After Work Today...

Well, I dont need to tell you that it is the scariest night of the year tonight. Lots going on but just make sure you are costumed; preferably as a food object. Once in college Legend and I dressed as Trick or Treat. He went in a drag as a hooker, and I hot glued candy to some sweat pants and a sweat shirt.

Let's just say better ideas have sprung forth from this brain, but I had candy to eat for about a year after that and new fat clothes, which paired nicely with my steady diet of Za, Nat Light, chicken fingers, and Skol Vodka. Ohh, and a year later 45 extra pounds and 4 cavities. And at that point in my life, a few complications from eating qualified as a sexually transmitted disease

Other costume ideas are a Lucky Dog Vendor or Ignatius J. O'Reilly. You could also dress up as a baked potato by wrapping yourself in foil and putting a piece of yellow construction paper on top of your head. But please, choose one of those three.

There are a bunch of events going on tonight. Have fun and be safe, kiddos.

Krewe of Boo, uptown.

Widespread Panic Rock and Roll Show at the UNO Lakefront Arena.

A huge blockparty on Frenchmen St. In the words of a friend, its "where all the freaks go." Expect to see Peter there dressed as a side of truffled grits from MiLa.

Or you could stay home and pass out candy. And if you happen to get some candy with hot glue on it, don't worry its fresh.

Congrats

To Chef Besh and his staff at August. A truly deserved honor.

http://www.neworleanscitybusiness.com/uptotheminute.cfm?recid=21175

And special thanks to the Nun...

And more to read.

A Scrapbook

Pretty soon the blog is about to celebrate its nine month anniversary. Which if it was a high school relationship would be totally a big deal. Complete with a trip to Copeland's Cheesecake Bistro, a scrapbook filled with photos, letters, and ticket stubs, and some sort of promise ring.

Well, here at Blackened Out Media, where we are often called sophomoric, we dont have enough clout to get a reservation at the above; so instead, we are going to treat our viewers and the blog to a photographic scrapbook documenting the late part of the summer/early fall. Translation: Rene had a camera twice and just figured out how to post photos.

In this first picture we find Peter manning the raw oyster bar at the Louisiana Restaurant Association Expo. Now, we intended to report on this affair, however we forgot. Just know this, it was fun. Peter loves raw oysters and so when he found this booth he did not leave for 3 days straight. He set all kinds of records, but we are most proud of the fact that he is the only person in LRA Expo history to be escorted out by both the NOPD and the Health Department.



Why does Rene look like a bee just stung him? Well, its because of the bottle of vodka in his hand. Kalashnikov Vodka comes in a special designer bottle that mimics the distiller's other dangerous invention. Up next, an AK-47 that looks like a bottle of vodka.


The sign pictured below reads, "Eat More Pork, Be a Better Lover" We eat a lot of pork but mostly it has just made us love pork more.

"Jesus Christ, it is the guy's from Blackened Out, how the eff did you find me...No, I never read your blog. And you both smell like oysters, booze, and Mandarin Oranges," says Chef John Besh, "But seriously next time I am on Next Iron Chef I will ask that yall be the judge instead of that Ruhlman dude."

Note to self: it helps to interview people when sober, or at least not holding a mint julep.

Your bloggers with Chef Brian Landry following his second place finish at the Seafood Cook-Off. We had pictures of his dish (a cassoulet), but we ate them on the car ride home. It happens, dont judge.

With oyster season back in swing, it is time to practice your form before heading to Casamento's. Notice the technique and I just realized I forgot to rotate the picture. So just turn your head to the side. What an amateur...

If I knew anything about that Frodo Baggins of Donuts book, I would make some clever comment about rings, power, glory and 80's rock and roll to describe this circle of oysters. But I dont.

And finally, as an homage to Robert Peyton of Appetites and his drink on a bar collection of boozy photographs. Since we pretty much are a poor man's version of that blog, here is an empty Dixie at Casamentos. You are truly the wind beneath our wings.

Stay tuned for the next 9 months. Where we will hopefully unveil a Papal Wine Column, more photos, worse writing, and a special feature that is so secretive the FBI has flagrant tap my cell.

Trick or Treating with The Pope

Remember when you used to go trick-or-treating as a kid? You put on one of those ridiculous orange pumpkin costumes or your Archie Manning Saints uniform and headed off into the night with your parents close behind you - your head filled with dreams of enough Kit Kats and Snickers to last you till pumpkin pie at Thanksgiving.

But sometimes you walked up to the front door of a house and came back with nothing but disappointment. Sugar free turtles? Candy canes leftover from last Christmas? Peeps so stale that you would need a hacksaw to cut through them? I used to hate when a plastic wrapped bundle of candy corn dropped in my bag. I freaking hate candy corn.

Then there are those houses that you walk back from grinning ear-to-ear. Not one, but two Reese's Peanut Butter Cups. King size Butterfingers! Your parents could actually see the dental bills increasing because of all of those new cavities which would need fillings.

And then you get to The Pope's house (otherwise known as "The Vatican") and watch as he opens this box:

Watching from afar, your parents are thinking: Why is this guy wearing a camauro? Is he drinking Grand Marnier out of that snifter he is holding? Why does he keep mumbling "it's like loving in your mouth" after handing out the candy?

Moving on past these rhetorical questions, your parents are overcome with jealousy as they watch you devour one of these morsels of goodness which The Pope has just graciously offered you.

Woodford Reserve Bourbon Balls - rich chocolate filled with the mother's milk of bourbon and topped with a single pecan for a contrast in texture. As you can see in the picture, The Pope has already sampled these delicious treats in order to ensure that they are up to the standards of the papacy. Forget about whether doling out these candies on Halloween may constitute contributing to the delinquency of a minor - just think of it as a progressive version of dipping an infant's pacifier in bourbon in order to help him fall asleep.

What? Your parents never did that?

Top Chef Season 5

Top Chef Season 5 begins pretty soon, sometime between Halloween and Thanksgiving.

The profiles are up for this season's contestants. Once again noticeably absent is anyone from New Orleans. I guess the two days spent down here interviewing such chefs such as Food and Wine Best New Chef, Ian Schnoebelen, and the other culinary talent of the Crescent City could not match some of the chefs chosen for this season.

Wondering in a city as well known for its food and culinary history, why we have yet to see one chef from New Orleans, when we constantly see chefs from such foodie factories as Boulder, Co. Considering some of the bums that have been on this show, would it have been so hard to have Sue Zemanick compete. But I guess Bravo only wants chefs who have yet to have been discovered.

But then again, who cares?

La Boca

Ahh, La Boca; what would I do without you? I love restaurants that seem to transport a diner somewhere. La Boca takes me to a very happy place. A place where dark wood beamed ceilings, exposed bricks, and windows open onto bustling Fulton Street. La Boca, I want to write a sonnet about you. But I dont have any pieces of paper with only 14 lines on it.

Another trip there this past weekend with Doc, the Expert, Lindsay and I reaffirmed my belief that La Boca is the best steakhouse in New Orleans. Incredibly reliable, their beef has few equals in these parts (including some from Snake River Farms), attentive service, a small but food focused wine list, and last but not least, Carter Oosterhouse from television's Space Trading Spouses. Lindsay, on left, believes Carter to be a hunky beefcake.

Below is what I think to be a beautiful hunk of beef. The skirt steak, topped with a smattering of the classic chimichurri and the roasted red pepper chimichurri. In many circles, I am known as the "Jackson Pollack of chimichurri." You can even see the remaining bits of my pisco sour and my belly. Lucky you.

Are you getting hungry? The hangar steak medium rare makes many vegans second guess their decision. The flavor is deep, the texture silken. Look at the artful photography, as it captures the knife and fork resting in between battles. The juices of the meat awaiting their eventually ride on a bread basket to your mouth. This is some hot food porn. That last word should bring us about one million more new viewers.

A deep, rich Susana Balbo Cabernet Sauvignon, some provoleta, and some fries rounded out another meatacular meal. For good meaure I added on a Grand Marnier. Why?

Well, we heard rumors that the Pope was lurking around the Warehouse District under the guise of working. And by working I mean, His Holiness was entertaining some nationally known, and hence not us, food writers. He was very mum about who was there. Secrecy being a fallacy of the papacy.

Following work the Pope retired to the Red Eye, where our intrepid photgrapher snapped what is believed to be the only known photo of the Pope...drinking...in a bar...surrounded by women. As you can see, the Pope in his element is a very happy man indeed.

Satsuma Wrestler

In honor of the Saints game in London, I attempted to homebrew a London Ale. Mr. Murphy and his legal expertise had other plans. The keg leaked, the CO2 fitting is busted, and the beer is cloudy at best, perhaps poisonous. Luckily, the British made other important contributions to boozing, including linking up scurvy prevention and citrus fruits.

So in honor of the downfall of scurvy and in celebration of an NFL that stupidly sends teams to Europe to play, the Satsuma Wrestler was born.

First, start with some fresh satsumas. You know where to find them. Juice about 15 of these babies. Then juice 2 Meyer lemons. Add in a half cup of simple syrup and mix the juice and syrup together. Refrigerate for at least 1 hour.

I added this juice to two alcohols. The first try was with the Famega Vinho Branca which has a slight carbonation to make a Satsumosa(You love these clever words, don't you?). The results were mixed; the wine's acidity only punched up by the citrus created a tarty drink.

Then the Polish Vodka came out to play. And after 3 of these, Donny Boy was floating, the Saints were winning, and even the Hounds were asleep. Coincidence? No, the birth of a tradition. From here on out, every Saints game will begin with Satsuma Wrestlers. If the whole city does it, we are going to the Super Bowl.

This drink would also benefit, I assume, from a splash of lemon lime soda water. But even without it, this cocktail will have you buying satsumas by the bushel.

Dear Fr. Tom: You're Out of Your Element

This is from Fr. Tom's Dining Diary this past Thursday:

"Lola wasn't as busy as the last time I was there. They said it was LSU football. Restaurateurs hate LSU football, and must be glad to see the Tigers lose sometimes."

Whenever read something like this from Fr. Tom, I immediately think of this scene from The Big Lebowski:

Walter Sobchak: Were you listening to The Dude's story, Donny?
The Dude: Walter...
Donny: What?
Walter Sobchak: Were you listening to The Dude's story?
Donny: I was bowling.
Walter Sobchak: So you have no frame of reference here, Donny. You're like a child who wanders into the middle of a movie and wants to know...

I am not doubting Fr. Tom's contention that restaurateurs "hate LSU football." I am sure that restaurants are slow on Saturday nights when people are either at the game or watching the Tigers at home. But how would the Tigers losing improve restaurant business on Saturday night? What irritates me is how Fr. Tom has no idea how a loss would affect the Tigers at that particular point in time. Newsflash: even if the Tigers had lost to Florida (which is the game which Fr. Tom was referring to), they still would have been in the hunt for a National Championship game. In fact, one could make an argument that every game after a loss is even MORE important because there is no cushion left.

It just really bugged me when I read that on Friday. And after the loss on Saturday ... well ... let's just say that I had to allow a "cool off period" before writing this post.

End of rant.

In other news: Did anyone else have a heart attack on Sunday when Brees was running toward the back of the end zone? And if that wasn't enough, we had a Hail Mary on the last play of the game. The person sitting next to me almost broke out the defibrillator. I felt like I had just eaten a Fat Kid Special.

Don't Judge Us

We are lazy today. Don't get all that up in our grillz, you barely read us on Fridays. So instead of actually writing anything, here is a link to an article about the renaissance occuring in New Orleans currently. It should brighten your day, and if it doesn't than you are a bore.

Ohh, and its not like we actually found the link ourselves. That, we stole from the blog of the St. James Cheese Shop. So thanks to them for being on the ball.

Are you calling us lazy? You are the person who should be working, jerk store.

http://www.newsweek.com/id/160099

After Work Today (So Many Choices)...

In an effort to further the cause of making Thursday the new Friday, Blackened Out has partnered with local businesses and organizations to offer more opportunities for you to make bad decisions which will lead to you showing up hungover to work tomorrow.

Harvest the Music (weather permitting)
This free fall concert series at Lafayette Square has been a welcome addition to the weekly social scene. In order to support their fight against hunger, the Second Harvest Food Bank has initiated a three-prong attack: music, food, and booze. If that's not a recipe for success, then we might as well give up now. So check out of the office at 5:00 and walk on over to the Square. Listen to The Radiators, have a few Abitas, and hopefully the rain will hold off long enough for you to enjoy a cool fall evening.

Thursdays Uncorked at Cork & Bottle
Thankfully, this event is held every Thursday, rain or shine, in conjunction with the Mid-City Green Market. This weeks FREE tasting (as they all are) features "Outstanding Wines from Argentina." I wonder if Justin Pitts will have any hanger or skirt steaks available at the market? Either one would probably pair well with the 2007 La Posta Cocina Blend which is on sale at C&B for $10.99.

Whatever There is To Do in Kenner
Because that is where the swearing-in ceremony for the newest bar candidates will be held. Three years of studying, and you end up celebrating at the Treasure Chest buffet. God sure does have a sense of humor.

Patois, Part Two

The Social Chairman's fiancee moved to New Orleans recently and has graciously agreed to become the PR Director for the blog. Which brings our staff to 4; only one person less than the total number of readers we get on a daily basis. To celebrate, the Social Chair, the PR Director, Lindsay and I all went to Patois.

We arrived to a packed house at 7:45; luckily we had a reservation. We sat down and ordered some drinks. The Pau Boy Pierre is a slightly Vietnamese-influenced version of the Pimm's Cup. A Pinot Noir for the PR Director and a Lillet Rouge for I and we set about the task of ordering.

Lindsay and PR Director played it light on the first course, a wise decision. A plate of tuna carpaccio arrived. Interesting, a more fashionable and welcome take on Tuna Tartare, but a good, clean flavored dish; maybe a little bland. But fresh bright pink tuna needs little more than a splash of olive oil and a squeeze of citrus. A market salad with sunflower seeds and hearts of palm, which was running as a special, displayed the bounty of late summer/early fall.

Social Chair got the gnocchi with bacon, cream, black pepper, and crabmeat. This dish really displays the classical roots of this restaurant. Tender, soft gnocchi are married to sweet, succulent gems of crabmeat with the creamy, salty sauce acting as the minister. Great dish, always on the menu with slight variations.

I got the pork belly salad which showcases the kitchen's creative takes on classical preparations. This salad is nothing more than a Lyon Salad; but here it is slightly retooled. Pork belly, a fried egg, frisee, a light sherry vinagrette, and some charred bread in a really beautiful plating. Simple, yet more elegant without becoming stuffy. The dish succeeds not only on the flavors, but also the contrast of hot and cold elements. The execution of this choid-froid dish gives a diner slight feelings of schadenfreude towards other diners who ordered something else.

Lindsay got the mussels in a smoky tomato broth with pommes frites as an entree. The mussels were a little sandy and the fries a little soggy. Which reminded me of being on the beach in a rain storm. PR Director got the cumin-scented seared tuna; sliced on the plate the tuna had a perfect ring of cooked tuna encapsulating a rare interior. Social Chair, ecstatic about living near the sea again, went for a wild caught speckled trout over haricots verts. His temptation to pass around his dish lost to his desire to eat every last bite.

I went with the braised short ribs, despite Lindsay's helpful reminder that I had previously said I would not order braised things in restaurants because they are not as good as the same dish cooked at home. She was, as usual, right. I was offered a steak knife from our very helpful waiter, but told "You wont need it."

Well, I kind of did. The fat of the meat had not sufficiently melted away, which resulted in a tougher finished product. The pasta rags and purple peas served were very bland and needed more salt. But perhaps the biggest problem was the different textures and shapes of items on the plate-the round peas, long, flat strands of pasta, and chunky meat-made it almost impossible to get a complete bite on the fork.

Desserts were wonderful and playful: a banana cream pie and some amaretti zeppolis with a Grand Marnier dipping sauce. The zeppolis arrive in a paper cone taking the diner out of the restaurant and putting them back at a county fair.

Service is truly top notch. Always willing to lend a hand with a menu suggestion or wine pairing, the wait staff is extremely knowledgeable not only about the offerings. But they also seem to be keyed into a similar philosophy, which to me appears to be, "together we can make this a great place." Its getting there if it is not already.

Birdie-Par.

Jumping the Shark Fin Soup

Well it was bound to happen. And I guess in a way it signals that Bourdain has truly arrived, but his new show "At the Table with Anthony Bourdain" reminds me more of the Food Network and less of his genius at crafting such shows as "A Cook's Tour."

The entire show felt almost like a tease. We watch as Mr. Bourdain and a select group of New York based Food and Culture behemoths sit around a table to sample great food, drink amazing wines, and talk shop. Holy crap that sounds awesome! It is not. You, dear viewer do not get to eat the food, sample the wines, or add your own story; but even if you could, I doubt this show could be saved by inebriation. The conversation is borderline vapid and mostly re-runs of the same recurring theme: the food world is crazier than your office. Yes, we know that by now.

Mr. Bourdain makes it abundantly clear that he had serious reservations about doing this, I wish his judgment or editing acumen would have had a stronger vote. The format is supposed to be No Reservations meets The Jerry Springer Show. What it really succeeds at being is an elitist, snobbish and less well-done version of After Hours.

In the first segment, Bourdain poses the question to the group that he recently spent $1900 at Masa on sushi for two, and "should he feel guilty about this?" Wow, that was disingenuous. Imagine Hugh Heffner asking "Should I feel guilty about sleeping with hundreds of the world's most attractive women."

You are an American Mr. Bourdain, you work hard, made a lot of money; you earned that meal. Enjoy it and tell us about it, what you ate, why it was worth $1900, and how you would do it again. We get enough guilt from our mothers.

At another point in the show, Ted Allen throws his three cents short of a nickel in on why he feels bad getting into New York hotspots over the throngs of commoners. Do you see a theme here? It was an hour of "Hey we are privileged, but don't worry we really feel bad about it." Am I jealous of them, absolutely. But is inciting jealous rage in viewers a good thing?

There were a few bright spots, when Mr. Bourdain and his guests played the Last Meal game. But it seems like even this is cliche at this point. Mr. Bourdain is at his absolute best when he sits down with a chef or writer and over a satisfying meal and a few cold beers, they become friends. They talk shop, carouse, crack jokes, and we the viewing public are left thinking, "God I wish I was there." In At the Table, the viewer is left saying, "If I wanted scripted TV, I would have watched the Hills."

At another segment the panelists all agree that Popeyes is the best fried chicken. That is real, that is the kind of organic conversation people crave. Talk more about being stoned and making late night runs to Popeye's to destroy an 8 piece, 5 biscuit, mashed potatoes with gravy, and dirty rice and less about how kids should be beat up for not knowing how to truss a chicken.

In this episode the panel, Bill Buford, the former Page 6 columnist, the aforementioned Ted Allen, and the owner of Bungalow 8* all dined at Wylie Dufresne's WD-50. The food looked very interesting, but if it wasn't for the waiter's explanation of each dish the viewer would not have known anything about the food other than a few snippets from the guests.

Perhaps future versions of this show won't be so self-indulgent and scripted. Perhaps the booze will flow quicker, the food will be heartier, and the conversation more interesting. Until then, I suggest you change the channel.


* I purposefully did not put their names down. Sure, I could have, but then you would have just had to google their names most likely. And the internet has to be more efficient. I needed their titles to know who they were; and I suspect other viewers shared my ignorance as well. That is more though, a reflection on us. And I know the Pope has no idea what Page 6 is.

EDIT
Even Mr. Bourdain is admitting that his shit does in fact smell.