Wednesday, March 10. Eat Club Braves Thunder-storms At Jacmel Inn. Incorrect Prediction. As I drove through the rain toward Hammond this afternoon, the hottest sex scene in the audiobook to which I'm currently listening played out. It was between a middle-aged, troubled British college professor and what the author describes as a drop-dead gorgeous, twenty-year-old Caribbean student, the daughter of a rival professor. The name of the book is On Beauty, written by Zadie Smith, who grew up in a world with characters a lot like these. Even though the amorous professor is about my age, the whole thing was so improbable that I couldn't buy it. (The fact that the girl instigated the tryst was no bonus.) It's a long book and won some major prizes, but it's going nowhere for me. (I'm writing after having finished the book, and it never did go anywhere.)
Nevertheless, it took my mind off the rain and the school bus ahead of me for miles on US 190, the old route to Hammond and Jacmel Inn, where the radio show and the Eat Club would transpire tonight. Dinners this far out are a hard sell, largely because the radio station's signal doesn't really penetrate Hammond, especially during the after-sunset hour of the show. Nevertheless, we pulled forty-something people, many of whom lived in the Hammond area.
Jacmel opened in the late 1970s, and has always been good. But my last several visits there have been spectacular. The current chef, Doyle Orlando, grew up in Tangipahoa Parish. He has connections with many local growers, from the numerous strawberry farmers to raisers of rabbits. This is no mere copy point, but noticeably improves the eating. Meanwhile, co-owner Paul Murphy has shifted certain quality standards upward. He's moved almost entirely to USDA Prime beef for his steaks, for example.
Our dinner was in the second-floor dining room, whose walls are almost entirely made of windows. These look out into the mini-forest of bamboo and oak trees outside. It's not especially verdant this time of year, but it's still a beautiful setting. And the rustic interior of the 1880 house is unique.
After an amuse-bouche of minced root vegetables that sharpened the palate, we sat down to a rough tamale made with corn and lobster knuckles. Those are the segments of the lobster claw that have a good deal of meat inside, but which most people don't bother to shell. This sounded like a chef's game, but in fact it proved to be the best dish of the evening--for me and for everyone else I spoke with. A little spicy, a little acidic, a little seafoody, and distinctly corny (in the sense that it had a corn flavor). It was a deft balance of many unusual textures and tastes.
Now, a choice: a spinach salad with local strawberries, local goat cheese, and almonds? Or A soup of local sweet potatoes, candied local pecans, and homemade marshmallows made with Steen's cane syrup? Both were good. All of the local growers were identified on the menu by name, as if to prove their provenance.
I had been predicting that the best dish in this dinner would be the ragout of rabbit (Bryan Young's rabbit, to be exact), with homemade tagliatelle pasta, field peas, and local mushrooms. Shows how much I know. The ragout was a bit too thick and didn't put out the flavor I expected. And the noodles weren't slippery enough. Not a bad dish, but I had primed myself for spectacular, and it wasn't.
They bounced right back with a hanger steak. Apparently chefs have figured out this offbeat cut of meat, known for its assertive flavor and its toughness. Most chefs slice it in the kitchen, to keep their customers from having to fight with the grain. But this must have been marinated in something both delicious and tenderizing, because both those qualities were imparted to the beef. The truffle butter only added to the musky satisfaction.
We had a highly drinkable wine with that: Alexander Valley Vineyards Syrah, a fine match to the big flavors of the beef. In fact, all the wines were better than what we usual get. The J. Lohr "Wildflower" was very nice with the pasta. It's made with a little-seen (although Jerry Lohr has made it for decades) grape called Valdiguie. (It's also called Napa Gamay, but it's not really a Gamay.) It's reminiscent of a good Beaujolais, and just as food-friendly.
The dinner wrapped up with homemade vanilla ice cream stuffed into profiteroles, then squirted with Bailey's Mine Chocolate liqueur. Strawberries on the side to add color and flavor contrast. Nice.
For one of the courses, I sat across from Mick Zatarain, who I haven't seen in awhile. He said he thought my description of the mugging I got in Belize was funny. That was a scary deal, but getting a laugh makes me forget every other consideration.
Getting home was no laughing matter. In the latter courses of the meal, a thrilling lightning display illuminated the outside world. The thunderstorms that followed--seemingly going the exact direction I was, at the same speed--sent down such torrents that it did a good job of washing my car as I sped down I-12. Few other cars were around. Scary moment: in one particularly hard downpour, my car briefly hydroplaned. I know what to do: take my foot off the gas, don't touch the brakes, have a light hand on the wheel. Any force one imparts to the car can send it into a spin. I survived.
Jacmel Inn. Hammond: 903 E. Morris 985-542-0043. Contemporary Creole.
