Morning Lagniappe

We've got a busy day ahead of us today, having to drive to Atlanta from New Orleans - and we can't leave until at least 4:00 PM. So I whipped up a late breakfast for Jessie and I as we both go about our morning work at the house. This is definitely one of life's luxuries of her working from home and my being an academic - a somewhat flexible schedule. Of course, it only works because we actually get things accomplished this way!

In the refrigerator was a package of Richard's Cajun Country tasso-style ham originally destined to season some collard greens. I also had some early Louisiana Satsumas that bought a few days ago at the Robért Fresh Market that is only a 3-minute walk from our house. Add some eggs and a little leftover smoked Gouda cheese from a party we had a couple weeks ago for the wedding, and there you have it!

In a lot of ways this dish is not remarkable save for two things. One is the early Satsuma, which is green on the outside and is an absolute visual treat on one's plate when sliced open. One can never call Satsumas "beautiful" late in the season unless referring to the flavor (which is better, I think.) Alas, Satsumas are almost never shipped outside of Louisiana. The other element here is the tasso, which for mass market packaged meat, was pretty darn delicious! Then again, to say that this is "mass market" means that it is sold from perhaps Hattiesburg in the East and Beaumont in the West. One finds it here next to the Oscar Meyer bacon.

Of Plum Cakes and Such

It all happened a couple of weeks ago while in the midst of moving into our new home in New Orleans. While we were no longer swimming in boxes, and the with the furniture was mostly in place, our cupboard would have definitely registered something approaching recognition on Mother Hubbard's face. There was only one thing for it - a stocking up trip to my all-time favorite grocery store in the metro, Dorignac's on Veterans Parkway in Metairie.

And there they were, right by the entrance, stopping me dead in my tracks. Prune plums, like Concord grapes, are simply not available year round. In fact, neither are they a fruit you that will find just anywhere. First there is the relatively recent and perverse obsession with blotting the word "prune" from the lexicon (they aren't "prunes" anymore, but "dried plums" for those keeping score at home.) What is a grocer to do? Label the bin "plums that could be useful for making dried plums?" Fortunately for us, New Orleans is home to a substantial Italian culinary tradition, and the prune plum figures into this culture. It is a fruit that reaches its true potential when baked, a process that allows the intense flavors of its deep purple skin to burst forth in all their glory. Reinforcing the notion that I'd fallen into some rarefied prune plum cosmic reality, they were also on sale for only $1.69 a pound. Too busy to bake? Probably. But this opportunity left me with no choice.

My grandmother's plum cake is a thing of pleasant childhood memories, and I'm sure I babbled about it on the drive home. Once there, I called my mother to get the recipe, it not being among my clippings. Luckily she knew where it was - it had been printed in the Cary, Illinois jubilee cookbook published some time in the 1960s. Reading the ingredients over the phone and transcribing them was fun, but mom and I both agreed that it was missing salt. Regina Hohenstein, aka "grandma," was not above holding out on a key ingredient. But there was no fooling us. The recipe is not Italian, at least to my knowledge, but makes a fantastic after dinner dessert with coffee or an equally tasty breakfast. Here it is below (with all of the ingredients!)

1/2 lb. butter
4 eggs
1 C sugar
2 C flour
grated (or better yet, Microplaned) rind of a lemon
1/2 tsp. salt
sugar and cinnamon for dusting.

In a large mixing bowl, cream the butter with a mixer, adding sugar and salt. Separate the 4 eggs and beat in the yolks only, reserving the whites in a separate mixing bowl. Add flour and lemon rind and mix into butter/sugar mixture with a wooden spoon or similar utensil. At this point it should be fairly stiff, almost like a cookie dough. With a clean mixer, beat the egg whites until nice and fluffy and then fold into the batter. Once you have incorporated the egg whites, spread into a 12x18 ungreased jelly roll pan. Don't be afraid to spread it fairly thin - it will, in fact rise. Just make sure it is even. Slice prune plums into quarters, pitting them (be careful, the edges of prune plums can be like little razor blades - I sliced my thumb open on one!) and placing the wedges just as close together on top of the batter as they will lie. Sprinkle with cinnamon and sugar. Bake for 30-35 minutes at 350.  The cake should not be too brown - you will know it is done when the edges start pulling away from the pan. If it starts getting brown, pull it out!

New Orleans Restaurant Map

With so many friends and family coming into town for the wedding in October, I've taken it upon myself to begin construction on a Google Map with restaurant recommendations. New Orleans has so many fantastic eateries that no list can be comprehensive, but for those who are unfamiliar with the city, this list will quickly expand your horizons. As you can see, a car is probably the best way to get around town.


View Justin's New Orleans food picks in a larger map

The Frustrating Phenomenon of "Almost Great"

Blackboards with campy phrases adorn the cheerful interior of Ignatius Eatery.

Every now and again, I encounter this in the classroom: the student who, despite revealing enormous capacity for greatness, never quite fulfills their promise. I can see them in my mind's eye now, schlepping across campus in flip-flops, perpetually happy with a too-easily gained "B" average.

Perhaps this is too harsh of an analogy to make with Ignatius Eatery at 4200 Magazine Street in Uptown New Orleans. In many ways, it is a great neighborhood restaurant, offering reasonably priced fare, an inviting atmosphere, and decent service. But their capacity to do some things extremely well and plating them next to the dreadfully ordinary is just kind of frustrating. It's good, but it could be so much better than it is.

Straight up, I would recommend Ignatius to anyone who wants an easy and mostly satisfying meal, especially if you have out-of-town guests in tow who are looking for some local New Orleans favorites such as po-boys and red beans and rice and yearn for a hassle-free outing. (Of course, if I were in the French Quarter, I would go straight to Stella! ...but that's another post. And my favorite po-boy is hands-down the fried oyster variety at Domelise's, but they offer limited hours and accept cash only. )

While I have read online reviews that complain about bad service, I have found the staff both friendly and attentive on recent trips. One online reviewer from Chicago, her heart set on "jumbalaya," ended up at Ignatius when she found that she couldn't wear jeans at Commander's Palace. She declared the food "just okay," but the bread pudding as "YUM!" On the one hand, this made me think that the Crescent City might want to ramp up its campaign of culinary enlightenment in the rust belt. But I was also struck at how I and this gourmand from the City with Broad Shoulders came away with the same impression of Ignatius, if for different reasons.

Like that "B" student, there are many things that Ignatius does very well. Guests at every table receive a carafe of ice water and chilled glasses upon arrival, which is a particularly nice touch on a hot August afternoon. Beer is served in paper bags ("Camp Street" style) - a trifle silly but tolerable in a place that aims to be funky. Yet it is the food where a restaurant lives or dies, and there's a little of both taking place on the table at Ignatius.

Despite the heat of the day, Jessie and I shared a cup of the crab and corn bisque and found it wonderfully rich, tangy, and sweet with terrific crab flavor. Likewise, my roast beef po-boy featured many of the best qualities of its kind served throughout the city. I'm not a huge fan of sandwiches slathered with Maggi-style brown gravy mix, and while I find the famous "debris" at Mother's quite tasty, I always feel afterward as if I'd been bobbing for apples in a hotel pan full of pot roast juice. Ignatius delivers tender pulled beef in a savory sauce on a Leidenheimer roll - simple and good, though a little on the dry side for some people's tastes. I'll admit that I was also happy that I wasn't wearing part of the sandwich when I left.

The menu also includes something advertised as "boudin meat loaf." (Those unfamiliar with boudin sausage, a foodstuff with nearly as many variations in southern Louisiana as there are snowflakes in the Antarctic, should really check out The Boudin Link.) To call it such is a little misleading, as the boudin really only contributes a small amount to the meatloaf's pleasant flavor profile, yet it was tremendously good. That no thought had been given to the meatloaf's appearance could have been forgiven if it were not next to a scoop full of soggy yellow corn and unmemorable potatoes that would have been more at home in an army chow line. And this is crux of my gripe: what dish could be easier to render (in summer, no less) than simple sweet corn? Moreover, in an establishment where ketchup bottles line shelves in the dining room, wouldn't it have been simple to put a little color on meatloaf? With more care, and Ignatius could be oh so much better. Maybe not Commander's, but better.

Then again, perhaps I doth protest too much. Like my "B" students, Ignatius is eminently likable, and I'll undoubtedly make a return visit.

My Grandfather's Brandy

A few weekends ago found my mother and I stocking up on the food supplies that I would need for the then-pending wedding shower in South Carolina. We had started the morning early at Patak's "Sausage Chalet" in Austell, Georgia (more on that in a later post!) and had spent much of the rest of the day generally goofing off and seeking out the quality and offbeat in what can otherwise be a pretty generic corner of suburban strip mall America. Our last stop was at Total Wine, a place that can present a financial danger to anyone who carries a credit card in their wallet. We had filled the cart with all of the Cava and wine necessary for the coming event and had already begun aiming it at the checkout aisle when mom suggested detouring past the liquor offerings.

"Your grandfather used to drink this when I was a girl," she said. "What?" I thought. Her father, Ernest Hohenstein, died a couple of years before I was born. He'd emigrated from Stettin, Germany in 1924, the old capitol of Pomeranian Prussia. Today it is part of Poland and called Szszecin. Being the youngest, I was the only one of my siblings to never know him. But I think I would have liked him, had I the chance. This trip to Total Wine only reinforced that notion.

The bottle in question was a German brandy by the name of Asbach Uralt - "der geist des weines." This liquor comes from the Alsatian region of Germany and with the exception of an interruption in production during the Second World War, has been continuously distilled since 1892. Apparently a far bigger brand in Europe, it is not something one typically finds stocked at the local liquor store. Asbach ages this grape wine brandy for three to four years in Limousin oak casks, which I suspect contributes to its smooth character. At about $30 for a 750ml bottle, it is an affordable luxury.

I've often found the manner in which beverage writers describe flavor profiles a tad absurd, so I will try to place my impressions in the vernacular rather than descending into "peppery hints" and "notes of oak." As a bourbon or Irish whisky drinker, I think those of a similar mind would find Asbach Uralt a pleasant change of pace. It lacks the "burn" one senses with a bourbon and leaves behind a far smoother, pleasant aftertaste. Jessie gives it her seal of approval, because I apparently do not reek of a tavern after consuming this brandy. (She does not care for the smell of bourbon on my breath, sadly.) Yet it isn't quite Cognac, which for many is a good thing. As one reviewer suggests, "this isn't your father's Cognac, this is your grandfather's brandy." How true. A quick search reveals a several websites that suggest its use in cocktails, and I'm inclined to believe that Asbach Uralt would put a unique twist on some old standbys that call for bourbon or rye.

The English used on the company's website brings to mind the stilted prose that used to grace computer manuals from the 1980s, but it does offer a bit of history and background on this venerable product. And it appears that the folks at Asbach have also entered the maw of social networking with its own fan page on Facebook.

I haven't been this excited about an alcoholic beverage since I stumbled across Hendrick's Gin about a year and a half ago. But this is of a much different character, one that takes me back to a place that is both foreign and utterly familiar.

Prost!

June Showers bring October Weddings... and "Girlie Food"

When it comes right down to it, Jessie and I already think of ourselves as married. After all, she did follow me out to Mississippi last June and we've been engaged for almost a year. In fact, we would probably already be married if the logistics of the last twelve months had given us time to actually schedule a ceremony. But now it's finally time to pay the piper, and that means we are awash in invitations, and hotel reservations, and showers, and cakes, and gift registry, etc. Let's also not forget to mention the joy that is navigating all of the bureaucratic trappings of a Catholic wedding. I'm proud to say that we've been crossing obligations off of this formidable list in a pretty orderly manner, one at a time. Our extended planning period has been an enormous blessing.

Although it seemed as though it was forever in the future when we first scheduled it, next weekend we will drive to South Carolina for Jessie's shower. It has mostly been a collaborative effort involving her maid of honor, sister, and mother. I volunteered early on to cook for the occasion if for no other reason than because to go to Jessie's mother's home and not spending the weekend cooking would seem utterly foreign. The main problem with all of this is that I have little experience cooking the sort of "girlie food" one expects at a shower.

Because of my said culinary shortcomings I decided to test-drive a few sufficiently girlie recipes. One is my take on chicken salad, the old standby of garden club meetings and wedding showers. The other is a little more involved, featuring grilled pork tenderloin and what Jessie and I affectionately call "cheeseball." If the chicken salad is something we might expect from Melanie Wilkes, than the tenderloin is straight out of Steel Magnolias. This seems appropriate, because I think there will be a little of both in attendance next Saturday.

As a side note, I learned early-on that my focaccia, the only fail-safe bread that I bake, will simply not do for finger sandwiches. While rich with flavor and pleasing to the eye, it is simply too firm and chewy for such dainty fare. Restaurants and caterers often favor visual appeal to the detriment of practicality, but one can only wonder at the value of tasty chicken salad if the majority of it disgorges onto your plate after the first bite. Both sandwiches, therefore, will rest on thinly sliced French bread from a grocer's bakery.

In the test kitchen: an attractive but messy chicken salad sandwich on focaccia bread.

Chicken Salad with Apples:

My chicken salad could hardly be any easier. The day before making this concoction, grill as many boneless chicken breasts as you think you might need. My favorite preparation is simply to rub them with olive oil and season with salt and pepper. Grill for 10 minutes a side on a low flame. Let them reach room temperature after removing from the grill and then refrigerate. When I'm ready to make the chicken salad, I cube the breast meat. Then I cube apples (Granny Smith, McIntosh, or any other fairly tart and firm apple will do) in a ratio of 1 apple to every two large chicken breasts. Round out the salad with green onion, chopped Italian parsely, mayo, and season as needed with paprika and salt and pepper. I would consider adding some chopped pecans or walnuts too, but someone here is not a fan of these. The apple gives the crunch that celery would normally provide, and I think it offers more flavor.

We have yet to come up with a name for my other creation, so "tenderloin á la cheeseball" will just have to do for now.

Guests to our home are familar with what we call cheeseball, our great staple of entertaining. Its origins trace back to May 2008 trip to Napoleon House in the French Quarter. We were within steps of the State Supreme Court building when Jessie's random cravings set upon us. Said cravings are sometimes easily fulfilled (cheese fries, for instance) but often they are not. Like trying to find Thai food along US78 through Northern Alabama. By the time we'd crossed the Napoleon House's threshold, I had only been able to tease out in our familiar question-and-answer routine that Jessie's craving could be for something "sweet, or maybe cheese." Cheese often finds its way to our table, and during this particular trip we'd twice had excellent plates - once at Café Degas and again at Bayona. Jessie spied an offering on the menu promising a spread of "goat cheeses" served with pita and yeast bread, and promptly ordered.

Although this dish has been different on every subsequent visit that we have made to Napoleon House, the basics have remained essentially the same. It consists of a two-inch ball of white cheese, mostly feta, extended by either cream cheese (today) or a soft chèvre (originally) and seasoned with chopped parsley and green onion. The first time we tried it, the cheeseball was very crumbly, but on subsequent visits it has been smooth and spreadable -- likely due to the switch to cream cheese and the addition of a little bit of sour cream -- discoveries we also made on the road to cheeseball nirvana.

OUR cheeseball has evolved over time as well, and what I describe here is the latest iteration. We found that garlic was just too powerful (especially when Microplaned) while green onion did not supply enough punch. Shallots became the ideal in-between. Chèvre yields a greater tartness, but makes the dish more expensive and the flavor difference hardly justifies the cost. Countless times we have had this spread on Carr's water crackers with a nice red wine - our version of the good life on a dime.

The fixin's for cheeseball: feta, parsley, sour cream, cream cheese, shallot.

Cheeseball:

• Equal parts crumbled feta and cream cheese (about 3-4 oz. each)
• chopped parsley to taste
• approx. 1 tablespoon shallot, finely chopped
• black pepper
• 1 tablespoon sour cream (what makes it so spreadable!)

Mix together with a fork & put into ramekin or mound into a ball on a plate. Keeps in the refrigerator covered for about a week. Though it never lasts a week.

The inspiration for the sandwich came out of a need to pack some lunch for one of our rambles in the Delta. (You can find good food at restaurants in the Delta, but see above craving and understand the wisdom of toting rations.) I generally dislike deli meat and have long ago mastered the art of slow-grilling roasts for the purpose of making sandwich meat. We had some leftover grilled pork tenderloin in the refrigerator. (Slow grill a tenderloin on low heat, 10-12 minutes a side & let rest before slicing.) By some miracle we also had a little leftover cheeseball. Combining the two on bread yielded something on the order of euphoria. The sandwich below is a direct descendant of this moment.

Making up the tenderloin à la cheeseball sandwich. This is not rocket science, folks!

Tenderloin á la cheeseball sandwiches

• Spread a generous application of above cheeseball on one side of bread. Use mayonaise on the other half.
• Place a layer of thinly-sliced English cucumber and thinly-sliced grilled pork tenderloin on sandwich

The secret, of course, is in the cheeseball. Only time will tell, however, if the guests enjoy these sandwiches as much as we do. Stay tuned!

Gag Me with a Twelve Pound Cheeseburger!

Few sayings ring truer than the chorus of Bruce Springsteen's "57 channels (and nothin' on)." As if to demonstrate television's inability to grasp the concept that more is often less, we've recently witnessed an explosion of programs that fuse cooking with reality television, including a slew of contrived chef talent search shows like Fox's "Hell's Kitchen," Food Network's "Chopped," and Bravo's "Top Chef." Unlike the popular (and often quite good) "Iron Chef America," the only meaningful ingredient in these programs is manufactured drama. You can almost hear the bumper now: "Somebody's gonna cry tonight, and it ain't from the onions!"

These kitchen cum "American Idol" shows are now having to make room for an growing list of food-travel programs. Not that this is anything new. "Forty Dollars a Day" helped launch the prattling chipmunk empire of Rachael Ray, and the irascible and versatile Anthony Bourdain has brought feasting on the obscure to television for almost a decade. But now if you are not content with Bourdain's exotic locales, you can always stay tuned to the Travel Channel and catch Andrew Zimmern ingesting deep-fried tarantulas or perhaps pickled emu beaks, all while cooing, "...ooh. Wow. I mean, it's so... so... like what you would not expect." His program is a little like watching "Fear Factor" without the put-on screaming.

"Man vs Food" host Adam Richman pauses before abusing his intestines on camera.

Yet few shows deliver more colon wrenching excess than the Travel Channel's newest hit, "Man vs Food." It's what you might expect if you combined a hairier version of Zimmern with Johnny Knoxville from MTV's "Jackass." The show's host, Adam Richman, visits everyday fare hotspots around the country and then sets about doing something ludicrous like attempting to eat fifteen dozen oysters in an hour or a dish of curry so hot that even the restaurant's chef wears goggles during its preparation. Anyone who has paid attention to the billboards while driving along Interstate 40 through Amarillo probably understands the creative genius that inspired this show. You guessed it, one of Richman's earliest stops was at the Big Texan Steak Ranch where he takes "the restaurant's legendary 72-ounce steak challenge." According to the show's website, it remains the most popular episode.

Like "Jackass," Richman has inspired adoring imitators. Who can argue that these budding media stars aren't on to something?

I mentioned "Man vs Food" to a few of my students in class today, and several gave it a hearty endorsement. This left me confident of the Travel Channel's ability to sell advertising space for domestic beer and AXE body spray. But I can't help but feel that somewhere in a darkened apartment a self-conscious calorie counter sits on the couch weeping as he watches Richman gack down a nine pound pistrami sandwich and tries not to think about the grim stack of Lean Cuisines lurking in his freezer.

One wonders what culinary frontiers Richman will cross in future episodes. Perhaps he'll eat five pounds of spicy crawfish boil and then use the restroom without first washing his hands. Maybe it'll be an eating contest with Takeru Kobayashi, who we used to see obscenely stuffing Nathan's hot dogs down his gullet. No doubt it will be scintilating. Cable television would deliver no less.