Day 3 N.O.L.A.: August, disgust: Felix's, helixes.

The administration of the professional scientific organization I'm associated with has never figured out that several of its Past-Presidents have a passionate interest in food and schedules a luncheon each year for them without input from any of us.  Thus it was that I found myself at the Restaurant August.  It is of course, an almost forced menu, which I understand.

First course, crispy fried P&J oysters (yah, I had to look it up myself - PEI & PJ I understand but P&J?)  Google reveals that they say about themselves that "No institution has played a larger role in the advancement of south Louisiana's oyster industry than New Orleans' P&J Oyster Company, the oldest business of its kind in the United States."  OK.  The oysters were great, fried properly, but the Clemson blue and butter-milk sauce was annoying and cloying, slightly improved by the fresh greens.

The choice of a main was between American Kobe Beef (huh? an oxymoron if ever there was one) with blue cheese which I'd had my millenial fill of with the entree and truffles which were surely from a spray can or "crispy-seared" pompano which was over-the-hill, dry, tasting of rancid flour paste and musty athletic socks, which I noted that only one person at the table could eat all of.

 

The dessert was a creme brulee, supposedly made with Bourbon and topped with local berries, which was not half bad.

The bill: I have no idea.

Go?  My goodness no.  And Chef John Besh, please don't write me offering to cook me a "special meal" for free; these responses only harden my bad feelings.

So, several hours later, I'm walking through the French Quarter after an ample, warm, non-corporate, academic, cocktail party where I ate 20 shrimp and talked to (among others) the greatest pianist/historian/psychiatrist/humorist/nice guy in my sphere - Richard Kogan, who just did a stunning performance/talk on Chopin and I'm thinking, I really don't wanna schlep out to the place rec'd by my N.O.L.A. food-buddies - Les Crepes Nanou - for a full meal - I just want out of the vomit/urine and how shall I say it delicately - phenerome-sticky - streets of New Orleans.

And I spy two of my traditional oyster places, the Acme and Felix's.  The Acme has a line like that of Studio 54 (you're too young to catch the ref) or Lady Gaga (you're too old to know) and Felix's is 20% full - a no-brainer.  Ahhhh, wait.

I go in, sit at the DMZ oyster/full food bar, order a dozen (Backstory: I'd been told by an inside source that Louisiana oysters had maybe a week left before the BP oil made them a moot item, so I figured I'd better have some now or never.)  Not bad, but not so great either, but really cheap, $11 some for a dozen (pigeon brain starts to add things up: no line to get in, so-so cheap bivalves = Felix is in decline.) 

Give them a second chance - fried crawfish tails, recalling those at Mulate's earlier this visit - wrong move, clearly frozen, overfried, without sauce - nada.

With a glass of Abita Andygator (don't ask) my bill was $25.45 before tip.

Go?  Yes, across the street to the Acme and watch your shoes for the telltale crick-crick-crick of vomiticious/uriniferous/pheromonic post-Katrina resurfacing.