room is only lightly adapted from its original purpose: selling hundreds of muffulettas to go.
The upstairs dining room, however, is much more scenic. A mural of Venice dominates the room, and there's a balcony overlooking the river. The stairs are a climb--old French Quarter buildings with their lofty ceilings always make the flights long and steep. This is probably why the most colorful, experienced waiters are downstairs.
Well. Pal Al is right. This place really is better than I thought. And the scene and the people who work there are saturated with genuine New Orleans local color. Gotta love it.
Frank's. French Quarter: 933 Decatur. 504-525-1602. Italian. Sandwiches.
