A Tapas of Links and Other Miscellany

We interrupt Peter's chronicle of debauchery and bacchanalian exploits for a message from our sponsors.


Read our take on Dome Food and also our review of Rambla.

And an exciting link for us.

Have you ever dreamed of meeting a real live food blogger, but don't know where they hang out? Are you busy on January 17, 2009? Well, come on down.

When you link to yourself does that mess up the space-time continuum or is it more like how one can never cross the same stream twice? Either way enjoy our egotistical links of the day.

My attempt at making caramel sea salt ice cream did not succeed but did not fail enough that I will not try again. I used this recipe from David Lebovitz. All failings were directly my fault. The texture of the cooked custard produced an ice cream with a tremendously luxurious mouth feel (which seems like it should be a dirty word). However, I think I went a tad to far into the realm of burning the caramel then I should have. The result was intense, in a drunken, brawl with a college friend at 2 a.m. which involves a head butt to the bridge of the nose kind of way. But alas such mistakes are expected.

And also, I think my ice cream maker sucks. The cold beast requires ice and ice cream salt in a proportion that calls to mind a calculus class I had with Mr. Cohen. Needless to say, I am not a math major. Plus, it doesn't freeze fast enough. And I would like a new one for Christmas. So if you don't know what to get the blogger who has everything, an automatic ice cream maker would be a good choice, but feel free to pick one out (I have a Kitchen Aid Mixer, there is an ice cream attachment for it). Or if you know of anyone who slings liquid nitrogen on the side, I guess I could always use that.

I did not think it was possible to improve on the Satsuma Wrestler, but once again I was wrong. Into a Kerry Vodka Collins glass, add a 5 second pour of Cat Daddy Moonshine, available at Cork and Bottle. Follow this up with 4 ounces of fresh squeezed Louisiana Citrus Juice (I had a combo of satsumas, Meyer lemons, and navel oranges). Don't use store bought, that is worthless. Top with a dollop of fresh homemade whipped cream. Stir lightly. Take photo with of your new Creamy Mustache.

Napa Report: The (Other) Food

From our experience, it's evident that the people of Napa Valley all have two common interests: great food and great wine. Wherever we went, whomever we met would undoubtedly ask two questions: (1) "Where else are you tasting?" and (2) "Where are you having dinner?" As much as I love food (and as many hours of research I put in deciding where to eat), the wine tastings were undoubtedly the highlights of the trip. And so, I have decided to save "the best for last." But the food was not bad either.

There is one factor which defines Napa cuisine: seasonal ingredients. The menus are constantly evolving in order to utilize whichever products are at their peak at whatever particular time of year. It makes perfect sense: cook what's best... less frozen or preserved products... use local ingredients. Kind of makes me ashamed to see crawfish on New Orleans menus year round. But I guess that tourists who visit our city want to sample our indigenous cuisine no matter what time of year they are here, and they don't care if those crawfish tails come from China.

But I digress. Our second dinner was at Cindy's Backstreet Kitchen in St. Helena, which had a very laid back atmosphere and was a welcome downshift from The French Laundry the night before.

The Folk Singer started with this Caprese salad enhanced with sliced prosciutto. Not the most exciting or inventive dish, but the augmentation of sundried tomatoes instead of fresh is an indication of exactly what I mentioned earlier: a commitment to seasonal ingredients. The chef is took note that tomatoes are not exactly at their peak in late November and made the adjustments accordingly.

My main course was labeled a "Mushroom Tamale," but this one was definitely not made by Manuel. Grits replaced the masa, and the dumplings was wrapped in swiss chard instead of a corn husk. I have no idea why I ordered this, but it probably had something to do with a guilty conscience from the 1/2 dozen croissants I ate from Bouchon Bakery for breakfast - delivered courtesy of the Deli King & Queen. (Sorry, I forgot to take pictures of those breads. You just need to trust me that they were nearly as good as any pastry I ate during the 2 months I spent in France.)

This rocky road sundae was comprised of all of my favorite sweet ingredients: caramel, chocolate, ice cream, peanuts, and whipped cream.

But, as you can see, The Pope liked it more than I did.

Our last dinner was at Bistro Don Giovanni, a great Italian eatery which came recommended by a friend of The Folk Singer. The restaurant sported a wood burning oven, which enticed me into ordering a pizza.

This was probably one of the better pizzas which I have had in quite a long time. A thin, crispy crust, minimal sauce, a fair amount of fresh mozzarella, sauteed morels, and crispy lardon.

Our final meal was Sunday brunch at Boon Fly Cafe. This tiny restaurant, which is tucked away inside the rather upscale Carneros Inn, replicates a neighborhood cafe, the type of place where I like to eat brunch -think Elizabeth's in the Bywater or Surrey's. Surprisingly, the Napa area has only a few restaurants which have a focused brunch menu, but Boon Fly was exactly what I was looking for. That's not to say that I indulged in typical brunch or breakfast fare...

That would be a kobe beef burger topped with thickly sliced bacon and two fried eggs. Probably not the healthiest way to start your day, but there was no cheese on it so that made me feel better about myself.

Napa Report: "The Laundry"

Today marks the beginning of a three part series recounting the shenanigans of my recent trip to Napa Valley. The area has, in my opinion, some of the most beautiful scenery in the country. The people were some of the most hospitable that I have encountered in all of my travels - we New Orleanians could most certainly use a lesson or two from the Napa Valley residents on how to make tourists feel welcome. And the food was fantastic.

We dined at The French Laundry on our first night in town - thinking that we would be in the best shape since we would not be coming in after a long day of tastings. (Plus that was the first day which we could get a reservation and we were not willing to endure another 45 minute session of hitting the redial button.) We quickly learned that people in-the-know refer to the The French Laundry as "The Laundry" - sort of like how locals used to say "Chris's" as opposed to "Ruth's Chris." Apparently it's the cool thing to do.

I waited till the second course to garner up the courage to ask if pictures were prohibited, so I missed the two amuse bouches and the first course, "Oysters and Pearls," which is one of the mainstays on TFL's constantly changing menu. The second amuse was the salmon ice cream cone - finely chopped smoked salmon placed atop a cracker like cone filled with red onion creme fraiche - and I could have eaten 100 of those.

We had 9 courses plus the two amuses, and some pictures came out better than the others. Here are my favorites:

There were two butters on the table: one salted and one unsalted (or sweet cream). One of the butters - and I can't remember which - is made specifically for Thomas Keller by a dairy farmer in Vermont. The salted butter in the silver ramekin was so amazing that The Pope ate it straight off the knife. No, I am not joking.

This was one of the choices for the fish course: Crispy Madara Cod Milt with Green Yuzu. I don't think that anyone knew that they were ordering deep fried cod sperm, and that's probably a good thing because they would have likely been turned off and missed out on the incredibly light and flavorful texture of the dish.

This was the finest piece of beef that I have ever put in my mouth. The cut, called a "calotte," is actually the cap of the ribeye. The knife sliced through the meat with only the slightest pressure. The accompanying purple cabbage and brisket dumpling with horseradish creme fraiche bursted with flavor.

I almost forgot: a surprise awaited us inside the menus when we arrived. A $150 white truffle supplemental course. Your choice of handmade pasta or risotto covered in shaved white truffles. The course included much pomp and circumstance - with the truffles arriving in a jewelry box and then shaved directly onto the plate. Unfortunately, none of us could justify adding 60% to the bill for one course. But we still got this picture.

At the end of the meal, each of the ladies were sent home with this box of mignardises (handmade chocolates) and a package of the best shortbread cookies which I have ever tasted - The Folk Singer believes in sharing.

This was just a snapshot of our 3.5 hour meal at "The Laundry." There were many other courses, and The Folk Singer had an entire different meal because she ordered the Tasting of Vegetables. And, of course, a few bottles of wine. Surprisingly though, TFL does not serve liquor. We discovered this fact after The Pope attempted to order a pre-dinner cocktail, and I thought that there was a significant chance that he might have called off the entire meal because there would be no Grand Marnier (aka "holy water") as a digestif. But he sucked it up and was a team player.

TFL is great, but it is quite a long production which you need to be mentally and physically prepared for. The meal hits everyone one of your senses and tastebuds, and quite honestly is rather exhausting. It's a meal which I had never experienced before. The attention to detail is something which (at least in my experience) is not found in many restaurants. And the raw ingredients are beyond reproach.

Finest meal of my life? Absolutely. Would I do it again? Probably not - I would like to try Bouchon on my next trip. But am I glad that we went? Without a doubt.

Who Works on the Friday After Thanksgiving?

Probably a lot of people. But not Rene, Legend, The Pope, or Doc - for today is the annual Galatoire's luncheon. So while some people (myself included) are busy toiling away at the daily grind, those four will be feasting on souffle potatoes, Lord knows how many pounds of crabmeat, and probably a cocktail or two.

'

It's OK to admit it if you're jealous. I am.

Thanks Gave In

Its here. America's greatest holiday. No worrying about whether or not to say Happy Holidays or Merry Christmas, no standing in line at Toys R' You, and a successful Thanksgiving ends with a nap and a glass of wine toppling onto your sweater.

Joining Lindsay and I will be her family-dad, mom, and brother. So what is being served at the Louapre house of hilarity bar and grill? Nothing less than perfection.

Breads from La Boulangerie.

Creamy Garlic Soup from Susan Spicer's Crescent City Cooking topped with Garlic Chips from the The French Laundry Cookbook (in common terms, two stones, one bird).

Corn Goodness which is corn mixed with good things like onion, green pepper, jalapeno, and free money.

A green bean casserole complete with cream of mushroom soup and Durkee fried onions. This is my concession to what I term plebe food and Lindsay is making it. Part of this is because I have an unnatural reaction to casseroles involving cream of _____ soups. And Lindsay thinks it is funny to make crap like this. It is.

Mashed Potatoes. In the words of LC, "Obvi."

Turkey. Going away from the brined turkey this year, as it usually does get overly salty. And furthermore, a properly cooked turkey (to 165 degrees at the thigh) does not dry out. Lindsay made a lemon, garlic bay leaf compound salt (for lack of a better term) that we usually use on roast chicken. We also had to get a "fresh" turkey, which I am willing to try. If the turkey fails, I think we know who to blame. That's right, Native Americans.

Gravy. I made turkey stock last weekend. Stock happens.

Homemade cranberry sauce with Bourbon. Just in case the booze is slow.

A Pumpkin Pie from La Boulangerie with a homemade caramel and sea salt ice cream and house whipped cream. We go the extra mile for our guests, I guess we are just better people.

Wines, loads of it; moonshine, bathtubs full of da stuff, fresh squeezed satsuma juice, the remainder of that Lemon Grass Wheat Ale homebrew, and probably some water at some point.

And Legend returns. Tomorrow lunch at Galatoire's with the Pope, Legend, and Doc. In case you were wondering, Peter wussed out. Something about succeeding.

From all of us at Blackened Out Media Worldwide Conglomerate and Spa, Thank you for reading our petulant comments. We appreciate every last one of you.

Food From/In Far Away Lands

The title refers to both the location and the cuisine:

• Cuisine: Pupusas - These are thick corn tortillas stuffed with a variety of fillings. Their origin is El Salvador, which is somewhere in Central America.
• Location: Kenner - Which some of you probably think is as far away as Central America. The Pontchartrain Center, Treasure Chest Casino, and Esplanade Mall are just a few of the attractions of "America's City." Kenner is also the home of one our faithful readers: the Coonhunter.

I often make the drive between New Orleans and Baton Rouge and use this journey as an excuse to eat at places I otherwise would not be willing to make the drive for. Last week on our drive to the airport, The Folk Singer and I stopped at Taqueria Sanchez. [I should note that according to Fr. Tom's Restaurant Index, there are two Taqueria Sanchezes on Williams Blvd. We went to the one at 920 Williams.]

As soon as we sat down, I knew that the food would be authentic for three reasons:

1. We were two of only three gringos in the joint. The other 20 diners were Latin/Central American.
2. There was a large flat screen TV displaying (in Spanish, of course) the Mexico vs. Honduras World Cup Qualifying match.
3. Our server barely spoke any English.

The complimentary chips and salsa were different and delicious. The chips were thick and (at least tasted) freshly fried. The salsa was of an orange hue and served warm. Not too spicy, but not robust with tomatoes or sweetness. There is also a hotter green salsa in a squeeze bottle on every table.

The pupusa was dynamite. For my fillings I chose the trifecta - beans, cheese, and chicarron (or pork skin). The tortilla was soft, and the flavor of the pork fat really penetrated through the corn meal. (Or was the tortilla made with pork fat? Not sure.) The fillings melted into a delectable and uniform mixture on the inside. The cup of slaw on the side was forgettable.

Also on the table was this torta, which for lack of a better description is a Mexican sandwich. The bread was yellow and slightly sweet and eggy, sort of like the bread used to make a Cuban media noche. The toppings are lettuce, tomato, avocado, and sour cream with your choice of meat. Mine was tongue (or "lengua"), and it was amazing.

P.S. - My trip to Napa was one for the record books. Expect a full report throughout next week. In fact, next week may be designated as "Napa Week." If Father Tom can make such proclamations, then I don't see why we can't.

La Boulangerie

I love this place. On most Sunday mornings following a walk around the park with Penelope and Asparagus, you can find Lindsay and I waiting in line for a raspberry croissant(for me), a blueberry muffin or other pastry (for Lindsay), and a plain croissant (for the Hounds).

If you don't know how to bake, or don't have time, why not let La Boulangerie do it for you. You can pick up pies (apple, pumpkin), fruit tarts, breads (all different types), and other pastries. Make it easy on yourself. But call right now, as they are only taking orders up till today. The number is 269-3777.

And Gus, as he is known to his pals, would like a croissant or a baguette.

Po Boy Fest

The Po Boy Fest still has some kinks to iron out, but all in all this festival has a permanent place on my calendar. Lindsay and I headed over there yesterday around 2 and we were both astonished to see just how many people had turned out. All along Oak Street from Carrollton to Joliet the thoroughfare was crammed full of people, po boys, and parading.

The lines for each po boy purveyor were quite significant however they moved very rapidly. At times the street gets very crowded making movement in any direction almost impossible. However, these are only minor problems. We stated with a banh mi from banh mi sao. We chose the combo which included shredded beef and vietnamese style meatballs. This was topped with an assortment of fresh and pickeld veggies, a liberal dosing of spicy mayo, and some cilantro. Delicious, fresh, vibrant and light this po boy earned high marks.

Next, a hot sausage po boy and an italian sausage with peppers and onions from Sammie's in Gentilly. The former once again relied on a spiced up mayonnaise with astonishing results while the latter delivered what amounted to a large, savory mess wrapped up in flaky bread. Both sandwiches made me put Sammie's on my list of po boy shops to try. We also sampled a killer stuffed shrimp. I had one bite and really enjoyed it. I turned my back to grab a napkin and lindsay had devoured the rest of it. You snooze, you lose.

Then, a barbecue roast beef po boy and a roast beef po boy from Parkway. You know my feelings about Parkway's roast beef, well they were once again confirmed. Tender, rich strands of roast beef, impossibly light bread, and a thick gravy make for me at least the standard by which all other roast beef po boys are judged. The barbeucue roast beef was a little too sweet for me.

Twice while we were there a second line strolled down Oak St. Trailing behind the 8 piece brass band were legions of marching second liners. Only instead of waving handkerchiefs in the air, the paraders held aloft loaves of French Bread. Its times like this when living anywhere else beisdes New Orleans makes no sense to me.

There is a tarantula in my broccoli soup

Last Saturday at the Crescent City Farmer's Market, we got a soccer ball sized clump of broccoli. Enormous and leafy the head of the broccoli could have used the stalk as a baseball bat. Some of the broccoli ended up stir fried with some garlic, chilis, and meyer lemon juice. But the remainder of the orb stayed in the fridge until last night.

We had some leftover turkey meatloaf that I quickly browned in a saute pan. The broccoli needed to be used. As i began to cut the stalk away from the flowering buds of broc, a baby tarantula* emerged from the leaves as surprised to see me as I was to see him. He was detached down the drain with a calmness not often found in shrieking people.

I began by steaming the broccoli, but soon realized this would be boring. I had about a cup of chicken stock, so I brought that to a boil. After the broccoli finished steaming, I put in a blender with a teaspoon of red pepper flakes (which proved to be too much), a tug of butter, and some salt. Add the chicken stock and pulse 3 times; then puree for about a minute longer than you think you need. The soup should be creamy with texture, but not gritty. You could strain it, but only if it is a first date.

What results is the creamiest, most soul satisfying broccoli soup you will ever eat. There are easier ways to do this as well. Just blanch broccoli in heavily salted water and add a small amount of the water to the blender. I know it sounds weird, but you dont need much else to make a luxurious broccoli soup.

But I did add a little shaved Parmesan and a drop of olive oil to make a "broccoli and cheese soup." And putting things in quotations is hip.


* No confirmation on the actual species is available at this time. But it was black and hairy and tarantula-esque.

***********************************UPDATE FROM PETER**************************
I have received the following updates from Peter via a cellular phenomenon known as text messaging.

Yesterday 3:19 CST "A light snack just now you know that the Pope never skips a meal. Headed to Opus in 2 hours for the first tasting . Kind of overcast today. But you know it never rains in Tiger Stadium or the French Laundry."

Last night 9:53 pm CST "I might never come home."

In case you are wondering what they ate last night. And I am pretty certain, they did not pass on the foie gras course.

The Day Has Finally Come

I have been counting down the days till today since September 20. For it was on that fateful Saturday that I made reservations at The French Laundry. Two months ago to the calendar date (which is the earliest possible day reservations can be made), The Pope and I conducted a coordinated telephone assault at exactly 10:00am PST (which is the precise time when TFL's reservations hotline is turned on). As luck would have it, we were both able to make reservations. And so today is the day. My fellow diners: The Folk Singer, The Pope, Battle House Honey, and The Deli King & Queen.

Rumor has it that tables at TFL are easier to come by these days because of the current recession and the prospect of higher taxes for those individuals with enough disposable income to be able to afford to dine at TFL. But unlike some people, for me dining at TFL is about the food as opposed to securing bragging rights. Also, let it be known that I cannot, in any remote sense of the word, "afford" dinner at The French Laundry. This is just one of those opportunities which I would forever regret passing up.

A part of me wonders if I'm ready. Will I be able to fully appreciate the vision and techniques of Thomas Keller and his proteges? And at the other end of the spectrum, I wonder if I have set my expectations so high that nothing on the plate will be able to satisfy them. Most likely, my mindset (and the outcome) lies somewhere in the middle.

Two years ago, I was fortunate enough to dine at Paul Bocuse's eponymous restaurant outside Lyon - my first (and till today, my lone) Michelin 3 Star dining experience. Not only the food but also the service was something that I had never had the opportunity to enjoy before. I still vividly remember every detail of that dinner, and one day I will have to write about it. But looking back, I think that I fully appreciated that meal because the cooking methods, ingredients, and flavors were not completely foreign to me. Whatever I ate, it seemed as though I had experienced that flavor and texture before - except that everything which came from Bocuse's kitchen tasted 1000x better.

In short, that dinner at Bocuse was the finest meal of my life. Tomorrow (or more likely Monday), I will let you know if that is still the case.

But today is not only about me. Today, the third Thursday in November, is Beajolais Nouveau Day. Traditionally, today is the day that the first wines of this years vintage are released to the public. In fact, speaking of Lyon, Beaujolais Nouveau was historically first released to the Lyonnaise bistros by shipping the bottles down the River Saône.

The Beaujolais which you are most likely to drink is that of winemaker George Duboeuf. Beaujolais, while shunned by some oenophiles as too young, is a very drinkable wine which should be uncorked immediately. And it's CHEAP. The first cases were shipped off at 12:01am (Paris time), so lookout for these festive bottles this weekend.

Po-Boy Fest

As has been mentioned before from September of 2007 until April of 2008 your faithful scribe was exiled from the city of New Orleans. St. Louis is a wonderful town don't get me wrong, but they did not have a Po Boy Fest.

Unfortunately, I could not make the fest last year. Tears flowed, sobs were exchanged, and I spent three days wondering around grocery stores looking for Leidenheimer Bread, Blue Plate Mayo and those slimy pickles. When the cops finally found me, I had a Chisesi ham under my coat.

But I am back, and on Sunday I will be inhaling Po Boys faster than The Pope downs chargrilled oysters. The forecast is beautiful and there is no Saints game. Plus, if we don't eat things like Po Boys, Red Beans, and gumbo, then we become St. Louis. And it is cold in St. Louis.

Ohh, and listen it is Po Boy. I dont care what Father Tom claims nor whatever menus he consults. Languages and pronunciations are constantly evolving and the word is now Po Boy. Besides this is a guy who claims to be a Jesuit Alum yet he graduated from Rummel.

Even Better Than 50 Cent Night ( A Production of After Work Today...)

In high school, Peter went to .50 cent night at The Boot with a devotion seen more commonly with tweens and Hannah Montana than mature 17 year olds and fiscal responsibility. In fact Peter was known far and wide for the Golden Roll. Every Tuesday, Peter would slide "The Golden Roll"-a pack of quarters-across the bar and in turn he would receive 10 Jack and Cokes.

Well, as you probably have figured out, Blackened Out has a huge crush on Cork & Bottle. Cork & Bottle has just opened a wine bar called Clever, adjacent to their Mid City store. Every Tuesday at Clever is "Free Tuesdays at Clever." Tasting sized samples of wine will be poured gratis. If you like the wine, you can pay for either a glass (at retail pricing which equals retail price divided by 4) or buy a whole bottle.

I checked out Clever with some colleagues (an adult way of saying friends) last week. The space is very comfortable, the wine list filled with winners, and the staff could not be nicer. The surroundings are loaded with comfy couches and areas to arrange your own seating. Clever feels more like a coffee shop than the snooty, sleek wine bars that have popped up all over the country in the last few years.

These tastings will be devoid of pretension. Also, this will give you some new vague terms to throw around at Uncle Al's Thanksgiving Hooch Fest. Each week will feature a different theme. This is a great opportunity to combine education of new wines and happy hour. Quite frankly it is very clever. Here is the schedule for the next few weeks:

Nov. 18th - Lisa Tull-Johnson, Champagne Specialist for Republic/National pours through a world of things that go bubble in the night.

Nov. 25th - Jon Smith pours out a selection of turkey's best friend: Pinot Noir

Dec. 2nd - Grand Opening with Neil Gernon who will unveil a month of Neat Wines by pouring through eight (yes, 8) "under the radar" Napa Valley gems.

I will see you there. This is really going to cut into my workout routine.