What’s Cooking?

As is true in France, from which many of its early people came, food plays an outsize role in the life and psyche of New Orleans. Consider airport fodt, pretty much vile from coast to coast in this country. But in Paris you can get an excellent meal while waiting for your plane.

When we arrived in New Orleans around one in the afternoon, noon their time, we had to look no further for sustenance than the end of the concourse. Dooky Chase, the soul food Mecca where people like Duke Ellington used to dine a half century ago, now has an airport outpost managed by a grandchild of the founder.

So, we were immediately sitting down to the best fried chicken in the world, crispy but not greasy, moist and flavorful, to tart and velvety stewed tomatoes and okra with none of the usual slime or bitterness and to red beans and rice with remarkable depth of flavor.

And so it went, as we visited several old favorites. At Brigsten’s our table ordered duck with a rich brown sauce and dirty rice. We had a local favorite, drum, with crayfish sauce, also rare yellowfin on a bed of smoked corn with a red pepper coulis, and a sublime oyster and artichoke chowder, a baby shrimp and horseradish potato salad, shrimp macaroni and cheese, grilled pork chop with blueberry wine reduction, a mocha crème brulee and a pecan pie in a pool of rum caramel sauce.

Like several of the meals to follow, this sounds Lucullan, and it was. But it was not bankrupting.
Perhaps because New Orleans is a poor city or because great cooking is less about commerce than tradition, life-chargingly wonderful meals can be had for the price of middling pedestrian restaurants in Podunk and for half the ticket price of a haughty New York or San Francisco joint.

For our nod to the Grande Dames of New Orleans dining, it was a tough choice between Galatoire’s founded 1905, Arnaud’s, 1918, Antoine’s, 1840, and Commander’s Palace, dating to 1893. But since we have had several happy experiences with the Commander, the wheel of fortune lit on it. It provided the usual impeccable service and classic preparations.

One of our dinner’s chose the bargain priced fixe prix menu at lunch and was rewarded with a rich turtle soup, a New Orleans favorite, a quail with honey-glaze, and a bread pudding soufflé theatrically drizzled with a rum, cream sauce. The rest of us had to make do with a trio of demitasse-size soups – the ubiquitous turtle, a rabbit/andouille gumbo and an indescribably luscious, buttery shrimp bisque. Nor did catfish on a bed of creamy, ungritty grits with lardons of sausage and a remoulade sauce disappoint.

If the Palace is haute, Upperline is homey, located in an old Garden District building, decorated by the works of local artists, and presided over by the welcoming JoAnn Clevenger. I first decided it was worth a try when reading the liner notes of native son Dr. John’s homage to his home town – “Goin’ Back to New Orleans.” This collection is of the kind of tunes, associated with the town, that Louis Armstrong called “the good old good ones we all love so well.”

It was recorded in New Orleans in 1992 and features a who’s who of Crescent City musical royals including Al Hirt, Pete Fountain, the Neville Brothers and so on. Way down in the fine print of personnel was this line: Catering by the Upperline Restaurant. I figured if it was good enough for these guys, it was probably going to be good enough for me. When I said to JoAnn that there ought to be a picture of Dr. John on the wall, she laughed and said she didn’t know what liner notes were until people started coming in 25 years ago, saying they had been referred to the Upperline, like me, by the album.

And here it was, still pleasing the folks with old favorites like shrimp atop fried green tomatoes with a remoulade sauce that had a distinct tang of creole mustard. A nicely crusted half duck came with a choice of either peach or port wine sauce We enjoyed a side of tart turnip greens, a grilled drum with a creamy tomato, jalapeno, shrimp sauce, a pecan pie with a better crust than at Brigsten’s and a vanilla crème brulee topped with pralines.

Part of the fun of dining in New Orleans is watching what different chefs do with the same palette of local ingredients – andouille, crayfish, redfish, red beans and so on. And a hint at the attitude of the place comes on the website of the Upperline. Alongside a list of its James Beard awards and its Four Bean rating from the Times-Picayune, under the heading Lagniappe, it offers a couple of its signature recipes so you can try them at home, which is amiable, and a list of “JoAnn’s Famous Favorites.”

The proprietor of this restaurant doesn’t only tell you where to go to hear live music or to see local arts, she lists the best thing to eat at her competitors’ restaurants – like Crabmeat Maison at Galatoire’s, Foie Gras Sampler at Restaurant August, Sweetbreads at Bayona. I find this kind of fraternal feeling touching. She honors her fellow restauranteurs because they’re all New Orleans food folks carrying on the tradition together.

It would have been nice to work our way down her list, to have stayed to see a few of the first Krewe’s of the year march and throw the gold, purple and green beads of Mardi Gras, but it was time to return to cooler climes and a more austere diet, alas.

But we were heartened to have found that New Orleans — battered, resilient, neglected, underappreciated, loveable, pitiable, ancient, forever young, nonpareil — carries on. In a country where tradition is disposable and homogenization is the rule, it remains its own, true, inimitable, mixed up beautiful self. As Dr. John knew, it’s worth singing about:
“Get some crawfish, jambalaya
Red beans and fine pralines
Get some lovin’ that gonna satisfy
Home in New Orleans.”