Wednesday, January 12, 2005
When in New Orleans, try venerable Antoine's
Larry Bly
Larry Bly runs an ad agency and does freelance writing in the Roanoke area.
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In a business where people often don't last a year, ANTOINE's of New Orleans can boast five generations of the same ownership and more than 160 years of continuous restaurant service. Not only that, their classic French cuisine has changed little through the years. Classic French shouldn't be trifled with.
Antoine's is huge (two buildings merged together, upstairs and downstairs), boasting 15 dining rooms, large and small. Our wait-person informed us that the restaurant would be serving 1,100 lunches for a private function the next day.
There's the Rex Room, where royalty dines; the original dining room; the 1840 Room (for an intimate gathering of up to 16 guests); and the most fascinating of them all: the upstairs Japanese room, an enormous space that seats 150 or more. This room was sealed up by the previous family member to run the place. The story goes that during World War II, his friend was felled at the hands of a Japanese fighter and he promised to never use the room again as long as he lived. It was locked up good and tight until last year, when a new generation took over, we must assume.
And oh yes, did I mention the "secret" room in the back, used during Prohibition? How many restaurants can boast a speakeasy? It's a small room, off from another dining room with hidden panels and doors and mirrors to disguise it.
Then there are the five presidents who have dined at Antoine's in its many years; most recently the current President Bush.
After dinner I was taken on "the tour," but you have to know to ask or you don't get it. They serve hundreds daily, so you can imagine "the tour" is something they don't volunteer to everyone. Among the many rooms and public/private areas you'll see is the extraordinary wine cellar. It runs the length of two buildings down in the basement -- wine as far as the eye can see. It's old and dark and creaky, just like a wine cellar should be.
There's lots of talk of royalty here, but it has more to do with the Mardi Gras and kings and queens of courts than of English royalty, though they've no doubt darkened the doors as well. New Orleans takes its courts of honor seriously, thank you. That's a part of the charm of New Orleans for me.
As if all of this weren't enough (and I haven't even gotten to the food yet) Antoine's can boast of a few culinary "firsts" as well: They created Oysters Rockefeller for the richest family in the world at the time. They created the first "puffed potatoes," something the likes of which I had never seen before. It's kind of a pregnant French fry, served in a basket.
My wait-person, like many at Antoine's, has served proudly for more than 20 years. He informed us that his training to be a full-time waiter required six years of tenure. No doubt, the wait-staff is seasoned; they've seen it all. The walls and every nook and cranny is covered with the history of Antoine's, featuring news clippings, magazine covers and articles, and tons of autographed photos dating back a century.
I naturally had to start the evening by trying their Oysters Rockefeller. It's not the same Rockefeller you usually see elsewhere; I much prefer today's combination of spinach, cheese and sauce to Antoine's original, done with their heavy goop piped onto the top of each oyster. I scraped it off and ate the oysters without it. But they also offer a half dozen other versions, many of which encompass today's favored versions. It was the only disappointment of the evening.
The specialty of the day was homard thermidor (lobster thermidor) and my friend had that. The dish was a beautiful, no-nonsense presentation, prepared to perfection. After my Oysters Rockefeller I tried a classic French cold soup of Vichyssoise. It's one of my favorite soups and simply done.
For my entree I decided upon a chair de crabes au gratin (back fin lump crabmeat in a rich sauce with a light cheese and French bread gratinee baked in a hot casserole). This was a delight, even at $28.75.
I also tried a side dish of petits pois a la francaise (early peas seasoned with ham and onions in a casserole). It was fine, but I would have preferred something else, like my dining partner's pommes de terre au gratin (potatoes in a rich cream sauce baked in a casserole with a light cheese gratinee). The fresh French breads delivered with regularity to the table were breads you simply don't experience in our neck of the woods: tasty, chewy, delicious loaves of real bread.
The Antoine's menu runs eight pages, plus announced specials in the evening. Classic dishes abound: omelets, chateaubriand (pour deux, $79.25), bouillabaisse a la Louisiane ($31.50), filet de truite amandine (trout almondine), les escargots a la Bourguignonne or ala Bordelaise, poulet aux champignons, and at least 11 salads, all very reasonably priced.
That's the thing about Antoine's -- you can dine reasonably or extravagantly -- it's up to you. There's no doubt that the kitchen is a well-oiled machine that produces classic fare day after day, decade after decade. Even complicated table-side presentations of major proportions are handled by the seasoned wait-staff without breaking a sweat or appearing to cause more than a minor disturbance. I've seen burgers delivered with more work in these parts. It's truly fun to experience this level of food and service.
Desserts at a place like Antoine's are cause for a pause, as you might imagine. But we decided to forgo the cerises jubilee, the pecha melba, the mousse au chocalat, the creme renversee au caramel, the crepes Suzette, and the fraises au kirsch or the grandaddy of them all: baked Alaska (omelette Alaska Antoine). This dish must be ordered in advance. For us, advance meant at the beginning of the meal. We were lightly chastised by our server, who informed us that it usually means a day or two in advance. He accommodated us nevertheless.
We would find out why such advance notice is preferred. Out from the kitchen came a baked Alaska for two that's the size of a football. The meringue is at least 6 inches thick and inside are the lady fingers and ice cream. It comes with their name, Antoine's, written largely on the side of it. Heads turn and people gasp when they see this dessert arrive table-side. You can tell that it's a tradition that never fails to thrill. It was delicious, though we were hard-pressed to eat more than half of it.
I had been told that one must wear a coat and tie in order to gain entrance to Antoine's (and most of us were so dressed), but this proved not to be so. I was surprised at the casual chap at the table next to me, in jeans and a loud work-shirt. I suppose with the economy and competition of today's marketplace, even the staunch French must cave in. After all, they have a really big space to fill every night, so I don't blame them. For the most part, it was a dressy crowd. Such sophisticated fare deserves no less.
ANTOIN'E'S
713-717 Rue Saint Louis
New Orleans, Louisiana 70130
(504) 581-4422
