Dickie Brennan's Bourbon House: Half-Shells Without the Grime?

Dickie Brennan's Bourbon House
144 Bourbon Street
New Orleans, LA 70130
(504) 522-0111

Dickie Brennan's Bourbon House is located in the oyster bar gulch at the confluence of Bourbon and Iberville, next door to Acme and across the street from Felix's. The Bourbon House, a part of the commodious Brennan's restaurant empire, seems to see its niche as the upscale alternative to the two stalwarts, boasting a fancily designed dining room, an impressive selection of bourbons (no kiddin') and perkier service then is commonly encountered at the other two joints. Basically, this is the oyster place you bring your boss or your uppity in-laws too. This is in itself a service. Us trashy college kids really enjoy wandering by the giant picture windows out onto Bourbon Street while carrying bottle s of trash vodka bigger then our heads, but sometimes we eat here too. When our parents are in town.

The menu offers refined variants on typical New Orleans oyster bar food: you've got your shrimp Creole, your turtle soup and seafood gumbo, and your fried seafood platters, offered alongside non-oyster related raw bar offerings (excuse me, Le Grand Plateaux De Fruits De Mer, you know what I'm talkin' about), steaks, and some interesting appetizers. (Including hummus. At a New Orleans oyster bar. Sort of freaking me out). There always seems to be specials stalking the perimeter here. The frozen Bourbon Milk Punch is absolutely delicious and absolutely bad for you, just like everything else in this evil, hateful city.



We began with the Oysters Rockefeller, Bienville, and Fonseca, three of my favorite old-hat NOLA specialities. These were really pretty superb, and definitely superior to the versions I've tried at Antoines and Felix's. The Rockefellers are of course the classic and were very good, with a rich spinach and cheese topping with just a bit of anise-y flavor. The Bienvilles and Fonsecas were also good, though the flavors were pretty much "cheesy meaty stuff on top of an oyster." Not actually a bad thing.



We also got some raws on the half-shell. Tasty little bastards. Don't get me started on the gulf oil spill or there will be even more swearing then usual on this blog.



I had the seafood gumbo, which I've had here before and enjoyed. It's a good, if not stand-out gumbo, with a fairly dark roux and a smooth, gentle texture. The addition of oysters is paramount here and gives it some briny character. Definitely requires a substantial whomp of hot sauce.



For my main, I picked the startingly tasty Chop Salad Louis with grilled gulf shrimp and "Avery Island" dressing. (This means it done got Tabasco in it). A really fantastic dish: crisp romaine with big, sweet, head-on prawns and a bit of avocado to add a good dose of creaminess. Shelling the little beasts at the table was not entirely in keeping with the fancy interior here, but was definitely New Orleans like. If you don't eat the heads, you are foolish indeed.



My dad had a fried shrimp po-boy, which was quite nice: lightly fried shrimp and the requisite Leidenheimer bread. My aunt had the Shrimp Creole, which was all right - in a very chunky and very tomato-heavy sauce, with more of an Italian flavor then a distinctly New Orleans one. Then again, I agree with Tom Fitzmorris's belief that shrimp creole is never, ever all that good.



My cousin ordered the alligator burger, because she is very fond of alligators, even when this fondness extends to eating them. It tasted like ground alligator, which is to say like spiced and slightly fishy chicken, and was served with some fine sweet potato fries. I suppose if you're into that kind of thing. Unfortunately one does not become filled with the badass essence of gator after eating gator.

On the whole, the Bourbon House is a nice, upscale choice for oysters on the half shell and accompaniments on Bourbon's Oyster Gulch. Felix's is my pick for slamming down oysters and Jagermeister prior to wandering out into the night to do naughty things, but Bourbon House is where you go to have a civilized and tasty meal minus, say, annoyances such as drunken Florida State frat-boys in straw hats. Not to mention there's never any line, unlike at media-darling Acme Oyster House. Nice work, Brennans. Keep doing what you're doing.

Addendum: I also like the Bourbon House because I met one of its chefs on the streetcar a while back. I had run my bike into a swiftly-moving car the day prior and was experiencing some muscle pain: it was also 3:00 AM and I was feeling sort of pissed off about going out drinking instead of staying in bed and recovering, although of course this was all my fault. The chef and I discussed New Orleans bars, the magic of weird seafood dishes, and how awesome Spanish food was during the ride home: he also offered me a sorely needed Advil. Perhaps one should not take pain-killers from people you meet on the streetcar (maybe, quizas, maybe), but he sure was a nice guy. Thanks, guy!

The Praline Connection: Sou Food, Gumbo Crabs, Chicken Livers

The Praline Connection
542 Frenchmen Street
New Orleans, LA 70116-2024
(504) 943-3934


The Praline Connection is a soul-food joint in the Faubourg Marigny, on the eternally-hip Frenchman street. The restaurant has been around for a healthy length of time now, even expanding into the usually cuisine-bereft confines of the New Orleans airport, god bless them. So how's the food?

The menu covers all the soul food bases, with a healthy dose of Creole and Cajun foodstuffs: think fried chicken with mac and cheese, lima beans with various meats, fried chicken livers, stuffed crabs, meatloaf, BBQ ribs, jamabalaya, and other usual suspects. Concerns about fat and calories are checked decsively at the door, as they damned well should be. (You can buy some pralines - no kiddin' - at the candy counter next to the dining room).



My friend chose the fried chicken with macaroni and cheese and collards, a big-ass portion at $12.95. Pretty darn good fried bird here: not too much batter, flavorful and juicy in the center, the whole nine-yards. He reported the macaroni and cheese had egg in it, which was mildly unusual, but was otherwise tasty.



I was tempted by the turkey wings, but ordered the file gumbo - I'm out to try every damn gumbo I can get my paws on in this city, and I'd heard the Praline Connection had a pretty worthy entrant. I ended up loving this: it's a thin, soup-style gumbo with a ton of earthy, funky flavor. This occurs because the kitchen seems to dump in as many left-over variety meats as they can into the gumbo pot, producing rich flavor and a profusion of interesting stuff in the bowl. Sausage, gumbo crabs, bone-in chicken pieces, shrimp, you name it, it's probably in there. This is just the way I like my gumbo. Pickier types may want to leave well enough alone, but you shouldn't be encouraged to be a big fat wuss either. Wuss.



I also had a side of collards, and was very pleased with em'. These are obviously traditional Southern style greens, chopped fine and cooked until the nutrients are sucked out of them - this is why you drink the pot likker. These are, needless to say, nothing even approaching vegetarian food as evidenced by their richly porky flavor. The free corn-bread block that came with the meal proved perfect for crumbling into the greens.

Napoleon House New Orleans: Good Food, No Napoleon

Napoleon House
500 Chartres St
New Orleans, LA 70130-2110
(504) 524-9752


The Napoleon House in the 1930's.

The Napoleon House is old. As the legend goes, the 200 year old building was first occupied by one Nicholas Girod, the mayor of New Orleans from 1812 to 1815. Ever the altruist, the ardently French Girod offered up his humble Louisiana dwelling to the exiled French conqueror. The potential adultation and publicity that Napoleon's entry into the Crescent City might have brought was, presumably, secondary in his mind. Girod even went so far as to commision the ship Seraphine - an integral part of a plan to rescue the Emperor from St. Helena by way of Dominique. Napoleon never showed and the plot never went through, but the Napoleon House soldiered on, becoming an iconic and never-changing bar, restaurant, and hangout for an assemblage of bums, writers, and tourists. Mostly tourists.

The place does have a faded, oldy-moldy ambience that's extremely pleasant, with dressed-up and efficient staff and a nicely considered menu. Even better? Prices are startlingly cheap, a minor miracle in the ridiculously marked Quarter. There's usually a line - goddamn vacationers, curse them and their economic- stimulating dollars! - so plan accordingly.



Pimms Cups are the Napoleon House's signature drink, a deceptively simple mixture of British gin, lemonade, a bit of Sprite, and cucumber. They're pretty things, served up in a tall glass, and are remarkably refreshing on a hot day - as last Saturday was. Hot days in November are about 95% of why I am going to school here.



My never-ending seafood gumbo quest saw its continuation with the Napoleon House's version ($6.95). I was extremely pleased. I love super-thick okra gumbo with lots of stuff in it, and this didn't disappoint, with a consistency more like a thick, unctuous, roux-thick sauce then a soup. It even came with half a gumbo crab, and gumbo crabs always fill me with love and celestial tolerance for my fellow man, which is a pretty goddamn rare thing around here. My only complaint is it coulda been a bigger portion.



We shared a large Greek salad ($6.75) with balsamic-honey dressing, marinated red peppers, sesame seed, and feta cheese, on a bed of spinach. An unorthodox salad but pretty damn tasty, and you could tell they were using nice cheese on this sucker. The salads here are quite interesting - they really seem to think them out and go beyond the usual "slap some romaine on a plate" routine". Aces.



My friend opted for the perennial favorite of a loaded baked potato. Big as yer head and covered in bacon and cheese, this was gooooddd. The British call these things "jacket potatoes". Further proof they're probably not actual humans but instead despots from Planet Zarg.

I think I'll definitely be back for a reprisal of that tasty, mighty thick gumbo. The rest of the menu sounds like primo up-scale bar snacks as well - antipasto salads, cheese plates, charcuterie boards, and a lovely looking toasted muffaletta. Conclusion? Sometimes those damn tourists know a thing or two. Come on down, order some booze, eat some food, and sit back and enjoy the Quarter.

You can even pretend to be Napoleon in a reprisal of every movie insane asylum scene ever. (Seriously, why do they do that?) They'll probably kick you out, but the choice? Baby, it is yours.

Fiorellas in the French Quarter

My gumbo journey through the French Quarter continues. It's been an interesting wander through the FQ's eateries, all in search of the perfect gumbo, the gumbo of my dreams, an Fiorella's was my latest mark. How does the place stack up?

Fiorella's is known mostly for fried chicken and a general assortment of Louisiana food. It's a small, funky place inside, and the outside usually hosts a healthy number of folks engaging in New Orlean's favorite sport: chain-smoking, drinking, and eating fried food. They're known for fried dill pickles. Haven't tried em'. (What do they say about this place? "After a New Orleans meal, you're always sure of your gallbladder?" Think I lifted that from Sarah Roahen's Gumbo Tales...)

I sat down and ordered me some gumbo and a Greek salad. Took a bit longer then I felt might be required to do gumbo and a Greek salad, but the servers were cute/heavily tattooed (as a good French Quarter waitress dang well should be).



The gumbo was the andouille, shrimp, and chicken variety. Verdict? Too dang thick for my tastes, without a ton of the rich, roux-a-riffic flavor that really gets my motor going. Wasn't bad, just too nondescript for my tastes, and wasn't hot enough temperature-wise either. That's a common complaint with gumbos. I am biased against andouille, as I come from a family that does ham instead. A few shrimps up in there, maybe could have used more.



The Greek salad was surprisingly delightful, with a small mountain of stinky grated parmesan, lots of feta, and a nice herby vinaigrette that probably had more cheese in it. A pretty nice effort and rather authentic to American style greek salad (ie, YUM CHEESE).

Antoines: Oysters Rockfeller And Why We Should All Love This City

Antoines



New Orleans is the home of a coven of grande old Creole restaurants - instiutions that pioneered the rich and soulful and intrinsically good cuisine that defines New Orleans. They were created a very long time ago and have ridden out hurricanes, the Great Depression, World War II, and a staggering decline in the taste and sensibilities of the American people, and I hope to God they last a long time more.

Antoines is a charter member of this group, a 150 year old Dining Room, where one Antoine Alciatore, smacked around a bit by New York city, decided to take his culinary expertise on the road to New Orleans. The restaurant became a hit, and it's been serving up butter-heavy Creole food to many a happy customer ever since. Oysters Rockefeller - those delicious spinachy suckers that have circulated across the country - originated in Antoine's kitchen, along with pommes de terre souffles, a New Orleans centric type of air-filled fried potato. Antoines also happens to be a hangout for four Mardi Gras carnival krewes - Rex, Proteous, Hermes, and the 12th Night Revelers, who traditionally come here to get properly fed and schnockered in the process. (They are not shy about booze in these parts: Antoine's was dishing out the good stuff in coffee cups round' the back during Prohibition.)

With so much history and tradition behind it, it's kind of hard to review a place like this. Complicating and enhancing matters, my dad is friends with Johnny Mencina, a long-time server here who is exceedingly fine at his job. He took care of us all night long, bringing that kind of refined-but-friendly service N'awlins can pull off like nowhere else. So how the hell can I be objective?

Well, I'll try.

The (back) dining room we sat at has a powerful patina of history, covered in gently moldering pictures and autographs of celebrities whose names I shall never get around to looking up. Truly old school restaurants have fallen by the wayside in this country, and it's a departure for this California transplant to see everyone scurrying about in white-tie. A pleasing one.

We began with those famous potato souffles - fried twice to create a curiously puffy texture, almost like an exceedingly expensive Muncho. These were tasty enough, although I wish they had been a bit hotter and more ethereal. Admittedly, I am not subject to the smoky charms of the potato as some among us are.



We are gumbo afficinados in this family, gumbo worshippers, so my father and I regarded our cups of gumbo with the usual suspicion. Not to be disappointed: Antoine's dirty-rich and file thick gumbo is as good as I've had beside my own grandmother's kitchen. This is the good junk you can stick a spoon up in, full of all sorts of tasty sea critters and sausage and Lord knows what else. (I dearly hope the foofoo contingent will not discover gumbo and turn it into a contempo foam ridden abomination before God, oh please please.)




And next came another life-long love of mine: baked oysters. Johnny advised us to go with a sampler, and so we did. Counterclockwise:

Huitres Thermidor , Fresh Louisiana oysters baked on the half shell with a bacon and tomato sauce. These were tangy and delicious, as the combination of oyster, tomato and bacon is always superb and worthy of study by scientific outlets possibly to cure longstanding depression or malaise.

Huitres Bienville, Oyster baked on the half shell with a white wine sauce seasoned with onions, pimento, and fresh peppers. These were of course tasty, with that lovely butter flavor in the back, but not quite as good as the other two.

Huitres en coquille a la Rockefeller (notre creation), Oysters baked on the half shell with the original Rockefeller sauce created by Antoine's in 1889.
The recipe for these iconic bivalves is guarded with (someone's) life, but I know it involves spinach, bread crumbs, a touch of anise and of course a lot of butter. I like these very much.



We moved on (as we must). I am a soft-shell crab freak - something about being able to completely consume these briny little gifts from Jesus Christ and Mary themselves fascinates me. Therefore, I selected the Crabes mous amandine, soft shell crabs fried in a light batter with hot melted butter and toasted sliced almonds. My dad, meanwhile, swears by the Filet de truite Pontchartrain, grilled trout with lump crabmeat sautéed in butter. Johnny was kind enough to let us do a little sampler platter as you may view above. The crab was truly lovely, fried ethereally and topped with a butter, almondy sauce that would be considered grounds for lawsuit in my health-obsessed home of California. The trout was lovely as well: fresh trout, panfried to a careful crisp, served with sweet and plentiful crabmeat chunks. This is why people have been drooling over NOLA seafood for a long time, folks. (And you want us all to disappear into the waters, as if you think you'd ever be able to eat this stuff again!)

We also shared a side of Epinards sauce crème or spinach in a light cream sauce, which was rich and delish as you may imagine. I know you may be startled, but there was butter in it.

My dad is passionate about bread pudding and is rarely in a position where he may eat it: therefore, we ordered the Le pudding de pain de noix de pecan, a cinnamon and raisin pudding topped with a rum sauce. This is another classic New Orleans dessert, possibly because it contains both butter and booze, the two substances this city runs on. It was of course delicious.

I'll admit it: Antoine's doesn't turn out the kind of firecracker smack yo' mama cuisine that a place like August does. The food is tasty, sophisticated, and well-presented, but it is not startling or surprising. But I believe it does not need to be. Antoine's is rooted in the past, continuing on a course set in 1840 - and a damn fine thing it is doing too, preserving the food techniques and the delicious dishes my ancestors were dining on, back in the day. We need restaurants like Antoines, and we need to hold onto them, visit them: they are preserving a part of our heritage that could very well be buried under Burger King emporiums and deconstructed molecular cuisine, a form of eating that defined sophistication in the good old days and still holds claim to it in the present. If you're in New Orleans, do yourself a favor and make it out to Antoine's - this is a great way to taste and experience what this beautiful, nasty, melee of a city is all about.

(And dress nice, you coastal bums!)

Felix's Oyster Bar: Bivalves And Abita Sustain The Soul Once Again

Felix's Oyster House
739 Iberville St
New Orleans, LA 70130
(504) 522-4440



Felix's is one of the standby oyster joints off Bourbon Street, prone to filling up at all hours with people who want nothing more then to slam Abita beer and eat startling quantities of oysters. In these two respects, Felix's has got things under control.

Oysters are a holy food in New Orleans and must always be consumed with beer, saltines and mix it yerself cocktail sauce - the holy trinity of shellfish consumption. Oyster bars are about as New Orleans as it gets, attracting a cross-section of people from all over the place who enjoy the funky little guys whenever they get their drink on (and in New Orleans, everyone is always getting their drink on.) According to traditionalists, oysters are only consumable in months with an R in them and are DEADLY FOUNTS OF DESPAIR when consumed otherwise, but I had oysters in August and they were quite tasty and did not even kill me. And the head waiter at Luke said they were quite good. So get over it.

Felix's, much like Acme, employs a full time oyster shucker who will flip those puppies open upon request and slide them to you over the bar - usually as fast as you can eat them. Extra points are awarded if there is a Saint's game on. We enjoyed slurping them down in between gulps of beer, watching the usual Bourbon Street zoo parade past the windows. I also enjoyed creating my own cocktail sauce in various intensities and lemon concentrations, which is definitely side entertainment if you're into cooking.



Felix's also serves up decent Oysters Rockefeller, that spinach and butter and god knows what else concotion pioneered by Antoines millions of years ago. I love those little guys and will happily eat many of them.



Unlike Acme, Felix's non-oyster related food is only okay. The boiled shrimp were edible but 1. served cold (they are mo' betta' warm) and 2. way too small. We were perhaps a spot drunk and decided to try the fried alligator, which was a lousy idea: tiny greasy pieces of reptile are not something I enjoy eating. (Alligator admittedly never really rises above the flavor of chewy, fishy chicken, but still.)

Felix's is a good spot to get your oysters and beer fix in less-wacko environs then Acme, but do yourself a favor and stick to the slimy little suckers.