Eating out in New Orleans, over and over again

Elizabeth and Bryant’s destination wedding last month gave us the perfect excuse to visit New Orleans for the first time. I was not expecting to like it as much as I did. And the food blew me away.

Shortly after arriving at our hotel (International House Hotel http://ihhotel.com/), we met up with Mom and Dad, cousin Will, wife Martha, Hodge and the sweetest new addition to the family, baby Thea, and headed out in search of food. We walked a great distance through the French Quarter before landing at the French Market Restaurant and Bar (no website) at 1001 Decatur Street where we were seated outdoors on the second story porch in the welcome Southern sun. I jumped right in with some New Orleans oysters on the half shell along with a cup of gumbo. The oysters were incredibly fresh and enormous! I actually had to cut one in half because I wasn’t sure I could manage to eat it whole. The gumbo was fine but nothing mind-blowing. Sylvain had a muffaletta sandwich (http://www.gumbopages.com/food/samwiches/muff.html), ticking off one of his culinary goals for NOLA early on. Basically this is similar to N.J. Italian subs (mortadella, ham, Genoa salami, Mozzarella, Provolone) but with “olive salad” instead of our lettuce, tomato, onion, oil and vinegar. He loved it.

I can’t remember the last time I had one, but I also ordered a Bloody Mary. I am a tomato juice drinker. I love V8. Always have. On the other hand, I have never been a big Bloody Mary drinker, and this one was unlike any other I’d had. Never have I seen so much black pepper in one place, and throughout the weekend shocking amounts of it continued to appear on my plate and in my glass. I’m talking about giant cracked peppercorns, not the finely ground stuff we use up North. There was also a generous amount of horseradish and Tabasco and spicy, pickled green beans stuck jauntily straight out of the cup. That Bloody Mary hit the spot dead on. I did not know it at the time, but this was the beginning of a theme. The weekend would be punctuated by “signature cocktails,” and clearly I had found mine.

The Rehearsal Dinner was held at the Napoleon House, home of the Mayor of New Orleans in the early 1800’s. He offered the place to Napoleon in exile and created “L’apartement de l’Empereur” for the occasion. Of course we know that Napoleon never made it to New Orleans, and the lavish second floor apartment is where private parties are held. It is also where Sylvain discovered his now beloved Pimm’s Cup, the signature drink of the evening. I tried one, but with lemonade and 7up as ingredients, it was too sweet for me. Sylvain made up for that by downing them throughout the evening and talking about them incessantly when he wasn’t drinking them. According to the Napoleon House, Pimm’s was created in 1840 in England, and claims to be "made to James Pimm's original recipe, a closely guarded secret known only to six people."

Moving on, we enjoyed passed hors d’oeuvres including crawfish in puff pastry, beef fillet, cheese in puff pastry, mini muffalettas, and crab cakes. For dinner we had pre-selected from a choice of three dishes (thank you Elizabeth for the descriptions). I had the “Pesce Don Giuseppe.” This was breaded, sautéed redfish topped with lump crabmeat and shrimp, finished with mushrooms and artichoke hearts in a lemon butter sauce – a traditional New Orleans fish preparation. Sylvain had the “Chicken Marengo” as I knew he would once I had read the description! Supposedly, Napoleon demanded a quick meal after his victory at The Battle of Marengo, and his chef was forced to work with meager, foraged results: a chicken (and some eggs), tomatoes, onions, garlic, herbs, olive oil, and crawfish. The chef cut up the chicken (with a saber, bien sûr), fried it in olive oil, made a sauce from the tomatoes, garlic and onions (plus a bit of cognac from Napoleon's flask), cooked the crawfish, fried the eggs and served them as a garnish, with some of the soldier's bread ration on the side. Napoleon reportedly liked the dish and (having won the battle) considered it lucky. The third dish was simply “Grilled Filet of Beef with Seasonal Vegetables” which looked tasty. Not surprisingly, Napoleons were served for dessert.

After such a copious meal and those trick wine glasses that are never empty, we welcomed the walk back to the hotel. By now the streets were packed with the revelers who are attracted to New Orleans, Mardi Gras or no Mardi Gras. They even seemed to think it was Mardi Gras, dressed in colorful hats and beads, blowing noise makers. It was all very festive. We returned to the hotel, stopping first for one last Pimm’s Cup in the hotel bar before retiring for the night.

Since I don’t sleep much past 5 or 6 a.m., and Sylvain has risen early for work all of his life, we were up early and ready for a power walk and daylight exploration of New Orleans with Mom, another early riser. It was a beautiful morning and all of the streets were freshly washed and disinfected in preparation for the start of another day of revelry. Through open doors along the route we saw that most bars already had a patron or two by 8:30 a.m. Our destination was the Café du Monde, renowned for their beignets and the classic New Orleans chicory and coffee blend. We ordered two of each and were not disappointed! The beignets arrived, hot, perfect and sinful, a crisp, fried exterior with a light, almost cakey interior and a mild taste of buttermilk, with a crazy amount of confectioner’s sugar dumped on them that ended up all over us. There is something very sensual about eating in New Orleans, and this breakfast was exemplary – rich and finger-licking messy.

Walking all morning helped us to justify an early lunch at the well-known and popular Acme Oyster House. We sat at the bar. I ordered an oyster po’ boy sandwich with a side of Tabasco mayonnaise and Sylvain had half a smoked sausage po’ boy with a cup of gumbo. I felt that we had to try the fried crawfish tails as well . I knew I would regret leaving New Orleans without having done so. It didn’t occur to me at the time to leave them for another visit. They were addictive but a bit overwhelmed by the batter and the intense “remoulade” served with them. But the po’ boy more than lived up to my expectations with a ton of fresh, fried oysters slathered with the spicy mayo cradled in the classic, soft loaf. I am a little embarrassed to admit that I ate the entire sandwich, washed down with the spiciest Bloody Mary ever (garnished with a massive pickled okra!). And it was worth it. My only regret is that it made my dress for the black tie evening somewhat more of a challenge to get into…

The wedding was held at the 1826 Beauregard-Keyes House, built for wealthy auctioneer Joseph Le Carpentier and named for two of its former residents, Confederate General Pierre Gustave Toutant (P.G.T.) Beauregard and author Frances Parkinson Keyes. It was an intimate and beautiful setting. Judge Mary “K.K.” Norman a.k.a. “The Love Judge” (http://www.nola.com/living/index.ssf/2008/02/the_love_judge_valentines_day.html) officiated, intense bling peeking out from beneath her robes.

The bride was beyond stunning and the ceremony was very personal and a privilege to assist in. Elizabeth processed on Dad’s arm to the sounds of the wonderful Cool Bone playing La Vie En Rose. Following the service, the musicians and new bride and groom led the entire wedding party through the streets to the reception. This was an incredible experience as our wedding “parade” in black tie was joined by what in NOLA is called the “second line,” which includes anyone and everyone along the route. There were catcalls and applause. Some people danced and sang as we passed, others called out words of advice or caution to the groom, and still others joined in the procession which ended at Latrobe’s on Royal.

What an incredible space and the food was excellent! The signature cocktail of this evening was the French 74, a potent combination of gin and Champagne. Passed hors d’oeuvres during the cocktail hour included deviled quail eggs, mini polenta rounds topped with baby shrimp, duck confit on a sweet potato chip, and a perfect fried oyster with horseradish in a paper cone. The traditional New Orleans dinner was heavenly but the servings were too generous to finish properly!

The Menu

Creole crawfish bisque finished with crawfish boulettes

Baby greens with poached figs, pistachios, grapes and feta in fig vinaigrette

Southern pork trio: pork cassoulet with pork confit, roasted pork loin with rosemary & garlic, and pork crackling.

Beignets with chocolate sauce

Groom’s cake (red velvet with chocolate icing)

I really did my best, but even Sylvain could not manage to finish every glorious course! At the end of the evening we said our goodbyes to Elizabeth and Bryant and joined the crowd on the sidewalk where sparklers were being distributed and Cool Bone was now playing. The sparklers were fired up and the happy bride and groom ran through the crowd and jumped into the waiting white Bentley, driving off into the night. It was a beautiful wedding and an unforgettable party!

The next day was Sunday, bringing our sojourn to an end. Not to be outdone by the Porter cousin clan who had dined at the famous Brennan’s the previous morning, Mom, Dad, Sylvain and I headed to brunch at the Court of Two Sisters at the suggestion of Willie at the hotel. He did not steer us wrong!

This is where the story becomes one of truly embarrassing excess. We sat in a beautiful outdoor courtyard and enjoyed a pitcher of Mimosas before partaking of the buffet. Out table was next to a statue of the two sisters themselves in their topless, nipple-pinching glory. A nice jazz band played and we were further entertained by the filming of a Travel Channel segment with Samantha Brown at a nearby table.

For my first “course” I sampled sea slaw (basically Cole slaw with crab – yummy), cold, steamed shrimp with the famous remoulade sauce, wonderful sweet potato salad, and generously peppered poached salmon.

My second course included scrambled eggs from the grill, bananas Foster, Cajun cornbread stuffing, a crêpe, lean bacon and a slice of smoked Cajun sausage. My eyes were truly bigger than my stomach at this point and I could only taste what I had selected from the hot buffet. I should have skipped from the first course to the last as these were the most memorable.

I wrapped things up with irresistible grapes in cream (red grapes tossed in sour cream), a slice of coconut cake and some fresh pineapple chunks. Phew!

After one last walk through the streets of the old French quarter, we returned to the hotel to finish packing, we grabbed a taxi to the airport. We dropped off Sylvain’s rented tux on our way there, signaling the return to a more mundane existence. But what a treat it was to step away from the day-to-day, dress up in party clothes and enter another world for a bit, and as a twosome, while sending two people off to make a new life for themselves.

Muffuletta Olive Salad Recipe

1-1/2 cups green olives, pitted
1/2 cup Calamata olives, pitted
1 cup Gardiniera (pickled cauliflower, carrots, celery, Pepperoncini)
1 Tbsp. capers
3 each fresh garlic cloves, thinly sliced
1/8 cup celery, thinly sliced
1 Tbsp. Italian parsley, finely chopped
1 Tbsp. fresh oregano or 2 tsp. dried
1 tsp. crushed red pepper flakes
3 Tbsp. red wine vinegar
1/4 cup roasted red peppers
1 Tbsp. green onions, thinly sliced
Kosher salt & freshly ground pepper to taste

Crush each olive on a cutting board with your hand. Combine all ingredients. Cover with Extra Virgin Olive Oil (about 1 – 1 1/2 Cups).

Put into a bowl or jar, cover and let the flavors marry for about one week.

Napoleon House Pimm’s Cup Recipe

Fill a tall 12 oz glass with ice and add 1 1/4 oz. Pimm's #1 and 3 oz lemonade. Then top off with 7up.
Garnish with cucumber.

French 75 Cocktail

Named after a WWI 75 millimeter howitzer cannon, the French 75 is supposedly the only cocktail invented in the United States during Prohibition to become a classic.

In a cocktail shaker, combine 3 oz. gin, 3 oz. lemon juice, 4 tsp. sugar, and 1-1/2 cup ice cubes and shake to chill. Strain cocktails into 2 wine or Champagne glasses and top off with 1 cup Champagne.

Acme Oyster House

http://www.acmeoyster.com/

Beauregard-Keyes House

http://www.bkhouse.org/

Café du Monde

http://www.cafedumonde.com/

Cool Bone Jazz Band

http://www.coolbone.com/

Court of Two Sisters

http://www.courtoftwosisters.com/

Latrobe’s on Royal

http://www.latrobesonroyal.com/

Napoleon House

http://www.napoleonhouse.com/index.html

Estia’s Little Kitchen: Welcome Simplicity

For years Mom and Dad have talked about Estia’s Little Kitchen, an unassuming little spot on the Bridgehampton-Sag Harbor Turnpike and a favorite of theirs. Some how we have never managed to get there in the nearly ten years since they opened. This time the planets aligned and the four of us made a last minute reservation for 7:30 p.m. On a Saturday night no less. And it was nice to spend time with Mom and Dad without the little darlings. Now that I think of it, it must have been even nicer for Mom and Dad no matter how much they love them.

Estia’s is basically a tiny two-room shack with a small bar and fish-themed artwork. Local ingredients abound and there is a strong Latin American influence on the dishes. We ordered a bottle of “Grapes of Roth” Riesling (that’s right) that Sylvain and I had sampled at the Sag Harbor farmers market earlier in the day (okay, it was about 9:30 a.m.).

For appetizers Dad and I had the Mexican Mussels which were steamed in a lightly spiced tomatillo broth and topped with narrow strips of fried tortillas – a surprising combination that worked really well. My mouth is actually watering at the memory! I am going to work on reproducing it. Sylvain had a Crabmeat Napoleon, interpreted with generous dollops of crabmeat and guacamole layered on three stories of large tortilla chips. Mom had the Ensalada de Casita in citrus vinaigrette which clearly was assembled from local veggies. I wish that our restaurants in New Jersey would get on the local foods bandwagon at least in the summer when we also have an incredible variety of seasonal produce available.

Mom and I ordered the Striped Bass with Arugula as a main course served with large roasted yellow tomato halves, a sweet counter balance to the peppery arugula. Dad had sautéed ocean scallops served with pesto over home-made fettuccine and Sylvain ordered the Paella. Later I was thinking that it seemed like each dish had no more than three primary flavors, very simple and very pure.

 

The dessert selection didn’t have much that appealed to me as most involved wheat which I must now avoid. I did feel that we should try the vanilla flan, hoping for the eggy, burnt sugar flavored authentic version that I enjoyed first in Brasil and then over the years in different countries. It was sweet and very tasty, but for me it seemed a bit dumbed-down for American palates, lacking the bite I was hoping for.

In all, the food was simple and quite good with most dishes made from a minimum of ingredients, all of them incredibly fresh. The service was warm and the setting was wonderfully and refreshingly unpretentious all things considered!

Estia’s Little Kitchen

1615 Sag Harbor Bridge Hampton Turnpike Sag Harbor NY - 2 miles West of Village
telephone: 631 725 1045

http://estiaslittlekitchen.com/index.htm

http://estiaslittlekitchen.com/blog.htm

Almond: Beautiful Food in Bridgehampton

It is only infrequently that we eat out over our summer vacation in Bridgehampton. Generally we try to avoid the crowds as much as possible and hole up at home where we enjoy wonderful meals gleaned from local farmers markets, farm stands and fish markets. I have written in the past about the growing local foods movement here (A Week in Bridgehampton), a great boon to those of us who come for the beauty of the spot and not the beautiful people.

But especially on vacation, a night out is a welcome break from cooking for twelve! One evening Mom and Dad offered to feed the kids so that Sylvain, Clara, Dan and I could enjoy dinner out. Almond has been around for years. In the 80’s it was The Woodshed and served basic seafood (I remember the steamed mussels and the soft shell crab) but was more known as a watering hole than for its food. Before that it was hippie central and actually called The Grotto of the Purple Grape, a name that really impressed me and conjured up imagined exotic grooviness that I was too young for. The 00’s incarnation strives more for French farmhouse than hashish den, and it tries only a tiny bit too hard. Out of respect for my late mother-in-law Jeanette, I must say that French dish towels do not napkins make and croque monsieur does not belong on a restaurant dinner menu. But these are minor details noticed by a Frenchman that have no bearing on the good food prepared with ingredients come from the rich array of local North and South Fork sources.

We started with glasses of rosé for the women and beers for the men and a round of appetizers. After much internal debate involving the charred squid, I ended up choosing the citrus-marinated sardine salad with hearts of palm and avocado. It was tasty, but based on the description I was expecting fresh sardines cured with lemon juice, a simple and perfect summer recipe that I love. At first I couldn’t understand why the fish wasn’t soft enough to pull apart with my fork and required a knife! The flavors were all good but I was a little disappointed. Clara ordered the charred squid salad that came with a tapenade crouton and other goodies that it was too dark to identify properly. Dan had a salad of mixed greens served with some nice-looking chèvre croutons and Sylvain had a Greek salad of all local ingredients topped with soft, caramelized red onions. He ate half of it before I could get a photo and never offered me even a small taste. I am operating on the assumption that it was good! Sharing food has long been a sore spot in our marriage but I acknowledge that we have made some good progress over the years.

There were several tasty-sounding fish main courses on the menu to choose from. I ordered the Wild-Caught Grilled Shrimp - five large, meaty fellows skewered with woody rosemary stalks served over a salad of diced cucumbers and tomatoes, sylvetta greens (a relative of arugula I am told by chef Jason Weiner) and dried chickpeas drizzled with a dill yogurt sauce made from local goat’s milk. The shrimp were perfectly cooked with just the right flavor and heat from harissa. I was happy and as I looked around the table felt neither regrets about what was on my plate nor envy of other people’s choices. I love when that happens.

Clara had the whole striped bass, a special. Striped bass is available locally this time of year and seems to be on every menu. It strikes a nice balance – delicate but meaty, flavorful but not oily- can handle a savory marinade and takes well to grilling. Dan can vouch for the quality of Almond’s traditional Steak Frites which by all appearances he thoroughly enjoyed. Pork or duck on a menu attract Sylvain with a powerful, apparently irresistible pull. He ordered the Pork Belly which, after much discussion, we agreed was a cut similar to bacon. I’ve never had it before, imaging more fat than lean, but it was good (I was permitted a nibble) and not at all what I expected, served with gorgeous, falling-apart tender roasted red onions.

In a strange twist on the usual theme, Sylvain and Dan skipped dessert and Clara and I ordered Chocolate Pots de Crème. Our desserts arrived in cute Italian espresso cups. It turned out that they were not really pots de crème, which are baked in a bain marie and have the consistency of an intense custard. These were far lighter and had the texture of a mousse. I didn’t mind because they made for a less gluttonous end to the meal and they were delicious, topped with light whipped cream and sprinkled with chopped salted almonds. The flavors of deep chocolate, sweet cream and salty nuts worked beautifully together and the textures were just as pleasing. Fortunately I did not suffer through the watery, tired decaf as Clara had to, and enjoyed the perfect end to a very nice meal.

http://www.almondrestaurant.com/

Strawberry Distraction

It has been a tough year in the world where I spend the majority of my time and in the other worlds that are squeezed into the rest of my waking hours. And sometimes the non-waking ones as well. Often, the overall stress is just too much and I just want to get as far away as possible from conferences about the impact of the economy on non-profits and how to survive it, emergency meetings about raising money to keep the school open, stress at home about paychecks and bill-paying, funerals for loved ones at the natural end of their lives and funerals for beautiful boys who should still be with us, worried conversations with teachers and guidance counselors and therapists, back pain and stress and the myriad attempts at relief. I WANT IT ALL TO STOP.

Deep breath.

Strawberries.

They are not even my favorite fruit, but something about them is different, special. Something about strawberries takes me deep inside myself where it is quiet and things are simple and have not yet become complicated. It is late spring in Brookside, N.J. and there are tiny wild strawberries on a small hillside above the little brook that flows through the backyard. They appear each year and bring with them the beauty and reassurance of the changing seasons, and their own innate delicate sweetness. They will not be cheapened! They cannot be purchased!

It occurs to me now that over the years I have always had a couple of strawberry plants bearing these tiny Alpine gems in pots or beds and fraises des bois continue to have a place in my life to this day. We have several plants in a sunny bed where we live now and they bear fruit around the time of Nora's birthday. She is sure that they are just for her. There are precious few and they are more valued because only one or two ripen each day, and then there is an end to it. Sometimes there is only one and we share it.

I've never had much success or put any real effort into growing the larger varieties of strawberries. We buy them in season at local stands in Changewater, Pittstown and Oldwick and at the supermarket when all else fails. But there is a firmness, a toughness and tartness to the supermarket varieties (surely required to survive the truck ride from California or Central America) compared to the local straws that are so wonderfully fragrant, soft to the bite and unbearably sweet on the tongue.

When Maxwell's self-service stand started selling strawberries earlier this month, I got over there quickly. Too often my timing is off and they are cleaned out. I was going to buy a quart or two at $5 each but only had a $20. When this happens, I usually write crazy notes to the farmer (who I have never met) about how much I still owe him and when I'll come back with cash or how much he owes me in produce because I have overpaid. Instead, this time somehow I ended up leaving there with four quarts of strawberries.

I found a recipe in Anna Pump's "Summer on a Plate" cookbook that called for two quarts of strawberries. It was unbelievable - the reddest dessert ever with intense, intense strawberry flavor. I will never think of "red" in the same way again! Sadly, I did not take a picture so I will have to make it again. We melted a bar of semi-sweet Ghiradelli chocolate and made chocolate-dipped strawberries with the third quart and kept the fourth on hand for eating plain. I made batches of chocolate-dipped strawberries several more times in June. Oddly, I had never made them before this year. Nothing is easier or tastes better. We had them again for Nora's birthday along with a Strawberry Shortcake made by Mom.

Chocolate-dipped Strawberries

1 bar (4 oz.) semi-sweet Ghiradelli chocolate or your favorite

1 quart local farmstand strawberries

1.) Wash the strawberries by filling a clean sink with cold water and soaking them in it a bit. Swish them around to remove all grit. Lift the berries out of the sink and onto a dish towel spread on the counter. Dry gently by placing another towel over them.

2.) Place a sheet of waxed paper on a cookie sheet.

3.) Melt the chocolate in a small double boiler over simmering water. Stir with a wooden spoon until melted and glossy.

4.) Hold the strawberries by the stems and dip them in the chocolate. Place them on the cookie sheet and let cool or refrigerate for 1/2 hour before eating. They are best eaten the same day.

Pamplona: a night out with "the girls"

Long-awaited and yet worth the wait, I spent the evening with Martha, Marisa and Julie Saturday night. We came from different points and met at Lillie’s on 17th Street, a new “Irish Victorian” bar. It is named for the famous British actress and renowned beauty Lillie Langtry who was nicknamed the “Jersey Lily.” This is a brand new, gorgeous space where a ton of money was spent to make it look as if it has been there forever. Their tagline is “celebrating friendship the old-fashioned way,” which apparently means drinking beer and watching soccer, seemingly incongruous activities for the feminine-leaning surroundings. But we were four women reunited for a night out, drinking beer and watching the Preakness so maybe they are on to something? I had a tasty Belgian Leffe Blonde. We toasted each other and all agreed that for a variety of individual reasons, we needed this night out and we welcomed the gift of stepping through a very small window into a space away from daily stress.

From Lillie’s we headed north to Pamplona on East 28th Street for modern Spanish bistro fare. From the street there is not much to catch your eye. The narrow front is all glass but it looks dark within. I admit to feeling an awful discouragement when we walked in at 7:15 to a quiet and nearly empty dining room. It was the sinking feeling of a former restauranteur on a deathly slow Saturday night and of a diner fearing she has made a poor choice of restaurant. Fortunately for all concerned, the place was noisy and packed to overflowing by the time we left a couple of hours later.

After a brief discussion of the merits of red vs. white wine and red vs. white Sangria, we ordered a pitcher of white for the table and then chose a selection of tapas and a couple of media raciones (medium plates) to share. Sliced baguette rounds arrived in short order with a dish of delicious garlicky, bright green olive oil. We dove in while debating the merits of Facebook. The initiated (Julie and I) regaled the resistant, non-converted with stories of our Kenyon “friends.”

We had no trouble at all choosing from the small menu – almost everything sounded good – but did struggle to divide some of the small dishes four ways. Marisa gave it a true College try but was just not up to the task. Thankfully Martha was there with her ample tennis muscles that left her able to slice right through the skewers on the pinchos without breaking a sweat! Julie was not asked to do any tasks requiring the use of two hands as she needed to clasp one at the neck of her too-revealing sweater at all times to keep public sightings of “the girls” to a minimum.

In no time the dishes started arriving and there really wasn’t a dud among them. We started with a thick wedge of Tortilla de Patatas with slices of Jamon Serrano. I need to find out how they make this. It is described as a “frittata” on the menu but was so different from one. We also had Buñuelos de Queso, fabulously airy fried little balls of Iberico and Manchego cheese, and Pincho de Datiles, a personal favorite. I had them at a party this week and would eat them constantly if given the chance. Like all of the best food, they are deceivingly simple in terms of ingredients but complex in flavor mixing sweet and salty with textures that are meltingly soft and crispy. We all loved these!

The Pincho de Chorizo y Gambas (chorizio and shrimp served on those pesky skewers)came resting on goat cheese toasts – another great combination of tastes. Bocadillo de Pato was like a grilled Panini filled with braised Duck and creamy chevre. The Gazpacho was a show-stopper and unlike any I’ve ever had. The broth was pale green with puréed avocado. Hidden beneath the surface were the more traditional cubes of cucumber, tomato, etc. and in the center of the bowl was a large dollop of a tangy yogurt sorbet. Yum.

Pulpo was one of the media raciones we ordered. I don’t like pretentious food and foam of any kind tops that list for me. That said, I will let Pamplona off the hook for two reasons. 1.) The chef (Alex Ureña) worked with foam king, Ferran Adria, himself. This is as good excuse as any I suppose but had the dish not been good, that fact alone would not have been enough. That brings me to the second reason. 2.) The dish was delicious with perfectly tender octopus served over a thick bed of lemony and tender potato confit. Yes, there was foam, but it was spring garlic foam that served a real purpose in the dish.

Finally, as we all agreed that we had little experience with Spanish cheese beyond Manchego, we ordered the Plato de Queso. There was one sheep’s and one cow’s milk cheese and two made from goat’s milk. The menu lists them as Mahon, Ahumado de Pria, Murcia al Vino & La Peral but honestly I do not know which was which. All were good but our favorite was the very aged, very moldy blue goat that’s flavor lingered on in the mouth. The cheese came with triangles of dense raisin nut bread and slices of fruit confit – was it apricot? quince?

If this seems like a lot of food, it was. And it wasn’t. We ate and ate but mostly in tastes and mouthfuls. This meant that there was room for dessert. We dipped long fried Churros y Canela in Valrhona chocolate sauce and shared an order of Tarta de Turrón, a chocolate and almond mousse tarte with an unusual consistency that came with creamy chocolate ice cream. The meal ended with two espressos and two cappuccinos and then it was into the night for the walk back to our vehicles further downtown.

Yes, the food at Pamplona was great, but it only enhanced what would already have been a great evening. Conversation flowed comfortably and touched on work, husbands, joys and concerns about our children and a discussion of what we were like at their ages (mostly worse in many ways), College classmate updates and of course, some exposé of former romantic adventures. Twice I laughed uncontrollably until I was near tears. I have to say that, in my world today, that outranks any meal.

http://newyork.timeout.com/articles/restaurants-bars/73685/lillies-union-square-bar-opening
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lillie_Langtry
http://www.pamplonanyc.com/

Life and Death in Champagne

My father-in-law passed away recently and Sylvain and I quickly got our affairs in order to arrive in time for the Saturday funeral. Roland was sweet and loyal, loved his family and his Jeanette, laughter, Champagne, telling stories, and any excuse for food and fellowship. Like his father before him, he worked from young age as a "Caviste" in the cellars of Mumm Champagne. He was 87 when he died in his sleep at the home of his girlfriend, Reine, with whom he had recently been reunited after a separation of over 60 years.

It was a whirlwind weekend that combined activities that were practical, ceremonial, funny, uncomfortable, celebratory, and very sad, and an almost unending series of gatherings that centered around food, Champagne and reminiscing. Roland had said, "Quand je meurs, il faut boire du Champagne," and I am quite sure that he would not have been disappointed. As part of his retirement from Mumm he received 40+ of Champagne a year, so there was more than enough of the bubbly to go around.

Most of our meals were taken at the home my sister and brother-in-law, Marie Claude and François, where we were staying - they were simple meals. But this is France and the simplest meal far exceeds the American equivalent. After the Protestant funeral (general Catholic consensus deemed the church oddly austere but the service and pastor nice) everyone came back to the house to toast Roland with glasses of Mumm accompanied by sliced brioche. Nothing could have tasted better! Afterwards, the family stayed on for a late lunch of celeri remoulade, grated carrot, and cous cous salads, followed by platters of sliced hard sausage, ham and pâté, and finally by a selection of cheeses (Gruyere, Camembert and Munster). For dessert, plates of thick wedges of flan were passed around the table.

On Sunday we dined with both of Sylvain's siblings and their spouses at La Taverne de Mâitre Kanter, an Alsatian restaurant chain found throughout Europe. I admit that because I knew it was a chain and had seen it just off one of the many rond points in the industrial zone surrounding the city, I was not predisposed to like it. Call me a snob, but I had scary visions of TGI Friday and Ruby Tuesday. I couldn't have been more wrong. I should have known it would be good when François (a true connoisseur) recommended the oysters. With it's Tudor-style exterior, strategically-placed storks, tiled table tops and green-stemmed glasses, it is what the French call a restaurant théme.

I started with a half dozen n˚ 3 Fines de Claires oysters from the Atlantic served on two tiers, the oysters on ice above and slices of brown bread, butter and the traditional sauce mignonette below. Accompanied by a Pinot Gris from Alsace, they perfectly hit the spot. Sylvain had a green salad with chevre toasts that were obscenely voluptuous and trying very hard to distract me from my oysters.

For our main courses, we switched to a light and yummy Pinot Noir, also from Alsace. Though my own French ancestors came from Alsace Lorraine in the 1800's, up to this point I had been completely ignorant of this culinary region and what I knew of it was never enough to tempt me. Now that I had no choice, I decided to try Flammeküche, a flat bread with a very, very thin crust topped with chunks of pungent Munster cheese, tiny slivers of ham and thinly sliced tender white onion. There were many other variations, but earlier in the weekend I had rediscovered the joys of good Munster. Okay, so now I love Flammekϋche.

François had steak (rare) and everyone else had either the traditional or the seafood Choucroute. I don't know what it is, but I can't even bear the thought of Choucroute. Now that I am unburdened of that dark secret I can freely admit that I have smelled it many times over the years as it is a popular dish for family meals in Champagne and throughout France, and based on that alone I did my best to avoid it (successfully until now). But here I was surrounded by four plates of the stuff. Talk about pungent! I sampled Sylvain's Choucroute aux Fruit de la Mer and to put it politely, it was not my favorite.

For dessert I went (uncharacteristically) for "Tout a la Framboise," a plate of raspberry sorbet, raspberry meringue, raspberries themselves and lots of plump squirts of whipped cream all drizzled with raspberry coulis. Francois had the profiteroles and everyone else had Creme Brulés.

After lunch we wandered through the cemetery, visiting the graves of family members from a variety of branches of related family trees. We stopped to see where Jean-Claude and Claudette will finally rest (ready and waiting and already engraved with their names and birth dates), and visited Roland's grave that was now covered with a riot of big, bright and beautiful floral displays, and a small heart of pink roses from his girlfriend.

From there we all returned to the house where we were joined by Sonia and Claire, two of Roland's granddaughters, Sebastien, Sonia's boyfriend, and Elsa, his great-granddaughter. By now it was now late afternoon and high time for les aperitifs! Out came dishes of salty snacks and eventually more Champagne - this time a magnum from 1993. And once more we raised our glasses to Roland.

http://www.mumm.com/