Wednesday, September 21, 2011.
Eat Club At Santa Fe.
Scientists struggle to understand and quantify the physical condition known as turbulence. In both the real world and the metaphorical one, turbulence is always both present and unpredictable.
I believe that popularity is the sociological equivalent of turbulence. It's quite obvious, both in its presence and its absence. But it's always inexplicable, except sometimes in hindsight.
The effects of popularity in the restaurant business are--as in every other arena--maddening. Tonight we had an Eat Club dinner in a restaurant that ought to be very popular. It's in a hip location (the knot of good restaurants on Esplanade near City Park). Its food is unique and delicious. The staff is charming and efficient. And at one time it was so popular that you knew in advance that getting a table meant hanging around in the Marigny's Washington Square for a half hour or more while waiting.
But the scourge of anonymous Web reviews has descended upon Santa Fe. Its sin: it isn't exactly the same restaurant as it was under its founder, two owners and a hurricane ago. According to the posters on Yelp and Urbanspoon and the like, it's not just a little bit less good than it was back when, but an export from the third circle of hell. That's the problem with such reviews. A place that is liked even mildly gets five stars. One that engenders even a little disappointment gets the lowest possible rating and a verbal condemnation. Nothing in between.
Well, my several dinners at the new Santa Fe have all been better than I remember at the old stand. Most of its classic dishes are still on the menu. In addition are a lot of new dishes, some of them in a different style. How could they not be? Chef-founder Mark Hollger is retired. A new chef is there now. He's good.
But enough about what I think. The Eat Club came about three dozen strong, and if I had asked each of them to write a sentence or two about the evening, the result would give a glowing report indeed. In fact, a few of them did post their praise here and there.
We began with cocktails and empanadas. I thought a planned beverage--a margarita, let's say--would be poured for all. In fact, they let us order anything we wanted from the bar. I sinned and had my second martini in a week. (But just one. I haven't broken that rule since the Lundi Gras Disaster.)
Some of the empanadas were stuffed with beef, some with crawfish. The latter was the better, mainly because of the presence of fresh, crisp corn inside the pastry. They were good with the cocktails, and so was the Latin jazz band that started playing outside on the sidewalk.
We sat down to our first wine and a tuna tostada. This was a large tortilla chip topped with a couple of slices of seared, spicily-crusted fresh, rare tuna, surrounded by scatterings of black beans, guacamole, corn salsa, sour cream and cilantro. Fresh. Sharp. Appetizing, as appetizers aren't often enough.
Next came a classic from the Mark Hollger era: chicken Maximilian. Although that German-born, classically trained chef really did cook mostly Mexican food, you could see the continental drift in some of his dishes. This was one of them. The chicken was rolled around a stuffing of roasted anaheim peppers and chorizo (made on premises) and fresh cheese. Great. Great.
Now we had a golden, encrusted chunk of drumfish, pan-fried to crispy, flavored with lemon and butter, sent out with the first cilantro risotto of my life. Elegant and fresh-tasting (the latter was a leitmotif for the evening).
The mild disappointment of the evening was the filet mignon, which I think we were all envisioning as a steak. This was more like a thick slice of a filet--a reasonable amount, given all the other food. But you know how expectations create turbulence and unpopularity sometimes. I liked the fries, made not with potatoes but yuca (a.k.a. cassava, manioc, and tapioca on the hoof).
The dessert could hardly have been more appealing. Two different ones: a rice pudding studded with various fruits, macerated in Grand Marnier. And an orange-flavored flan.
The group was among the most sociable we've had outside of the Christmas season. A few people I haven't seen in a long time were there. My little sister Lynn and her friend and wine merchant John Frehlinger were, too. If not for that, and for the facts that I am very devotedly married and afraid of women, I could have gone home with a girlfriend. I haven't seen that opportunity appear in a very long time.
Santa Fe. Esplanade Ridge: 3201 Esplanade Ave. 504-948-0077.
It's over three years since a day was missed in the Dining Diary. To browse through all of the entries since 2008, go here.
