When I moved to the City of New Orleans, I had my my first upscale dining experience at Emeril's Nola Restaurant. I remember that day quite vividly. After securing a last minute reservation online, the beau frantically rummaged through his luggage to find clothes appropriate for an elegant dining establishment. He wanted to treat me out to a memorable meal the day before he was going to return back to the Bay Area. We excitedly threw together a strange ensemble of clothing with the "touristy" and summery outfits in our baggage, and drove to the French Quarter from our hotel on Saint Charles Avenue, to sample the food prepared by the Food Network star.
We felt a little out of place upon arrival because of our clothing, but were immediately welcomed with a freshly baked basket of Emeril Lagasse's famous scallion cornbread muffins.
After reading the mouthwatering menu selections, the beau and I decided to start with the pan-roasted crab cake. The crab cake had a crispy and evenly browned exterior and was topped with a delicate dollop of smoky eggplant puree and crinkly leaves of fried spinach. The crab patty was served on a plate scattered with substantial crumbles feta cheese and pitted kalamata olives, and placed in a pool liquefied citrus butter. The classically flavored crab cake was moist and bound together well with fine bread crumbs and New Orleans seasonings. I thought the crab cake itself was delicious and had a relatively good crab meat to breadcrumb filler ratio. However, while I love kalamata olives and feta cheese, I found them to be too salty and a tad overwhelming in comparison with the delicate crab cake and citrus butter flavors.
The beau and I each had a bowl of Emeril's gumbo. I know I will make many enemies by saying this, but after having (and loving) the thick okra or file-enriched gumbos at Mother's and Acme Oyster House, I noticed that the gumbo was more watery than I had envisioned. However, the penetrating flavors of the spicy gumbo were deep, earthy and left a fiery, burning sensation in the back of my throat. I also loved the simple touch of how the chocolate-colored gumbo was served, ladled into a shallow bowl and topped with chopped green scallions.
For the main course, I ordered the hickory-roasted duck with whiskey-caramel glaze, natural jus, buttermilk cornbread pudding, haricot verts, fire roasted corn salad, and candied pecans. The haricot verts were blanched perfectly, so that they retained their verdant color and vibrant "fresh produce" crunch. I loved the chilled, sweet corn kernels, the sugary candied walnuts, and the moist bed of cornbread stuffing. However, I found that the dry, jerky-like duck meat to be over-saturated with the strong flavors of hickory smoke, and the glaze and the jus had concentrated unappetizingly into a salty syrup.
The beau ordered grilled pork porterhouse with brown sugar glazed sweet potatoes, toasted pecans, and a caramelized onion reduction sauce. It definitely had similar taste and textural elements as my duck entree, but without the same shortcomings. The pork was tender and juicy, and the slippery slices of sweet potatoes tasted like a Thanksgiving feast with the pecans and oniony gravy.
I was originally going to name this post "No Love for Emeril's Nola," but after reminiscing, I realize that there was a lot to appreciate in bold, experimental flavors in each dish. While I felt a little overwhelmed to an extent by the salt and sugar used in each entree, my tastebuds have a lot to learn from the master. Bam!
Now that Hurricane Gustav has blown through Louisiana, and Hurricane Ike is rearing its ugly head towards the Texas and Louisiana coastlines, I want to take this quick opportunity to continue my impromptu takeout series, and emphasize that even in the face of a hurricane, New Orleans' natives still know how to eat well and celebrate life.
You've heard me "love on" Louisiana crawfish, time and time again. I am going to continue the love, by sharing about my takeout experiences at Deanie's Seafood Restaurant and Market.
The other day, while sitting at my desk, I had an insatiable urge for crawfish: the paradigmatic seafood critter of Louisiana. So I made a quick telephone call and ordered Deanie's famed crawfish quartet, which comes with crawfish, served four different ways. When I opened the styrofoam container, I was greeted with a giant plume of steam, a golden-fried bounty of crawfish, and two piping hot containers filled with crawfish (and more). Because I have now been armed with the experience of eating Deanie's crawfish, allow me to give you a brief tutorial on the correct way to eat their crawfish quartet.
You should first start your meal with the crispy-fried crawfish tails. The chefs at Deanie's carefully shell, batter, and deep-fry the chewy crawfish tails for your finger-licking consumption. Deanie's also provides you with two alternative dipping sauces: (1) a thick tartar sauce studded with chopped relish bits and (2) a zesty and sinus-clearing cocktail sauce.
Second, I'd advise you to proceed with the soft crawfish dressing balls, which are substantial orbs of moist and bready deliciousness, complete with bits of onions, celery, carrots, and crawfish interspersed throughout. They literally taste like fist-sized balls of Thanksgiving, but with one delicious twist: chewy nubs of crawfish, which provides for a delightful surprise in each bite.
Third, you should consider eating the crawfish etouffee next. Deanie's hearty crawfish etouffee is everything a great etouffee should be. The warming and creamy chowder-like soup is made with crawfish tails, a buttery blonde roux, and the holy trinity (onions, celery, and bell pepper), and is served "smothered" or gently ladled over mound of long-grain white rice.
Finally, I would enjoy the crawfish au gratin last. Deanie's crawfish au gratin is thicker-than-grits and supremely cheesy, such that each spoonful leaves trails of stringy cheese as you attempt to lift a spoon loaded with the au gratin towards your mouth. The au gratin tastes as if it were made with dry aged cheddar cheese, heavy cream, whole eggs, and flour--but that is just an educated guess. Even if it is not made with those ingredients, it tastes mind-blowingly delicious.
I hope this post has proven to you that takeout can be an excellent option, especially at Deanie's! Also, you could probably eat the dishes in the crawfish quartet in any sequence (and not based on my weak recommendation above), and it would still taste wonderful.
Acme Oyster House was the first restaurant that I ever tried in New Orleans. And I hope it will be my last.
Seriously. I will remain a devoted fan until the day I die. Even if I die of heart failure from eating too many po' boys from Acme.
Although locals decry Acme Oyster House as a touristy ripoff, I adore, adore, adore their rich, ultra-nutritious, and thick-like-gravy gumbos. After Acme, I can't stomach watered-down, soupy excuses for gumbo. For all of you traditionalists, I readily admit that they don't include full crabs (in the shell) in their gumbo, but that makes it easier to gulp it down, and therefore, their gumbo is even better to me, because there is no obstruction to its quick consumption!
Since my blog has converted into a quasi-shrine which repetitively lauds the wonders of Acme, and now since I am posting "larger images," I am going to use this as an excuse to post a few more pictures of my all-time favorite restaurant of New Orleans.
Enjoy these pictures of Acme's insanely cheap, freshly shucked oysters, crawfish etouffee, and gumbo. Oh, and note to potential Acme patrons: their crawfish etouffee and gumbo taste nearly identical to this untrained tongue, but with the etouffee, you get a bowl full of crunchy fried crawfish tails as a bonus addition!
Today, I prayed that the San Antonio Spurs would be rebuked, humbled, or smite down by the heavy hand from above (Shaq's).
That prayer went unanswered.
But my prayers for the New Orleans Hornets were answered, and to thank the heavens above, I went out for a celebratory meal at the best late-night eatery around: Acme Oyster House. You know, I'd even venture as far to say that Acme is my favorite restaurant in the City.
Gasp! Passionate Eater said, "Favorite!"
Yes, and while I've tried the "chosen one" of all New Orleans restaurants, Commander's Palace, and Emeril's priciest restaurant in the City, Nola, I will stick to my guns on this decision.
Acme is good. Really good.
Tourists and locals alike flock to this eatery which can be found in the boisterous French Quarter area in the City. You won't miss it, just follow the glow from Acme's green and red neon sign. Oh, and you must order Acme's namesake.
While the Bay Area can lay claim to sweet, delicate, and gorgeous oysters (milky white flesh with a inky black border lining the oyster meat), New Orleans can lay claim to the beefy, substantial, and succulent oysters. You can get the heartiest, meatiest, and most slurp-a-licious oysters in the United States in New Orleans. Even though they look muddy brown, the rich bayou flavors permeate the oyster and produce the most delectable oyster liqueur and flesh known to man or beast. You taste different flavors of each oyster as it slides from the tip of your tongue to the back of your mouth. (I think Willy Wonka had a New Orleans oyster in mind when he designed his three-course-dinner gum. You know, the one that led to the demise of Violet Beauregarde?)
At Acme, you can order (1) fresh oysters on the half-shell or (1) chargrilled oysters, marinating in little pools of melted garlicky butter sauce and grated Romano cheese. Because of the life-changing flavor of oysters from New Orleans, you don't need any accoutrements. However, a squirt of Tabasco and a squeeze of fresh lemon always adds a zesty kick.
At Acme Oyster House in the French Quarter, you can get oysters for $1.00 each, every day (unlike in San Francisco, where the $1.00 per oyster price is only good during Happy Hour on Thursdays).
In addition to Acme's oysters and world-renowned "peace-maker" po' boy, which is 1/2 oyster and 1/2 shrimp, I would recommend their sampler, which comes with a thick bowl of gumbo--loaded with thick slices of smoky andouille sausage, a mound of sticky jambalaya, red beans and rice, and a spicy sausage link.
Oh, and finally, if you ever come to the City and try out Acme, I recommend that you take me!
Since I’ve moved away from San Francisco, my lunchtime options have changed considerably. Gone are the places I oft-frequented. Gone are the bronzed roast chickens at Seller's Markets, the organic salads with golden beets and marinated hearts of palm at Mixt Greens, the royal chicken roulade at Lightening Foods. . . And gone is the majestic Ferry Building.
But I can't complain. Now, in New Orleans, I can eat at a place that sells lunchtime martinis for only $0.25.
And thus illustrates the number one reason why I love New Orleans.
Bacco (the $0.25 cent martini place which I am referring to) is owned by the illustrious Brennan family, a restaurateuring presence in New Orleans. When a San Francisco friend came to visit last month, we decided to visit this $0.25 martini place, and were in for an incredible surprise.
When we were seated, our server described the specials and the signature items. However, the part that caught my ear was her explanation of how of the Zagat editors indicated that the lobster ravioli was better than heaven on earth.
"'Lady, you had me at 'lobster ravioli,'" I told her, with the look of enamor in my eyes.
My friend and I started with a truffled egg, which as the menu describes as, "[a] flash fried soft boiled egg served on bruschetta with truffled gorgonzola cream sauce and baby arugula."
As we divided the dish, my friend and I marveled at (1) the symmetry of the egg and (2) how the egg white had solidified, leaving nil a trace of any slippery uncooked white, while preserving the gorgeously runny yolk. Every flavor asserted its presence independently and every element was elevated beyond an artform. The toasted bruschetta retained its crunch while simultaneously sponging the sunny yolk that had exuded and oozed forth from the flash fried egg. The crisp, breaded skin of the egg provided a welcome contrast to the gelatinous and springy egg white, and the tangy cheese flavors from the gorgonzola had permeated into the dish and left a green marbleized vein across the ivory sauce. Finally, the thin truffle slices possessed a light, gritty texture and robust woody, nutty, and earthy flavors. As my friend and I took turns cleaning off the plate, we expressed our concern that the main course could not possibly live up to the truffled egg. Thankfully, these concerns went unrealized.
For my main course, I ordered the housemade lobster ravioli which was stuffed with Maine lobster and gulf shrimp and served with caviar and champagne butter sauce. The ravioli pasta sheets were firmly sealed together with the crosswise imprint of a pasta roller and the raviolis were generously filled with lobster and the native gulf shrimp. Gargantuan chunks of supple lobster flesh and tense little beads of caviar danced upon the ravioli and into my mouth. Best of all, the raviolis were served in an elegant and rich champagne butter sauce that consisted of the purest and sweetest form of liquefied butter known to man. Yes. It was better than heaven on earth.
My friend ordered the roasted chicken and stracci, which was described by the menu as "[h]ousemade pasta rags tossed with roasted chicken morsels, fresh spinach and basil in a light tomato sauce and garnished with parmigiano-reggiano cheese." The humble pasta rags were best al dente pasta I have ever eaten in my life, and I don't throw around the word "best" lightly. The pasta possessed a firm resistance and the delicate chewiness that had never been as well-executed in any other pasta dish I have had. Furthermore, the rich tomato sauce was filled with warming herbal flavors and the comforting (and not overpowering) aroma of cheese. I felt like I could pour the rest of the sauce into a mug and sip on it in front of a cabin fireplace with mittens and my earmuffs on.
Finally, as a conclusion to a fabulous, awe-inspiring meal, we ended our meal with Mr. Ralph's ice cream sandwich which was made of spongy chocolate gingerbread stuffed with a dulce de leche ice cream, dusted with powdered sugar, and served with chocolate and caramel sauce. It was fine dessert, but I find that personally, I tend to shy away from dishes that combine flavors like cinnamon and ginger with cream. The ice cream was firm and frosty, and the dessert was presented well.
As my friend and I finished our meal, we talked and laughed until we had tears in our eyes. Although the majority of my tears were due to my joy at seeing my wonderful friend, I think our tears were in part due to the amazing meal at Bacco.
I am still in the arduous process of unpacking and acclimating to New Orleans (literally, the humidity is killing me), but I wanted to take a moment to share with you about a fabulous way to taste the the City of New Orleans.
A visit to New Orleans is not complete if you do not sample the illustrious Cafe Du Monde beignets (pronounced "been-yay") in the French Quarter.
A beignet is a doughy square that has been deep-fried until it has inflated into a golden-brown pillow of spongy, soft cake-like bread. Unlike a glazed Krispy Kreme donut with its glistening sheen, a beignet is not light or airy, and does not go down "smooth" without the need to chew. Unlike a danish or croissant, a beignet is not buttery, flaky, or overly rich. Rather, it is like a piping hot funnel cake freshly fried at the state fair. When you bite into a beignet, expect to be greeted with a hearty crunch as you break open the textured surface. The interior will release a plume of steam and I am sure you will be taken aback by the deep nooks, pockets, and tiny tunnels made by the yeast in the beignet. Although the fried beignet bread is good enough to eat alone, Cafe Du Monde generously blankets the hot fritters with mini-mountains of powdered confectioner's sugar. If you order the beignets take out, they provide you with a one to two pound bag of powdered sugar for you to "do the honors" yourself.
The classic accompaniment to a beignet, is Cafe Du Monde's cafe au lait, which is made with whole milk, ground coffee beans, and chicory. I am unfamiliar with chicory, but I must say, I was amazed at how silken and sweet the coffee was. I needed to be repeatedly convinced by our server that there was no sugar in the coffee. The coffee was fragrant and full-bodied, and as my friend the Taste Tester says about her wine, the coffee went down with a "smooth finish." There was no trace of bitterness or burnt coffee grounds at all.
If you are in the area, stop by Cafe Du Monde at any time of the day. They are open 24 hours--merci mon dieu for that!
