Fêtes Past, Fêtes Future: Finding Something Lost in the Réveillon

There is no city the same size as New Orleans that cares as much about its food, a fact that is probably no more true than it is today. I think this has to do with the type of person that the city is attracting as of late. This also has some likely bearing why Orleans Parish cannot boast a single TGI Fridays, Applebee's, or Red Lobster. Few times of year are more appealing to revel in this fact than Christmastide, when réveillon menus begin to appear at local restaurants.

A recent article in the often joyless publication Cooking Light did a fine if ironic job of recounting the resurgence of the réveillon tradition in New Orleans. For a moment I imagined its subscribers' tears dropping wetly on the page as they juxtaposed a life they will never allow themselves to know with the I Can't Believe it's Not Butter lurking in their refrigerator and the 7 pm spinning class at the gym. Yet I soon reawakened to reality and acknowledged that they will only see it as a novelty undertaken in a strange land.

Indeed, the key failing of the Cooking Light piece is that it does not mention the most important dimension of réveillon, and that is the philosophy behind it. To be sure, the feast is a meal. But more critically, it is a statement - it is a worldview. Moreover, you needn't be as wealthy as the Brennan clan to pull the thing off at home. At some level you just have to reject the no trans-fat microwave popcorn age in which we live. That is why the réveillon is also a perfect fit for today's New Orleans, a city increasingly made up of individuals who have come here seeking to be expatriates yet remain in their own country. It is a place where old ways (both high and low) and all their attendant inconveniences still flourish. For certain, the city has been grossly commodified for tourist consumption, but it is also a world without Outback Steakhouse. It is a place with color and character so often missing in American landscape. Certainly, you can find similar restaurants offering multi-course prix fixe menus elsewhere (like Baccanalia in Atlanta, for instance) but few places where it is part of the lifestyle.

Jessie and I are looking forward to the day where we can host our own réveillon feast after Midnight Mass, but that will sadly be some years away. Newly married and yet without the great family magnet that are newborn babies, we must still travel to the East for holidays. We decided, however, to avail ourselves of a grand indulgence last night and take in a réveillon menu at one of our favorite local restaurants.

Martinique Bistro on Magazine Street has been the site of many enjoyable dinners. For the same price or maybe a tiny bit more than what you might spend on a mediocre meal at Romano's Macaroni Grill, you can have fine dining, excellent service, and a decent wine list. When the weather is fine, there are few restaurants that offer a more pleasant courtyard. In the winter, the dining room offers a cozy retreat that might as well be in Provence. Last night, we took in their réveillon menu.

I do not intend this post to be a restaurant review, because I question my qualifications to take on Martinique on its level. Suffice to say that going during the Saints game was a stroke of genius. The Saints lost to Dallas anyhow (we caught the occasional "son of a bitch!" coming from the kitchen) and the place was nearly empty, making it a homey experience.  Yet a few recommendations - the lobster appetizier - the endive salad - the gumbo - the duck....!

For now we will collect these menus and memories until the day when family gather here for our own réveillon.

Merry Christmas from New Orleans!

Louisiana Citrus

It is time for another post of morning lagniappe! Partly because it is all I seem to have time for these days but mostly because the greatness of Louisiana grapefruit cannot be ignored!

While our wonderful Satsuma crop is familiar to some outside of Louisiana, few people outside of the state realize that you can readily acquire navel oranges and grapefruit grown right here. Only the southernmost region of coastal Louisiana features a climate that can reliably support commercial citrus production, most famously in environmentally fragile Plaquemines Parish.

I noticed grapefruit for sale at Dorignac's a few weeks ago, but finally decided to buy this week when the price hit an incredibly low mark of $.59 apiece. The flavor of the sweet ruby red fruit is as good as the photograph in this post suggests.

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!