I hosted a group of French folk at the Bon Ton Cafe some decade or more years ago and was curious to see how it was holding up, since it was not on the list prepared by my two N.O.-experts.
This time I came with one of my American publishers and we both ordered the crawfish jambalya - immediately putting the song "jambal[ie], crayfish pie, filé gumbo" on a tape loop in my brain. The dish was as I remembered; solid, tasty but not the end of the rainbow. With a most generous fresh salad before and onion rings with, it worked perfectly for us both in the comfort-food dept.
Bill? Apparently, she still thinks I'm worth a meal.
Anyway, because my two food NOLA gurus rec'd it and another blog reader endorsed it, I made sure I showed up (their website, rather dauntingly, threatens one with a $25 fee for not showing up or cancelling but more intimidatingly says something like 'if you don't get a phone call - you don't have a rez." Whoa!
Well, I never got such call and I tried to email, call, have the concierge call, etc. When I finally connected I said I'd just show up and we'll see what opens up first - chef's counter, bar stool or table.
I sat for 13.18 minutes on the Group W bench and a stool at the bar was vacated. Great.
Menu; nice choices, too many, but better than too few, choices. Pigeon brain clicks in; "John, remember portion sizes in America, esp the south."
I order two starters: first - fried alligator doused with spicy (and I mean spicy,) garlicky (and I mean garlicky,) aoili - At this point I wrote down: extra prima. But I couldn't finish it - too much food.
Second, spicy (and I mean spicy,) pork ribs with diced pickled watermelon: quite good, but if I were the owners, a bunch called the Link Group, led I assume by the now-famous chef Donald Link, of Acadian German (huh, whatever happened to Evangeline and all that?) and/or co-chef Stephen Stryjewski, apparently of none-of-the-above lineage, to take the ribs off the grill before they were charred: ribs are best appreciated when moist, succulent and full of their youth in the middle, albeit toasty on the exterior- not tough and senescent throughout. But I couldn't finish it - too much food.
Dessert; faggedaboudid. But I had seen some Moonshine poured a while back and negotiated to trade in some of my demi-carafe of wine for a hit of Junior Johnson's best. (Yy'll remember the Tom Wolfe piece). So I had some - verdict: pallid. Apparently they cannot bottle 150 proof stuff in today's South, even though everyone walking through the Quarter is gripping an open bottle of booze.
My bill = $39.51.
Recent Comments