Blackened Out's Christmas Vacation: Lost in New York

Rockefeller Center.

What The Folk Singer wants, The Folk Singer gets (within reason). As such, with a simple request to visit New York to see all of the Christmas lights, we were off to the Big Apple on the weekend after Thanksgiving, smack dab in the middle of perhaps the busiest time of the year. What follows is a brief synopsis of our 56 hour trip.

We touched down at Laguardia just before noon on Friday afternoon, dropped our bags off in the East Village, and walked over to Ippudo for lunch. Ramen is the name of the game at this sleek "Japanese brasserie," a dish which has not yet gained traction in our fare city. The standard lunch set starts with a simple salad of field greens tossed in soy dressing and a mini bowl of rice topped with morsels of fried chicken. I had the weekly special ramen of Szechuan style spicy pork in an intense broth spiced up with black sesame sauce, ground pork, and shrimp paste. I think that TFS found the winner though with the classic ramen, a less adulterated version with broth that was a drinkable elixir.

Fortified against the cold, we made our way to Rockefeller Center to witness a marriage proposal on the skating rink (complete with Bon Jovi anthem) and snapped the above picture of the iconic Christmas tree, a replica of which TFS felt compelled to recreate in our living room. Yada yada yada, The New York Public Library, something about Carrie Bradshaw, and then it was time for happy hour.

We navigated the subway system toward the Ace Hotel, where we ducked into the John Dory Oyster Bar. The hostess sat us at two stools along the window looking out onto Broadway and West 29th. At 4:45 only a handful of other tables were occupied, By 5:15 there was not an open seat in the dining room and people were lined up three deep at the bar. The happy hour special is a half dozen oysters and a glass of cava or pint of stout for $15. I ordered a full dozen of the salty, plump downright beautiful bivalves from Mermaid Cove, and TFS downed the cava. It's why our marriage works. We made a pass through the hotel lobby and The Breslin (April Bloomfield's other restaurant in the Ace) and marveled at the number of hipsters playing on their Macs and investment bankers debating the size of their Christmas bonuses while imbibing $30 glasses of scotch. It was a great scene that's definitely worth experiencing.

Later that night on our stroll back to home base, we passed a crowd of at least 30 people gathered on the sidewalk outside Caracas Arepa Bar. We decided that it must be worth waiting for, so we put our name on the list and walked around the corner for a few beers and glasses of wine to help pass the 45 minute wait. We returned just in time to hear our name called and were shoehorned into the table immediately next to the front window in the dining room, which is more tightly quartered than a submarine. We each ordered an arepa - mine stuffed with thick disks of spicy chorizo and her's filled with roasted pork shoulder. What stood out the most was the sublime texture of the Venezuelan corn cakes - somewhere between a pupusa and a corn muffin. Excellent.

Following dinner we stumbled in to the Big Gay Ice Cream Shop for the most decadent ice cream cone I have ever tasted. Behold the Salty Pimp: vanilla soft serve stuffed and streaked on the sides with dulce de leche, dipped in chocolate, and sprinkled with sea salt. Unreal.

Shrimp and pork buns from Momofuku Noodle Bar.

We slept in on Saturday morning and felt even more guilty for squandering our time after the Parisian Princess sent a text message saying that she had just finished her 8 mile run through Central Park and would be available to meet us for lunch after a quick shower. We headed out on foot through the Village toward Washington Square to see if we could score a walk-in table at Babbo. Dining at Mario Batali and Joe Bastianich's flagship restaurant had become a mission for us ever since our attempts at a reservation were thwarted by Hurricane Sandy beating down on Manhattan exactly one month before our trip, which happened to be the precise time when Babbo opens its reservation book. By the time that they started answering the phones again after the storm, our only option was an 11:15 p.m. reservation. We decided to gamble on a lunch walk-in instead.

As we strolled down 5th Avenue, TFS reminisced about the Carnival du Vin Patron Party a few years back when she and Rene's better half caught Mario's eye and then spent a significant portion of the evening trying to force feed him red wine (which he defended against by proclaiming that that he only drinks white wine). As we chuckled at the stroll down memory lane, all of a sudden a familiar looking rotund gentlemen with a red pony tail exited an apartment building and crossed our path. Given the 38° temperature, it seemed odd that he chose shorts and crocs as the proper wardrobe for riding his vespa, which he promptly cranked up and then drove off on with his son clinging to his waist. Very strange.

A few minutes later we arrived at Babbo and were told that it would be no problem to seat our party of 3 for lunch. We waited for the Parisian Princess over pre-lunch cocktails and admired the handsome first floor dining room while a Coltrane track played in the background. Armed with the knowledge that neither TFS nor PP would be interested in a tasting menu, my order had already been pre-determined. To start a towering pile of arugula dressed with shaved parm and balsamic and served with a half dozen sweet morsels of roasted butternut squash. I ask myself, "How can something so simple be so good?" TFS had the same questions after she polished off her plate of thinly sliced prosciutto and fresh figs.

She followed with gnocchi al telefono, which I have to say was the best combination of pasta, tomato, and cheese that I had ever tasted. PP's grilled octopus transported me back to a tiny tapas bar in San Sebastian where I first learned to appreciate how tender this sea creature could be if cooked properly. As appealing as those few bites were, my attention remained tightly focused on the beef cheek ravioli, a dish which defies science when you consider how its possible to pack such a rich flavor inside a tiny pasta pouch.

Over the olive oil cake for dessert, we discussed the best plan of attack to score a dinner reservation for our return trip in the spring.

After lunch we decided that the best way to revive our hunger was a long walk to the Meatpacking District. We checked out the High Line, but Terroir was closed and no one could be seen having sex in front of the windows at the Standard, so it was kind of a bust. Then we headed over to Eataly to make sure that we maximized our quota of Mario for the trip. The scene can only be described as pandemonium. Picture the concourses at the Superdome during halftime, except that everyone is gorging themselves on pizza, pasta and wine instead of nachos, hot dogs, and beer. Things were a little more relaxed at Corkbuzz, where we met a few friends for a drink. Then pre-theatre fondue and half-priced bottles of Burgundy at the Bourgeois Pig.

According to TFS, an evening at the theatre is an absolute requirement for any visit to NYC. For this trip, she convinced me that spending 5x more on tickets to The Book of Mormon would be worth it. She was right. The show was hilarious. Unless, of course, any of you readers is a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, in which case the show is extremely offensive and irreverent. Actually, those adjectives apply no matter what your religion or lack thereof.

I had pizza on the brain after the show, so we hailed a cab and headed to Motorino for an excellent Neopolitan pie topped with spicy soppresatta, chili flakes, and slivers of garlic. PP met up with us for the walk home, which happened to take us right in front of Momofuku Noodle Bar. This was obviously a sign sent down from above by Joseph Smith and/or Brigham Young, so how could we resist?

I'll be honest, both the ramen and the nugget potatoes were underwhelming, which was a surprise. But the steamed flour buns were out of this world good, and that goes for both the pork belly and the fried shrimp cake. It took every ounce of will power in my body to stop myself from attempting to pilfer a thigh from the fried chicken dinner delivered to the table next to us. Unfortunately, that dish must be ordered in advance. I may or may not have told TFS that I would pay for that table's entire meal if they gave me a southern style leg and a Korean style thigh, which prompted her to immediately ask for the check. Next time.

Sunday was a blur. A satisfactory brunch at Burger & Barrel. A trip to Bloomingdale's a/k/a the ninth circle of hell. More walking. Dinner at Hasaki because TFS wanted sushi and it was one of the few places that was open. A cab ride to the airport and a flight home.

I am tired just writing about it. But I am also now very hungry....

Short Order Reviews

Short Order Reviews is back this week with an unfortunate ride on a one way train to Bogey Town.

Mr. B's - A break between depositions at One Canal Place necessitated a relatively speedy lunch in the Quarter, and unfortunately my dining companion vetoed Felipe's as an option. The Green Goddess was also closed for business, so we ended up at Mr. B's, which was surprisingly packed for Monday lunch service. The two course lunch menu seems like a great idea, but red beans and rice and grilled salmon as entrée choices were uninteresting to me, especially considering the quality of product put out at lunch by the likes of MiLa and August at a similar price. Instead I went with the burger, allegedly made from tenderloin, which probably would have made a difference had it not been cooked to death. Along side the burger was an order of soft, greasy fries. I paid the most attention to the hot and airy loaves of crisp french bread, which would have been more satisfying had the butter not been frozen solid and impossible to spread. My one visit every three years re-affirmed why this place is not on my regular rotation. Bogey.

Lilly's Cafe - A trip to Juan's in the Garden District was detoured by a suggestion to walk across the street to try out Lilly's, one of several Vietnamese restaurants recently opened Uptown. The tall ceilings and white tile floor give the space the feel of a nail salon, though the pressed ceiling is an interesting and surprising design feature. Lilly’s Rolls are the house specialty – shrimp, "pork ham" (?), mint, avocado, and sliced strawberries wrapped with vermicelli noodles in rice paper. The classic shrimp and pork spring rolls were serviceable enough, but the peanut sauce was thin and bland. Egg rolls filled with ground pork were a mushy mess. Long, razor thin shavings of cucumber, daikon, and lettuce formed the base of the vermicelli bowl, which was topped with slices of bland, dry pork that were remiss of the chargrilled, caramelized pork candy flavor that I associate with this dish. Before passing judgment I promised myself to return for the banh mi, but the outlook is not much better than Obama's chance of winning Louisiana's electoral votes. Bogey/Mulligan.

Prime Grille - This past Sunday we went in search of brunch in the Bywater. The Folk Singer was unwilling to act as a guinea pig to test if Elizabeth's had gotten it's act together, so we ended up at Prime Grille, which took over the former location of Bywater BBQ about 2 months ago. Had I bothered to inspect the brunch menu posted outside the front door, I would have saved us from one of the worst meals in the city that we can remember.  The quaint dining room is actually well designed, save for the bar which extends about 3 inches toward the diner and requires a constant slouch over to ferry food from plate to mouth. The menu though was flat and uninspiring, and the execution was even worse. Scotch eggs win the award for food that is most inexplicably still served in a restaurant. A dry fried chicken breast sat atop an even drier biscuit covered in "chicken gravy" that was a euphemism for chicken pot pie filling (complete with frozen peas, carrots, and green beans). I felt that I had been transported back in time to that fateful Friday morning at the fraternity house when our chef served up a slop fest of "King Ranch" for lunch because he got too stoned at the Panic show the night before. TFS did not fare much better with eggs benedict comprised of soft english muffins, institutional Canadian bacon, and a tepid hollandaise. Fighting among the staff was audible in the dining room when the expediter complained to the waiter that none of his tickets had a table number, which explained how the phantom veggie omelet went missing from Table 2. I think that you get the picture. Double Bogey.

Photo Travel Log 2012: Arzak

Editor's Note - This is our best attempt at helping Saints fans cope with an 0-2 start to the season. Instead of dwelling on our receivers' dropped balls and the defense's ineptitude, let's sit down for lunch at one of the most renowned restaurants in the world.

After three nights in Madrid, we picked up a rental car from the Atocha train station and headed north to San Sebastian. The drive through northern Spain was a mix of industrial centers, farmland, and snow-capped mountains. We made two stops along the way for wine tasting purposes, and I will write more about those at a later date.

If you ever watched more than an hour of the Travel Channel or the Food Network, then you know that San Sebastian is considered one of the best eating cities in the world, with more Michelin stars per square mile than anywhere else. There are three three-star Michelin restaurants in the area: Akelare, Arzak, and Mugaritz. Deciding which one to visit involved many hours of research (the fun kind). We were honestly leaning toward Akelare before we realized that they are closed for the entire month of February. Then we considered not even going to a three star because there were so many tapas bars to visit in only 2 days. In the end, my ego would not be denied.

Lunch at Arzak was like no other meal that I had ever experienced. Juan Mari Arzak and his daughter Elena  are serving food which transcends any concept that you have of eating. Each dish has been so meticulously crafted not only for precise texture and flavor, but also in terms of visual effect. The result is a multi-sensory experience which forces a diner to reconcile what your tongue tastes, what your eyes see, and what your brain knows (or thinks it knows). The kitchen is as innovative as the NFL replacement referees are incompetent.

I wish that I could recall more details from our meal, but the menu descriptions were minimal, and I had decided that this once in a lifetime experience warranted a hiatus from note taking. Thankfully, a picture is worth a thousand words.

Oysters with citrus.

"Cromlech" with onion, coffee, and tea.

These prehistoric standing stones were balloons of egg anchored with seared foie gras and dusted with onion, coffee, and tea. We were instructed to invert the balloons with our hands and then eat it "like an ice cream cone."

"Fufu" balls and fish of the day.

Hemp's mustard and lobster. Best savory dish of the meal.

Slow poached "dusted" egg with mussel.

TFS was not a fan of this dish at all, and it just so happened that right when our plates were being cleared, Juan Mari Arzak came over and noticed that her plate was basically untouched. He asked our serving captain to serve as translator to inquire why she did not like the dish. TFS apologetically stated that it was simply asked a texture thing. Both Juan Marie and the captain asked if she wanted them to serve something instead - foie gras, vegetables, anything. She said, "No, it's fine. Please tell him it's not a you thing; it's a me thing."

"Most embarrassing moment of my life," she whispered to me after they left the table. I remember thinking that our wedding caterer better watch out. If she can tell Juan Mari Arzak that she don't like his food, then she will have no problem telling anyone else.

Sole curd with wine bread.

Beef with vegetable screens.

Soup and chocolate "between vineyards."

Basil sorbet in strawberry sauce with  warm chocolate spheres whose thin skin exploded in luscious liquid cocoa. Best dessert dish of the meal (and there were five of them).

Mignardises.

No, the white powdery substance on the mirrored serving stray was not Colombia's finest. But I am sure that if TFS had asked Juan Marie Arzak to swap a few lines of llello for that mussel and egg dish, he probably would have.

Perhaps the most cherished memory from our meal at Arzak is one that we brought home with us. Near the end of the meal and long after we had ordered a bottle of 1998 Imperial Rioja Gran Reserva to drink with our lunch, we noticed that a handful of other tables were all drinking the same bottle of wine with an Arzak label. I asked our serving captain what was the back story on the wine, and he explained that a while back the restaurant commissioned La Rioja Alta to produce a special crianza under the Arzak label.

"Well, I wish we would have known that sooner," we both said. Since we were already in the midst of enjoying our digestifs and were completely satiated from the 10 course meal, we decided against ordering a bottle of the house (literally) wine. Instead, we decided to bring one bottle home with us, and that lone bottle of 2004 Arzak Crianza sits in our wine chiller as a memento of an incredible meal.

Photo Travel Log 2012: Madrid

Foreword

Summer time in New Orleans is tough. Temperatures in the upper 90s. Humidity. Heat index in the 100s. Afternoon showers which evolve into afternoon flooding. Keeping track of the daily hurricane advisory reports. Pre-season football. Pimm's Cups. Sno-balls. Well, maybe it's not all doom and gloom.

But when August rolls around most of us are near the tipping point and could use a few days of escape. Many head to the beaches of the Gulf Coast, while some opt for cooler temperatures up north (my preference). Unfortunately, your faithful bloggers can't afford to foot the bill for you to spend a long weekend at Grayton Beach or a week in the Blue Ridge Mountains. But we can take you on a virtual vacation to a cooler time and place.

During the week of Mardi Gras, The Folk Singer and I hopped a plane to Spain and spent a week eating, drinking, and sight seeing our way through Madrid and San Sebastian (with a few more stops along the way). This was an officially sanctioned Blackened Out research and development excursion, but it's taken this long for me jog my memory from my notes to be able to author a worthwhile blog entry. Luckily, TFS took plenty of pictures.

Over the next couple of weeks, we will take you on a pictorial journey through northern Spain in February. Imagine yourself wrapped up in your warmest winter clothes, overdosing on jamon and tempranillo, and trying to use your 6th grade Spanish to navigate signs on the Spanish interstate system because you forgot to request a GPS unit from the rental car company. It was glorious.

The view from the veranda of our apartment, which was a stone's throw away from Plaza Mayor and directly across the street from a Museo de Jamon. What else could one want?

The first order of business on Day 1 was a walk to the Mercado de San Miguel for breakfast. There is nothing like oysters on the half shell and a glass of cava to start your trip.

Most of our eating in Madrid took place in La Latina, a neighborhood loaded with tapas bars, especially on the main thoroughfare of Cava Baja. Just one street over on Calle Almendro is the aptly named Taberna Almendro. From my research on the interweb, this looked like a worthy spot to check out. Taberna Almendro only serves clear beverages - beer, white wine, sherries, and the house specialty, barbadillo, a dry, slightly effervescent white wine which I fell in love with. With only a Spanish menu (always a good sign), I placed my order at the kitchen window not knowing exactly what I was getting myself into. Suddenly there appeared in the window a ginormous oversized bagel and a massive plate of freshly fried potato chips topped with chunks of crispy ham and two fried eggs. Upon witnessing this spectacle, TFS wondered aloud (knowing good and well the answer already), "I wonder if that's our order?"

Huevos rotos con jamon (above) is Taberna Almendro's answer to F&M's cheese fries. Rosca is the retort to lox and bagels, only this version is super-sized and filled with the world's best ham before baking in the oven.

At one point we met up with a friend of a friend of TFS who has been living in Madrid for the past year and teaching English in public schools through a program sponsored by the Spanish Ministry of Education. (NOTE - We met quite a few young Americans who were participating in this program, known as the Cultural Ambassadors: North American Language and Culture Assistants in Spain. It is a highly recommended alternative to law school.) Our friend of a friend was gracious enough to serve as our tour guide one afternoon, and one of our stops was the Parque de Retiro, where TFS was introduced to her new favorite Spanish beverage, tinto verano (translation "red wine of summer"), made of equal parts red wine and sparkling lemonade or sprite. I stuck with Estrella Damm.

Dinner at Taberna Matritum. We went for the patatas a las cinco quesos gratinadas (potato gratinee with five cheeses), but we stayed for the pasta artesana spaetzle con ragut de rabo de toro (spaetzle with oxtail ragu - pictured above).

The long walk up Pasadizo de San Ginés to Chocolateria San Ginés, the Cafe du Monde of Madrid. Much like beignets and cafe au lait, many Madrileños begin their morning or end their night with freshly fried churros dipped in bowls of melting bittersweet chocolate.

As luck would have it, we were in Madrid on Sunday February 20th, the same day that the entire country seemingly went on protest against recently passed labor reforms. The sight of hundreds of policemen in full riot gear gave us some pause for concern, and the hundreds of thousands of protestors flooding the streets made for an interesting walk to the Prado. As always, ACN's Will McAvoy was reporting on the protests and offering thoughtful, educated, and unbiased commentary while remaining firmly in support of the Democrats under the guise of being a registered Republican.

Back to La Latina and Cava Baja for dinner. We stopped at La Chata, which has a very inviting bar scene where each drink is served with a complimentary tapa.  The longer that we stayed in Spain, the more we grew accustom to this convivial style of dining. Little did we know that the bars of San Sebastian take tapas to a whole new level. More on that in the weeks to come.

Orzo & Summer Squash Salad

Good Lord, it's hot outside. The heat and humidity this summer have been insufferable. Staying inside means sky high electric bills; it's like Entergy has a nuclear plant dedicated to powering your air conditioner. Leaving the house is even worse. When you take that first step out the front door, it feels like you're wearing a warm, wet blanket.

Keeping cool is a theme that extends to the dinner table, and the stifling heat makes summertime meals a challenge as well. While it's perfectly acceptable to rely exclusively on Hansen's and Creole Creamery for your entire daily calorie intake, a little vegetation every now and then is a welcome change of pace. A few weeks ago The Folk Singer found this recipe for an orzo and zucchini salad, and we have adopted it as our own with a few tweeks. It's cool, refreshing, and has quickly become one of our go to summer dishes.

Orzo & Summer Squash Salad

• 1 1/2 cups dry orzo pasta
• 3 baby zucchini
• 1 large yellow squash
• 3 tbsp. olive oil
• 3 tbsp. white wine vinegar
• 1 tsp. crushed red pepper
• 8 oz. feta
• 1/4 cup chopped fresh dill (optional)
• salt and pepper

Cook the orzo according to instructions. Don't forget to add salt to the cooking water. Drain, rinse under cold water to cool down, and dry as best as you can.

Cut the zucchini lengthwise and then slice into 1/4 inch half moons. Chop off the neck of the squash and follow the same process as the zucchini. For the thicker base of the squash, I like to cut it lengthwise into quarter rounds and then slice. The main goal is uniform cuts. After prepping all of the veggies, hit them a few grinds of salt and pepper.

In a large bowl combine the olive oil, vinegar, and red pepper and whisk with a fork. Add the squash and zucchini and lightly toss to coat. Throw the bowl into the fridge to continue to chill while the orzo finishes cooking and cooling.  In a perfect world, the vegetables will marinate for an hour.

After the orzo has cooled, add it to the bowl with the squash and zucchini. Dice the feta and throw that in as well.  Same for the dill if you got it. Gently toss everything together and add more salt and pepper if needed. Serve with a grilled hanger steak and a bottle of properly chilled Joseph Drouin 2009 Côte de Beaune Villages ($25 from Hopper's Cartes des Vins).

All Hail the Turkey Neck

In spite of being wedded to a man who becomes giddy with excitement at the prospect of dining on the thymus gland of a young cow, The Folk Singer is (for the most part) an unadventurous eater. Over the past four years I have unsuccessfully attempted to convince her to eat tacos filled with soft chicharrónes, salty and rich sea urchin sushi, slow cooked trippa alla Romana, and spicy curried goat. Slowly but surely though I have been opening up her eyes to a world of deliciousness. Whereas she once vowed not to eat any animal which scores high on the "cute and cuddly" scale, she now will order lamb kabobs and or a wood roasted veal chop without hesitation.

But as I learned over the weekend, there are a few delicacies which are beyond the realm of possibility.

Biscuits and boiled turkey necks - breakfast of champions.

I have long believed that the best tasting food ever pulled from a crawfish pot is a turkey neck, and the downtown Rouse's has become my go to source for procuring this spicy treat almost year round without the hassle of firing up the propane burners. The kitchen crew at Rouse's knows that even though crawfish may not be in season, people still love to chow down on the potatoes, corn, and sausage that are de rigueur additions to every boil. So just about everyday the downtown Rouse's hosts its own little boil of accoutrements and package these up for purchase. Sometime they offer spicy boiled baby carrots and mushrooms, and on the weekends you can add turkey necks to the list of offerings.

It's nearly impossible for me to waltz by the boiled seafood station out Rouse's and pass up the opportunity to buy a package freshly boiled turkey necks. At about $2/lb, these may be the most affordable lunch option in the store. Turkey necks absorb the seasoned boil like a sponge, resulting in a stinging (but not overpowering) heat from cayenne pepper. The shreds of meat easily pull away from the bones as you perform your best Edward Cullen impersonation. The texture is not unlike beef debris but with a much richer flavor, like the morsels of veal which fall off the shank after a long braise in an osso bucco. I think they're incredible.

There's only one problem: TFS thinks that turkey necks are utterly revolting to the point where she has to evacuate to a different room while I am eating. I'll admit that the turkey neck is not the most photogenic of foods, but neither are sweetbreads, head cheese, or oxtails. (Wait, I am sensing a pattern here.) If Alon Shaya had decided that oxtails were too ugly to serve at Domenica, then the world would never know the wonder of his stracci and fried chicken livers dish. And that would be a very unfortunate occurrence.

So I say to hell with the beauty contest. Turkey necks may not be the prettiest of foods, but they are damn good eating. And that's what matters most. Who's with me?

Start the R'evolution

John Folse's recipe for Creole Turtle Soup etched on a mirror at Restaurant R'evolution.

On Friday evening the Folk Singer and I attended the Grand Open House of Restaurant R'evolution, a restaurant which unites the native Louisiana culinary traditions practiced by Chef John Folse with the contemporary fine dining techniques of Chicago transplant Rick Tramonto. The collaboration of the two chefs was announced almost two years ago, and the anticipation building since then has not been seen since the first time Ana Steele crossed the threshold of Christian Grey's apartment. During the ribbon cutting ceremony held within the interior courtyard of the Royal Sonesta, the list of speakers included Mayor Landrieu, Lieutenant Governor Jay Dardenne, and Archbishop Gregory Aymond, who delivered the invocation. Pomp and circumstance were abound, and when the doors finally swung open, we attendees finally received a first hand look at what we had all been waiting for.

Unfortunately, I did not taste one morsel of food from the kitchen, nor was I able to tour the state of the art kitchen, which I have heard is quite impressive. The lines for both were too long. Instead, I spent most of my time touring the dining rooms (which are exquisitely decorated) and sipping rum punch in the bar.

R'evolution aims to offer "modern, imaginative reinterpretations of classic Cajun and Creole cuisine" built on the culinary history of the seven nations that contributed to Louisiana's unique flavor. (By the way, those seven nations are the Native Americans, French, Spanish, German, English, Africans, and Italians.) Rene and I received an advance copy of the menu a few months ago, and while the offerings include familiar fare such as shrimp (stir fried with chiles) and (dried shrimp) grits, (death by) gumbo, and shrimp remoulade (carpaccio style), any sense of "ordinary" likely ends with the name of the dish. See also, the $200 black caviar tasting and the $21,000 bottle of 1982 Mouton-Rothschild.

But speculation is just that. From what I saw on Friday night, the build out alone is worth visiting for. I look forward to my first meal there.

Short Order Reviews

We're starting off the shortened 4 day work week with a quick list of Short Order Reviews which revisit a few places which have fallen off our radar as of late.

Grand Isle - After hearing about all of the charcuterie that Chef Mark Falgoust is curing in house (but refraining to partake of those specialties on a Friday during Lent), we decided to bring The Folk Singer's parents here on a Sunday night so that they could eat fried seafood and I could indulge in pork. Gargantuan fried oysters filled a few po-boys around the table, but I focused my attention on the ham and white cheddar melt placed in front of me. Mother's may claim to have the world's best baked ham, but this may be the real deal Holyfield. Each thin slice of ham is surrounded by a crunchy, sweetened, black crust, stacked high and covered in melted white cheddar and caramelized onions on a brioche bun. The sandwich, while expensive at $13, was executed flawlessly. Terrible french fries though. - Par/Birdie.

Courtyard Grill - With 5 tables filled in the front courtyard a few weeks ago, this is the most crowded that I have seen this quiet Magazine eatery. The shaded deck is a nice setting on a day when the mercury stays below 85, but those days are probably behind us. Hummus was standard but good; the house baked bread is a vast improvement over the standard pita served elsewhere. TFS had the Yogurt Chicken Kabob, which was off-putting texturally with its soggy bread buried beneath chunks of grilled chicken covered in yogurt and the house specialty tomato butter sauce. I fared better with the spicy Lamb Adana wrap in crispy lavash. Lebanese tea was syrupy sweet in a non-refreshing way. I don't know how this place stays open, but it is still a great option for a cheap lunch. - Par.

Poke Salad at Kyoto.

Kyoto - A 20 minute wait lets you know that this is one of the few Uptown restaurants open for dinner on Monday nights. We started with the Poke Salad, which was the best execution that I have had here in a long time. An almagamation of seaweed, squid, avocado, thin half moons of cucumber and chunks of tuna mixed with a sweet and hot chili dressing, the salad has so much going on yet comes together so well. This night once again confirmed my belief that the Sara Roll, filled with spicy shrimp and avocado and then topped with a crunchy/spicy sriracha crown, is my favorite roll in town. The Dynamite Roll was disappointing with only tuna and no salmon, and while the fish was served at the right temp, the rice was much too cold. At $35 inclusive for 3 rolls and a Poke Salad, this was a surprisingly cheap dinner date, but of course neither of us were drinking. - Par/Birdie.

Cocktails & Curds

Pairing cheese with wine may be the traditional match made in heaven, but our friends at St. James Cheese Company are on a mission to prove that cocktails are equally adept at complementing your favorite formage, and they have enlisted a few of the city's best bartenders to help out. Cocktails & Curds  is a competition combining the timeless art of making cocktails with the ancient art of making cheese.

The competition challenges bartenders to create an original cocktail and pair their drink with a cheese. The preliminary round for Cocktails & Curds was held on April 23rd, and I was fortunate enough to act as one of several judges. The contestants were divided into two separate heats, with the top 3 from each heat advancing to the finals. My cadre of judges included Anne Tuennerman (a/k/a "Mrs. Cocktail), local food and beverage writer (and St. James alumna) Gwendolyn Knapp, Chef Donald Link, and yours truly. Our crew tasted our way through 7 cocktail and cheese pairings inside the shop, while a different group of judges sipped and scored the creations of the other competitors in the courtyard.

In the end, 6 finalists were chosen. Pictured to the left are Richard Dunnington from Loa and Rhiannon Enlil from Cure, 2 of the 3 finalists chosen from my judging round, along with Jennifer Rogers from Lillette. All three of the cocktails were well executed, balanced in flavor, and expertly paired with their chosen cheeses. Both Richard and Jennifer chose blue cheeses for pairings, while Rhinannon chose Tome de Bordeaux, one of my all time favorite cheeses, to pair with "The Salt Bridge." I would have more thoughts about the pairings, but immediately after the finalists were chosen, cheesemonger Casey Foote confiscated my tasting notes as if we had just completed the first tasting of the newest DRC vintage.

The judges hard at work. Look at the intensity in Chef Link's face.

The final round of Cocktails & Curds will be held on Monday May 7th at La Thai Restaurant at 7:00pm, and St. James invites you to be a judge. Tickets are $25 and include entertainment by the Stooges Brass Band and participation in the cheese and cocktail judging competition. Additional food and beverage will also be available for purchase. Special guest judges in the finals include cheesemakers Mateo Keller from Jasper Hill Farms in VT, Tasia Malakasis from Belle Chevre in AL, James Rudder from Neal’s Yard Dairy in London, in addition to cheese expert and importer Sarah Zaborowski from Columbia Cheese, and Blackened Out's own Rene A. Louapre, IV, Esq.

If you have ever attended cheese school at St. James, you know how informative and fun their events can be. And if the preliminary rounds are any indication, Cocktails & Curds will continue that tradition. If anything, it will be worth $25 just to hang out with Rene for a few hours (or so he says).

Cocktails & Curds

Sponsored by St. James Cheese Company
Monday May 7th at 7:00pm
La Thai Restaurant
4938 Prytania
Tickets: $25

All photos by The Folk Singer.

Dueling Bloggers: How Much Is it Worth It To You? (Part II)

You are a very effective counselor, counselor. Your arguments are persuasive and succinct, your logic airtight. The problem is your argument fails to pass the common sense approach favored by the esteemed jurists of this internet site. If you had one night in San Sebastian, your argument would be good enough for summary judgment. (Sorry folks, trying to justify going to law school.)

But you do not have just one night. Assuming you will catch a morning train to San Sebastian and spend two nights there, that gives you conservatively eight separate feedings (figuring lunch, tapas, late night dinner, breakfast, lunch, tapas, dinner, breakfast next morning). Ok, take breakfast out of the equation, that is a sucker's meal. So six meals in one of the world's greatest food cities, and you are going to spend all of them eating sardines on toast?

I'll counter your argument with a rhetorical question. If someone came to New Orleans for six meals would you tell them to eat only po boys? A two day gumbo only odyssey? Two days of just Mandina's,  Liuzzas's and Frankie and Johnny's?

Look, I know it seems that while Lindsay and I were in Spain we Michelined our way around Catalonia barely stopping for anything not served on bone china. In fact, there were numerous meals in small tapas spots that we enjoyed thoroughly. One of our favorite spots, Mosquito (above), which we went to two or three times, was a beer bar the size of your office with an extensive menu of Chinese snack food. Plump dumplings, tender noodles, and spicy shredded beef anchored a menu built for drinking beer. There was nothing fancy about it. Just honest cooking and community, two hallmarks of any great meal. Plus there were peeps wearing skinny jeans - you and The Pope would have fit right in. We loved the flavors and vibe at Origens and the energy of the meals in the snack bars of the Boqueria. There is so much good food out there at every price point.

All that said, the two meals we remember the most were lunch at Sant Pau and dinner at Commerc 24. There was just something equal parts excitement, execution, and pampering about both. Now, people will say, "You are just paying for the art on the walls, the expensive china, the 20,000 bottle wine list." Yes, that is true. My counter to that is at more casual spots, you are not paying for highly tuned service, impeccably sourced ingredients, or a 1 : 1 staff to guest ratio. It is a trade off on both accounts.

Plus, there is an even better reason to set aside one meal and do it big. You are a busy man, the Folk Singer is probably busier. You aren't getting any younger or less busy, unless you win the Powerball. It will do your body good to set aside two to three hours and be pampered at the table. Consider it a couple's massage without the tantric spa music and a stranger's hands all over you. Traveling is all about experiencing different and new things to learn what you like sort of like college. How will you know if you prefer traditional tapas to upscale modernist cuisine if you don't try both?

I recommend you go to Arzak or wherever you choose for lunch. Most Big Boys in the dining world are open for lunch and dinner in order to make their numbers work. Lunch is usually less expensive, but no less good, and you get the benefit of being blissful in the afternoon. Take a long, luxurious lunch at one of the world's best restaurants. Drink plenty of wine. Be spoiled by a staff whose only concern is your happiness. Go home and nap. When you wake up, the tapas spots will be waiting for you.

Dueling Bloggers: How Much Is It Worth To You? (Part I)

Rene: Got your reservation at Arzak yet?
Peter: Yeah, but probably going to cancel.
Rene: Don't. You will regret it.

I have never been one to wince at spending a few dollars on a fine meal. During law school summer school in Lyon, I made it to 4 out of the 6 restaurants run by Paul Bocuse, including his flagship in Collonges. I celebrated my second to last semester in law school by dining at The French Laundry during the week before finals. (Wow, those pictures are awful.) And when I tally up my expenses every year for my tax return, The Folk Singer usually has a few comments about how many starving children in Africa that we could feed with the amount of money that I spent on food in the previous calendar year.

In anticipation of our upcoming trip to Madrid and Basque country, months ago I began the ritual of research and debate as to where we would be dining during our week long journey. My first stop is always whichever episode of No Reservations features Bourdain's visit to our area of travel, and any certified fan boy of Tony immediately knows that his not-so-secret dream is to be adopted into the family of Juan Mari Arzak. So while we would have counted ourselves lucky to eat at Mugaritz or Akellare, we have decided on Arzak for our blowout meal of the trip.

Or did we? Once we settled on where the main event would be held, I began scouting potential locations for the undercard rounds. You know, the other 12 meals that we will presumably eat in Spain. And a funny thing happened during my research: I became more excited about the hundreds of tapas and pintxos bars that I read about than I did anticipating what could be the meal of a lifetime at Arzak. And I started to wonder: With only 2 days in San Sebastian on the agenda, was I willing to sacrifice precious tapas crawl and general exploration time to spend a significant amount of time and money on one meal?

The answer to that question is still to be determined. The Folk Singer has vowed to go with the flow, though she is perfectly happy with drinking cava and eating jamón ibérico de bellota and patatas bravas for 6 days. Rene's opinion is encapsulated in the opening paragraph - a once in a lifetime meal is just that, so embrace the moment while you can. (He will offer his thoughts tomorrow in Part II.) And as I said before, I am still undecided.

But in the process of weighing my decision, I have come to a few conclusions on how to measure the "value" or "worth" of a meal, based on my past experiences.

First, unlike women's shoes and handbags, price is not the determinative factor. I have paid $10 for meals that were better values than spending $150 on foie gras and roasted venison, and that's not because the more expensive food sucked. Certain eating experiences just fit when it comes to the mood of the parties, the reason for celebrating, the expectations, and numerous other factors. A dozen raw oysters and a cold bar can be the most fulfilling dining experience man can ever want, if a dozen raw oysters and a cold bar is what man so desires. On the flip side, a high price tag brings high expectations, and one cannot help but determine value in terms of dollars spent. Will a meal at Arzak be 8 times more fulfilling than an evening of munching on croquetas and pulpo al ajillo and drinking bottles of txakoli?

Second, "once in a lifetime" applies to meals at every price point. The chances of me having another opportunity to eat at Arzak are the same as me having another opportunity to eat tapas at La Cuchara de San Telmo a few blocks away. The unknown factor is the same for both - my only knowledge of either comes from accounts produced by other people. So who is to say that I would not receive more joy from one than the other? The potential level of regret, however, would be much higher for a restaurant like Arzak, which has been lauded and anointed by the wise souls at Michelin. After reading a number of the "I Ate At El Bulli Pieces", I got the sense of what "once in a lifetime" really meant, at least to the authors.

It's a tough decision, and one that will likely not be made until a few days before we make the drive from Madrid to San Sebastian. So I ask: WWBORD? How much is it worth to you?

Grape Expectations

A few days ago I went to Rare Cuts to load up on research material for a future project.  I spared no expense: dry aged strip, wet aged spinalis, twice baked potatoes, creamed spinach, and a medallion of foie gras for good measure. While driving home I called The Folk Singer and told her that in light of the beautiful weather, we would be cooking and dining outdoors on that particular night. Plus, top quality beef begs for top quality wine, and so I proclaimed that we would be opening a bottle of wine from the "lower levels" - code word for the area of my wine cooler reserved for bottles only to be opened on a special occasion.  It was a Thursday, and what better reason need there be to enjoy a fine meal and nice bottle of wine.

Searching through my cooler, I decided on a bottle of 2007 Caymus, one of the most popular cabernets from the Napa Valley. TFS and I have lusted over Caymus ever since a dinner with The Pope at Charlie's Steakhouse when we shared a bottle of 2001 Caymus Special Select, probably one of the best wines that I have ever tasted. We had a few occasions to sample other vintages, but not in at least a year or two. Still, the '07 was definitely a bottle that we had looked forward to drinking.

The evening started out splendidly. We loaded up the cart in our apartment with all of the essentials and rolled it down to the outdoor grill. The wine had been opened and breathing for over an hour, plus we had our handy dandy Venturi aerator at our disposal.  The beef slowly rose to room temperature before hitting a grill as hot as Dante's Inferno.  After a few minutes, the potatoes and creamed spinach were ready to go, the steaks were well rested, and the seared foie had rendered enough fat that I was using it as butter on a crusty loaf of sourdough.

But the wine sucked. At the risk of raising my ACI and of proving myself an oenophilic fraud, this wine tasted like grape juice mixed with rubbing alcohol; a definitive California cabernet fruit bomb. But perhaps my palate is not sophisiticated enough to recognize the genius of these wines; I was not impressed with Opus One the first time that I tasted it either. Still, my expectations were high, and this wine fell far below.

The theme of this story does not revolve around the wine but the disappointment. I fancy myself an amateur wine collector and have a small collection of wine that I have mentally reserved for long term cellaring. Each time I reach into the cooler to pick out a wine to bring to a dinner party, an internal debate always ensues as to whether a particular bottle is ready for opening and if this occasion is worthy of said bottle. Usually, I err on the side of holding, telling myself, "This '05 Barolo is going to be ridiculous. There is no way that I am drinking it with The Pope's grilled chicken wings."

But the fact of the matter is that I have never tried said '05 Barolo or many of the other wines in my cooler, and there is no guarantee that any of those wines will not be a certifiable flop like that bottle of Caymus. Wine, just as life, is full of surprises. When I finally open that bottle of 2001 Valduero Gran Reserva which I have been saving, there is a chance that I may experience the same disappointment (but on a much lower level) as the young doctors and lawyers and such who study for years only to realize that their professional lifelong dream is actually a nightmare.

Thankfully, such an experience helps one gain perspective. It would be difficult to appreciate the truly great wines enjoyed over one's lifetime were it not for a number of disappointing bottles along the way. TFS and I never finished that bottle of Caymus; it's still sitting in our fridge. But the lesson did prompt us to reminisce about that cool fall evening a few months back when we boarded the streetcar and rode up and down St. Charles for a few hours while soaking in the sights and sounds and sipping 2008 Justin Savant out of plastic Mardi Gras cups. An unexpected but welcome trip down memory lane.

On to the next bottle.

Mo's Pizza

Recently artisan pizza has been at the forefront of both local and national culinary trends, and we have written extensively about several of the pizza specialists which have sprung up over the past few years. But for every one of the new Neopolitan, deep dish, and New York style shops that opens, there are at least twice as many old school pizza joints which remain forever endeared to a loyal clientele.

When discussing the city's best places for a slice, Mo's Pizza is always heralded as a fan favorite. As infrequent visitor to the Westwego area, my first Mo's experience was the result of a perfect storm of a boring Monday night with no football plus the requirement to cross the Mississippi River to purchase a gift card. The Folk Singer and I had no expectations whatsoever as we made the long drive on the Westbank Expressway, but we were still surprised at what we found.

Housed in what looks like (and basically is) a warehouse on an indiscreet side street in Westwego, Mo's is a throw back to the old school, no-frills pizza parlors of yore. Slices are pre-baked and left on display at the counter, waiting to be re-fired in the oven upon command. Your order is artfully presented on paper plates transported on plastic trays reminiscent of the elementary school cafeteria. The dining room is full of tables covered in black and white checkered table cloths and adorned with only the obligatory red pepper and parmesan shakers plus a few bottles of hot sauce.  Even the beer prices seemed to be rolled back to a different time - a 16oz. plastic cup of domestic draft will run you $2.75 during all hours of business.

The pizza turnover at Mo's.

And the pizza is delicious. The crust is remarkably crisp given the thickness of the dough (about a 1/4 inch high); the only plausible explanation is an inferno of an oven. Both cheese and toppings are applied at a minimum, but there is ample coverage of the house sauce, which tastes sweeter than most but does not cross into the classification of "red gravy." Portions are laughably large. A single slice is so wide and cumbersome that the kitchen automatically divides them in half for ease of eating.

In addition to pizza, the menu boasts a number of house specialties which are derivations of the same ingredients. Sausage wraps are a guido version of pigs-in-a-blanket. A whole link of Italian sausage is split down the middle and enclosed inside a thin layer of pizza crust, the ends still visible through holes in the end. Turnovers are loaded with all of the meat, extra cheese and minimal sauce stuffed inside the pocket of the thick dough. The Monday special of BBQ beef looked enticing, but I had to wait for that till another day. The cashier was already judging us for our order of 2 slices, 1 turnover, and 1 sausage roll. That amount of food could have easily fed a family of 4, but we made it stretch into lunch for the next few days.

Much praise is deserved for those pizza perfectionists who import their ovens from across the Atlantic, use only artisan salumi as toppings, or replicate the distinctive pizza styles of the Big Apple or the Windy City. I love those types of pies just as much as anyone. But sometimes you just want a slice, and when that's the case, remember Mo's.

Mo's Pizza - Birdie
1112 Avenue H
Westwego, LA 70094
(504) 341-9604
Mon-Sat 10am-10pm

One Hell of a Burger

Let's be realistic. Even though we started a new calendar a few days ago, our New Year's resolutions don't take effect until the pigskin is put away for good. And if we had our way, that gluten free diet would not start until February 6th after the big game in Indianapolis. Hell, by that point we might as well just keep the good times rolling another 2 weeks through Mardi Gras, and then follow in Jesus' footsteps with a 40 day fast.

Such was my state of mind on New Year's Day when The Folk Singer and I meandered through the Quarter on our way to dinner before a detoxifying evening at the movies. After waking up under the weather that morning and subsisting on only a satsuma for most of the day, my appetite had recovered and I had one thing on my mind:

Two weeks ago on one of my multiple Christmas luncheons, I dined on this beauty and ever since then have been plotting my return visit. The Steakhouse Bacon Cheeseburger at Dickie Brennan's might have been the best burger that I ate in 2011, a year filled lots and lots of burgers.

"Eats like a steak" is an often overused and inaccurate description of non-steak dishes, but that phraseology is perfectly appropriate for this burger. The flavor profile - beef, iron, beef, worcestershire, beef - comes as no surprise after you consider that the hand-formed patties are made from the ground trimmings of all of those prime filets, rib eyes, and New York strips that you see on the other tables. The burger is grilled over an open flame, just as God intended it. Automatic enhancements include shredded cheddar and pieces (not strips) of bacon - unnecessary but essential to the composition. The foundation is an onion roll, which holds up well underneath the weight of the 10oz. patty; my lone complaint is that the bun was untoasted. Green leaf lettuce, shaved red onion, and tomato (but no pickle) are served on the side, but I don’t bother with anything beside a smear of garlic mayo. The price tag includes a super size serving of house fries, which are more akin to potato wedges than their thinner, crunchy matchstick siblings. I like to dip mine in a side of bearnaise.

At $13.50, this burger and fries qualifies as the budget conscious, but no less enjoyable, version of a fancy steak dinner. During my luncheon a few weeks back, several of my tablemates scoffed at my choice, wondering why I would choose a burger over a filet or ribeye. Their judgment turned jealousy after we finished eating. Of course, my victory at credit card roulette is a plausible alternative explanation.

Unfortunately, my craving for this burger went unsatisfied on New Year's Day. (The restaurant was closed for a private event.) Thankfully, I will have several opportunities this week to indulge. While the burger is typically served only in the main dining room on Fridays during lunch and in the bar every night, during football season the burger makes an appearance on Dickie's Game Day Menu, which is offered during lunch and dinner on days when the restaurant opens early for special occasions. Those days include: today for the Sugar Bowl, on Saturday for the Saints-Lions game, and on Monday for the BCS Championship.

The Steakhouse Bacon Cheeseburger - Birdie/Eagle
Dickie Brennan's Steakhouse
716 Iberville Street
(504) 522-2467

Reveillon & the Rib Room

With the weather change last week, it's beginning to actually feel a lot like Christmas, and just in time for the start of the reveillon menu season. According to history the reveillon meal is taken on early Christmas morning after midnight mass, but our local restaurants have extended the tradition to encompass basically the entire month of December. Leave it to our fair city to take the most extravagant meal of the year and duplicate it over and over again for 30 days.

This year, 42 restaurants are serving reveillon menus in conjunction with the Christmas New Orleans Style campaign. Prices range from $38 for the classic 4 course dinner at Tujague's to a decadent 5 course repast at Restaurant August featuring foie gras and burgundy truffles.

Last week The Pope, The Folk Singer, and I found ourselves in the Quarter with no agenda for dinner, and so we decided to duck into the Rib Room to see what Chef Rene Bajeux was cooking up on his reveillon menu. Overall the reveillon menu is a great value at $45 for 4 courses, with winners and losers in each course. TFS started with a delicious savory pumpkin soup, which avoided the pitfall of tasting like a dessert. For me, an offbeat combination of shrimp remoulade and ahi tuna carpaccio - the former a fair rendition of the classic; the latter was actually seared and lacked the intrinsic vibrancy without which raw tuna just tastes flat. There is no choice in the second course: the classic Rib Room chopped salad with blue cheese, which is delicious in simplicity. In the entree section, the sauteed drum was one of the best pieces of fish that I have eaten all year. The filet was moist with a khaki exterior and a wonderful perfume of garlic; the hash of diced sweet potato and thin coins of andouille underneath paired marvelously well; and the lemon caper vinaigrette tied it all together. TFS had buttery BBQ shrimp over grits; not exciting but nonetheless good. The Pope tried to order the sirloin, but the kitchen was sold out. (Personally, I thought they should have swapped out a different cut.) Instead, he opted for the roasted duck, which I sampled and found to be quite tough. Desserts were unnecessary, especially the stale profiteroles, but a thin slice of the classic yule log was a nice touch for the season.

The high back chairs, dark woods, and vaulted ceiling at the Rib Room create a grandiose atmosphere, all the more appropriate during the holiday season. I am so fond of the ambience that I can't say that I have ever had a bad meal there, regardless of the quality of the food. This night was no exception.

Reveillon at the Rib Room - Par/Birdie
621 St. Louis Street
Lunch & Dinner Daily
(504) 529-7046

Pizza Consegna & Domenica Deliver

It was a long, fun-filled weekend for the hard partying folks at Blackened Out Dry Cleaners and Plumbing Supplies. We took full advantage of the Carnivale du Vin festivities, beginning with Boudin & Beer on Friday night followed by the gala and wine auction which started on Saturday evening and went into the early hours of Sunday morning.  More on those events in the coming days.

Needless to say, by the time the Saints game kicked off yesterday, The Folk Singer and I were resigned to spending the entire day on the couch - and it's not only because someone drove his car into the parking garage gate at our apartment building and disabled the only vehicle entry/exit point so that we had no way to get our car out. It's days like those that we are thankful for the lazy man's best friend: pizza delivery. And the CBD area has added two new options in recent weeks.

Pizza Consegna is the in-house pizza delivery service from the newly renovated Hyatt Regency Hotel. During a tour of the hotel the week before its grand opening, The Folk Singer and I were given a sneak peek of the kitchen facilities where these Neapolitan pies are made, and I must say that the stone ovens peaked piqued our interest and gave us the impression that this is no standard pizza that rolls off the conveyor belt. The proof is in the pie though, and I can say that Pizza Consegna is one of the few the delivery pizzas whose crust was still crispy upon arrival, and that fact alone makes this pie appealing. The look and flavor remind me of those late night slices that I used to get from the Dough Bowl next door to the Boot - plenty of cheese and no shortage of grease. The most intriguing aspect of the Pizza Consegna experience is how the delivery box breaks down. The top is perforated so that it tears into 4 plates for serving, and the bottom folds into a leftover box short enough to slide into the fridge. And considering that the pies only come in one 18" size (at an affordable price of $10.95), you can expect leftovers.

Adding another delivery option to residents and workers in the CBD, Domenica has recently started to offer bike delivery of their pizzas during lunch and dinner everyday of the week. Chef Alon Shaya said that Domenica's monstrous oven has a capacity much greater than what was being used, and thus adding a delivery option will only increase opportunities for Domenica's fans without detracting from the quality of the pies or speed of service in the dining room. Now if we could only convince him to throw in a whole roasted cauliflower into that to-go box...

Burger Bonanza: Cowbell

Cowbell

Burger - This is your typical backyard grill burger all grown up. The thick patty made from all natural beef is one of the most flavorful burgers in the city, and the grill knows what a proper medium-rare burger should look like. The bun is sublime - a soft, toasted potato roll with lots of give. Dressings are served on the side - roma tomatoes (others not in season), thinly sliced red onion, and leafs of iceberg. No pickle though.

Fries/Rings/Sides - Fries are thicker cut and more rustic; not exactly crunchy but crispy enough and delicious. I don't recall if onion rings are on the menu. The macaroni/cavatappi and cheese is a rich and creamy appetizer or burger supplement, though on my most recent visit the $6 portion appeared to have reduced in size by 50%.

Sauce - Agogo sauce is a house made mayo kicked up with sriracha, roasted garlic, honey, and "other stuff." The sweet, garlicky, kind of spicy sauce is unbelievably delicious. I like it slathered on the burger, as a dip for the fries, and as a moisturizer for my skin. Housemade ketchup has a prominent cinnamon flavor, which isn't really my thing.

Service/Ambience - The renovation of this former gas station at the end of Oak Street is a fun, eclecticly adorned, communal space to dine in. Since the weather has turned cool, the seating capacity doubles with tables out front in the parking lot and underneath the overhang. Inside there are a few deuces, several 6 tops which are often shared by multiple parties, and the bar (my favorite place to dine). The staff wears floral patterned aprons which appear to have been pulled straight from Grandma's linen drawer. Motown's greatest hits plays from the speakers, in what can be a very loud dining room.

Lagniappe - Cowbell is not a one hit burger wonder. Clam chowder, doctored up grilled cheese sandwiches, skirt steak, and a general latin flair covers the rest of the menu. The bar pours a short but interesting array of beers, housemade punches, and wines. Corkage is listed at $10,000,000,000 - give or take a few zeroes.

Price - A burger will run you $10.95 plus an extra $1 for cheese, but that price includes a boatload (or more accurately, a red and white checker basket) full of french fries.

Overall Assessment - Unlike most of the other burger specialists recently opened around town, Cowbell is a full service restaurant which just happens to serve one hell of a burger. At $11 for a burger and fries, the cost of food alone is equivalent to that at gourmet burger spots which offer fast-casual service. Sometimes we pay a few dollars more to be waited on, and that is a premium which I will gladly pay for at Cowbell - especially if I can manage to smuggle out a bottle of agogo sauce in The Folk Singer's purse.

Cowbell - Birdie

8801 Oak Street
Tues-Sat 11:30am-3pm; 5pm-10pm (till 11pm on Fri-Sat). Closed Sun-Mon.
(504) 298-8689

Trip Report: There is No Arizona

Last week I traveled to Scottsdale for a conference, and The Folk Singer came along to make certain that the pool was well tended to while I sat through meetings and presentations. It was the first trip out Southwest for both of us, and I would say that we were both surprised how comfortable 105 degree temperatures can be when there is zero humidity. After the conference ended each day we joined our new acquaintances at a few of Scottsdale's finest eateries, and overall I'd say that we were pleased with each of our meals and with the city overall. My only suggestion would be to open up the architectural color scheme outside of tan/brown/etc.

Also, what's up with all of the gluten free options?

The Mission came highly recommended on both the interweb and by the hotel staff. This place was hopping on a Wednesday night in September, a notoriously slow time for the region. Cadres of both young and old crowded around candle lit tables filled with margaritas of varying colors, and the crowd forced us to dine on the back patio, which was a welcome 75 degrees after the sun went down. We began with a bowl of guacamole prepared tableside and to our desired heat specifications. Main courses included tacos filled with crispy fried fingers of mahi mahi topped with crema tinged with chopped olives and a remarkably tender and flavorful chimichurri marinated hanger steak. The disappointment of the night was surprisingly the dish that had been the most touted. Pineapple glazed pork shoulder was awfully dry, like chewing a spare rib that had been left on the grill for 6 days such that it was reduced to dehydrated shreds. To make matters worse, the $32 "serving for two" (the only option) could not have been more than 7oz. of pork. But that let down notwithstanding, our entire table agreed that we would return if given the choice.

We explored other eateries Scottsdale, most of them in the Old Town area. We had lunch at The Herb Box, a split level establishment with a gourmet market on the bottom and full service restaurant on the top, that specialized in salads, wraps, dips, etc. Short rib tacos for me; brussel sprout and pancetta flatbread for TFS; both of us were pleased. The valets at the resort tipped us off to Frank & Lupe's, a locals' favorite haunt for no frills Mexican fare. This might have been our favorite meal of the trip. We sat on the outdoor patio sipping frothy and perfectly balanced margaritas and dined on poblano cream chicken enchiladas, tamales covered in New Mexican chiles, and sopapillas.

After the conference ended on Friday, we made the drive up to Sedona to check out the red rocks and taste a few wines. Turns out that we arrived 1 day too early for the Sedona Winefest, but we were still able to taste at a small shop in town and visit Page Spring Cellars on our way back to Scottsdale. Speaking in generalities, I would say that the Rhone varietals of Arizona fall short of their California neighbors, but that could be a personal matter of taste. We did, however, find an interesting bottle of sparkling with a pronounced vanilla aroma and flavor that should make for an interesting ice cream float in the near future.

Our dining schedule built up in anticipation until we made it to Pizzeria Bianco, which was our final meal before flying home. Proprietor Chris Bianco has earned a James Beard award and unending praise for his wood-fired Sicilian pies. After reading about the notoriously long lines during peak hours, we decided to arrive before the 11:00am opening time for lunch, and we waited under the canopy out front with about a half dozen other folks until the hostess raised the window shades.

The former machinist shop has lofty ceilings, brick walls, and is dominated by the large cistern oven which takes up nearly 1/4 of the restaurant. There are only 42 seats. The menu is equally minimalist - 3 salads and 6 pies with add ons available. The waiter suggested that we split a salad and pizza, but I told him that we came to play, so we ordered 2 pies: (1) the intentionally simplistic Margherita pizza, to which we added glistening slices of prosciutto draped over the top, and (2) the Rosa, a white pie featuring crushed pistachios that John T. Edge has called "the best pizza he ever ate."

This was very, very good pizza. The dough was so fresh that your taste buds left no doubt that you were eating first and foremost bread. The base of the pizza stayed horizontal under the toppings, but it was more pliable than crispy; the crust, on the other hand, had a hollow crunch like a log collapsing in a fireplace. The Margherita was probably the best specimen that I have ever experienced, and that assessment is notwithstanding the prosciutto, which TFS pilfered off of most of my slices. The parmigiano reggiano and crushed pistachios gave the Rosa a rich and nutty (maybe too much) taste, but the thinly sliced red onions helped bring a little sharpness and sweetness to the party.

But was this the best pizza I ever ate?  I don't know. The pizza style was very similar to Ancora, except that Pizzeria Bianco does not have that charcoal taste that I think sometimes overpower the pies at Ancora. Domenica's pizza is not as "rustic" as Pizzeria Bianco (for lack of a better term), but that does not make Alon's pies any less good. I love Pizza Delicious too, but Mike & Greg's pies are in a different genre.

I guess that my overall assessment is that the young guns of New Orleans pizza are ready to play with the big boys.