VittlesVamp

There Is Always Room For Bread Pudding

Just want to journey back to my New Orleans weekend one more time -- time enough to share a valuable lesson in the art of excess and indulgence.

It was a tutorial first taught to myself and my travel companion over an abundant brunch at Mother's on Podryas Street, featuring Cafe au Laits, OJ, two Eggs Over-Easy with Grits, thick slices of Baked Ham, a buttery Biscuit Sandwich with Smoked Sausage, and a heaping bowl of Jerry's Jambalaya, which was crammed with Chicken and Andouille. Needless to say, we ate our fill. OK - more than our fill.

Yet, when the owner of this longtime N'Awlins home cooking mainstay came by the table to offer us a slab of the restaurant's Bread Pudding, we didn't have the heart to say "no."

So, the gargantuan brick of sweet, eggy Bread Pudding arrived (see above). Stuffed to the gills, we forced ourselves to take a taste.

Then, as if by some form of black magic, we actually felt hungry. Seriously hungry enough to finish off the entire helping in record time.

We were frightened. What was going on here? How was this possible?!? Was it something in the air in the Big Easy? In the water? In the alcohol?

We decided to stop questioning this mystery and headed out of Mother's as quickly as our feet could carry.

Realizing that it was necessary to stay away from food as long as possible, we hit Magazine Street for another brand of decadence: shopping. The visit included browsing in antique stores, shoe emporiums and even a stop at an artist's studio...

...where we were not only introduced to some fine paintings, but the artist's fine fido as well.

And, the trip continued with walks around the Quarter, a look at the Voodoo Museum, listening to a local jazz crooner at the Ritz, a chance to catch a sneak peek of Mardi Gras at a rousing Halloween parade where we caught beads aplenty, and much, much more.

Unsurprisingly, "much, much more" also included French 75's at The Pelican Club, an extravagantly good dinner at Restaurant August, Pimm's Cups at Napoleon House, Shrimp and Grits at Luke, etc...

Then it finally came time to leave. But something was missing. Sorely missing. Two hours before our flight home, we sidled up to the Hermes Bar at Antoine's and instantly knew what was called for...

Only after we licked the plate clean, were we full. Contentedly so. Ready to sleep on the long flight home. Ready to go on diets.

Friday Lunch

I almost felt obliged to skip breakfast before visiting the world famous Galatoire's. If all went right, the plan for midday was a ritual-filled, artery-clogging, three-hour Friday lunch at the celebrated historic hot spot on Bourbon Street.

But, all too easily, I buckled under the pressure of Sandra's grumbling stomach - not to mention the longstanding tradition of all out decadence in the Big Easy -- and ended up paying call on Cafe du Monde for a wake-up filled with Cafe au Lait and Beignets.

Nothing like caffeine, slabs of fried dough and copious amounts of powdered sugar to get a morning started off right.

So, how is it that the two of us were actually hungry when we headed through the French Quarter doors of Galatoire's at 11:15am? We arrived that early at the urging of New Orleans friends in the know. Early arrival was mandatory, if we wanted one of the desirable downstairs dining room tables which - by management's decree - could never be reserved.

Punctual, we hiked to the upstairs bar for a wait, and stepped into a room swarming with locals. Was it possible we got there too late? Thankfully, we were right on time and at noon we were rewarded with a plum table downstairs.

Seated among New Orleans' elite, our waiter and guide through the restaurant's weekly lunchtime festivities, Charlie, agreed that we should order a round of Sazeracs, lest we seem like scurrilous Yankees. A Galatoire Gouté was also ordered up right quick to start the meal off with a classic Creole combo of Shrimp Remoulade, Shrimp Maison, and Crabmeat Maison...

...offering up a trifecta which brilliantly showcased tomato zest, mayonnaise creaminess, caper zing, horseradish bite and sweet, meaty, fresh seafood. Oysters en Brochette was plunked down on the table as well, a light appetizer consisting of plump oysters and fatty bacon skewered, fried, and finished with meuniere butter. Dipping a piece of toast into the drippings, we agreed that this was a wonderful way to sinfully tease our palates, while concurrently widening our hips.

God bless Galatoire's!

The rest of the meal was a delicious whirlwind of delights, which included Sandra inhaling an entire loaf of Garlic Bread, smiling like the Cheshire cat and another round of Sazeracs. Next came a split twosome of entrees -- Broiled Lamb Chops with Bearnaise Sauce and Crab Sardou -- as well as a side of puffy, irresistible Souffled Potatoes.

And, the food kept coming. Sweet Potato Cheesecake with Spicy Pecans. Rich Caramel Custard. Potent cups of Cafe Brulot, dark Creole coffee tinged with cloves, cinnamon, orange peel, sugar and brandy, set aflame table-side.

But, little did we know that we had yet to reach the pinnacle of the Galatoire's Friday lunch experience.

That lofty distinction goes to a former New Orleans debutante that brought her baton to the restaurant and proceeded to enthusiastically twirl her way around the dining room...

You can't make stuff like this up. Even after three cups of Cafe Brulot.

It All Started With A Sazerac

It was raining cats and dogs when we landed in New Orleans. Just getting out of the cab and into the lobby of the Hotel Monteleone was a sopping wet adventure. Weather.com had warned us, but even equipped with umbrellas, we weren't amply prepared for the downpour.

Yet, we were on vacation. A girls' weekend in one of the most decadent cities on earth. A cloudburst wasn't about to stop Sandra and I from having a good time.

Strike that. A GREAT time.

So moments after we checked in, we ventured forth into the rain, down Royal Street until it turned into St. Charles Avenue. There, we grabbed a streetcar to take us to Lafayette Square and the promise of an open-air "rain or shine" concert by music legend Kermit Ruffins.

But, alas, "rain or shine" was a whole lot of of cock-and-bull. All we saw from the comfort of the streetcar was an empty stage in an empty square. Luckily though, traveling only a couple blocks further, we were able to find shelter from the rainstorm. My favorite kind of shelter. Shelter with a bar.

Drenched, we grabbed a couple of barstools at Herbsaint, one of New Orleans' finest dining establishments, and let the good times roll the N'awlins way: with a Sazerac.

My first taste of the Big Easy is pictured above. A beguiling drink, consisting of Rye Whiskey, Absinthe or Herbsaint, simple syrup, bitters and a gracefully curled lemon peel, a properly made Sazerac has a way of transporting the mind and spirit to a place of ease. Such was the case after one sip of this lovely beverage.

We paired our cocktails with a small plate of big proportions, a walloping dish of spicy Louisiana Shrimp and Grits with smoky Tasso Bacon and Okra.

The vacation had officially begun.

With the plate practically licked and two more Sazeracs laid waste, we headed off in a cab to Herbsaint's sister restaurant Cochon. A casual hotspot specializing in tongue-tingling Cajun cuisine, we found ourselves unable to say "no" to anything put in front of us, including Paneed Pork Cheeks with Pickled Green Tomatoes, Apples & Peas, a tantalizing Wood-Fired Oyster Roast...

...an Arugula Salad with crispy, beignet-like Pumpkin Calas, Pecans & Tasso Bacon, Catfish Courtbouillon, and Louisiana Cochon with Turnips, Cabbage & teeth-shattering Cracklins. We rounded the meal out with a side of rich Arcadian Eggplant & Shrimp Dressing and a dessert of homemade, still-warm-from-the-oven Pineapple Upside Down Cake.

It was a revelation of a repast. A few more Sazeracs only gilded the gustatory lilly.

The night came to close at the fabled Carousel Bar, turning ever so slowly around the room as we nipped at two more cocktails for the road -- or in this case, for the elevator up to our floor at the Monteleone, and off to sleep. As we drifted off to Nod, I could swear that Sandra asked one of life's most important questions:

"What's for breakfast?"

Big Easy By The Book

The new cookbook from New Orleans Chef John Besh arrived at more doorstep just in the nick of time. In time to fill my head with dreams of Belle River Crawfish Pie, Crab-and-Shrimp Stuffed Flounder, Busters and Grits, Oyster and Artichoke Soup and Old-Fashioned Double-Crusted Blackberry Pie. And, just in time, before I board a plane tomorrow with a good gal pal in tow to take on the Big Easy in high style.

A stop at Besh's Restaurant August is part of the plan, as is Friday lunch at Galatoire's, live jazz, voodoo trinket shops, cafe au lait and beignets at Cafe du Monde, and a Sazerac or two just to round out the whole experience.

Expect to hear more when I return...If I return...

Banh Mi, Oh My!

I needed to somehow get past my chicken fixation. My pal Bethanne had just the thing. I may have been visiting D.C. on business last week, but we snuck in a purely personal side trip to Vietnam -- by way of the Fall's Church Eden Center.

Crammed with 120 different stores, ranging from bakeries that offered delicacies such as Taro Cake and Durian Shakes to a series of music stores blaring Saigon's hottest bands, it definitely felt like I should have brought my passport.

Instead, I simply came hungry.

A little hole in the wall quickly took care of my large appetite with a stellar sandwich - a Banh Mi filled with Shredded Pork from the lauded shop Nhu Lan. The bread was light and crisp on the outside, soft and ethereal on the inside. The vegetables where crisp, the spring of cilantro fragrant and the homemade mayo had an undeniable zing.

All in all, $3.00 well spent. And, now I guess I'm back on a pork kick...

Capitol Chicken

So, I go to D.C. for a meeting and where do I end up for dinner? Arlington, Virginia's favorite Peruvian poultry haunt El Pollo Rico. Clearly, I just can't get enough chicken. And, in all seriousness, I don't think I could ever get enough of this chicken!

Pictured above, this was one heck of a spit-roasted,cumin-dusted beauty. The golden French Fries which seemed to be deep-fried in it's decadent juices and the golden icy Inca Kola rounded out this scrumptious, finger-lickin' good meal.

How could it not be a bodacious bird, when it comes complete with spicy lime and mustardy mayo dipping sauces, as well as kudos from Anthony Bourdain and a confident URL that declares Ilovethischicken.com?

Now, I just need to find a Peruvian chicken joint that's on par with El Pollo Rico in NYC. Otherwise, I'll be angling for another meeting in our nation's capitol soon!

Mama Vamp To The Rescue

Sometimes a daughter can only find peace in her mother's arms. Or in my case, in the arms of Mama Vamp's home turf of Philadelphia.

The weekend started easily enough with a basic Cheeseburger at Pub & Kitchen followed by a stroll down Antique Row and a jewelry spree at the enchanting, glittering, bling den that is Halloween.

I began to feel at ease.

The evening introduced us to a new Mexican hot spot on Head House Square called Xochitl, where Mama Vamp finally gained respect for bona fide Guacamole and we both took solace in sublime Nuevo Mexicano fare and tequila-laden Sandia cocktails with fresh-squeezed Watermelon juice.

I felt my equilibrium returning.

The next day brought another guest to Mama Vamp's doorstep, her BFF Christina. Now that the musketeers were complete, the real fun began, including window shopping, not so window shopping, an educational stop at the National Constitution Center that had Mama Vamp crying at "We the people," and a brilliant lunch at Chifa, a sumptuous Peruvian-Chinese dining establishment that had us a "Hola."

Among the treats that we devoured was a plate of golden brown Empanadas stuffed with Lump Crabmeat sitting atop a sunset-colored Sweet Chili Sauce (pictured above). The Sweet and Sour Glazed Pork Ribs with Daikon Salad and Soy Nuts also delighted. As did the Lomo Saltado, with its slice of rare steak and a crisp vegetable saute.

But, it was the decadent, simply-named Shrimp Noodle Bowl that made us swoon. The combination of flat white noodles, rocoto cream, shrimp, bacon, parmesan and green peas didn't sound like much, but it was SO very much. Very, very, very much.

I'm swooning now just thinking about it.

Between all the swooning and the bottle of Pinot Gris we downed, the rest is a bit of a blur. A blur I returned from with my breathing abilities fully intact.

My taste buds too.

Thanks Mom!

Is Frank Bruni On Crack Cocaine?

I was going to be quiet about the whole ordeal.

No - not agitation over the Times' announcement that Bruni is leaving his food critic post in August. Quite the opposite.

You may have noticed that I didn't write about my final dinner in Napa. I did so on purpose. It was a dismal experience. Unexpected to say the least. Especially because Frank Bruni had declared the restaurant of choice -- Ubuntu -- to be the second best new restaurant in the U.S. outside of New York City.

I would have remained silent, if this Sunday's New York Times Magazine hadn't suddenly regaled it once again, this time in a Spaghetti Primavera Recipe Redux.

So, I am silent no longer and here is the tale that must be told...

We were on a gal's getaway weekend in Napa. We were excited. NYT Food Critic Frank Bruni had extolled this gourmet restaurant-slash-yoga studio. It sounded all sorts of California crunchy-granola in a glorious straight-from-the-farm haute cuisine kind of way, and we'd nabbed a coveted 8 o'clock Saturday table for two.

But, after a pitiful repast at Ubuntu with my pal Karen -- a professional food writer at that -- our dream of a fabulous foodie weekend finale was dashed. Moreover, it was clear that something was terribly wrong with Bruni. Either his taste-buds had died somewhere between the tarmac at JFK and California wine country or he had a crack cocaine habit that he desperately needed kick.

Any which way, our meal was a disaster.

I should have know. The menu offered a salad composed of leaves, flowers, roots and hazelnut “soil.”

C'mon! HAZELNUT "SOIL?" The air quotes and biodynamic, downward-facing-dog pretension jumped off the page and onto the plate.

Luckily for us, not on our plate, but that of a neighboring couple. The waitress arrived with a dish containing what looked like a slice of suburban lawn and laid it down on the table with a flourish. The couple stared at the greenery dotted with nasturtium, then worked up the nerve to brave a taste -- after which they promptly plopped their forks down, never to lift them again.

The Artichoke Salad that Karen and I ordered seemed more appealing, but the app's flavorless and mushy main ingredient had us plopping down our forks as well.

The rest of the meal was equally regrettable. Even the restaurant's most famous dish, Cauliflower in Cast Iron Pot, was a textural mish-mash. And, although seasoned with a variety of Indian-influenced spices, we couldn't find a high-note among them.

It was sad. Very sad.

What made it sadder was the table to the other side of us, with ooh-ing and aah-ing patrons totally captivated by the restaurant's ethos, enraptured simply by the idea that a dish on the menu contained BOTH mint and coriander.

WOW!

I smirked. Karen's eyes rolled. Then the giggling began.

Clearly our time at Ubuntu had come to a close. We beckoned for the check and hit the streets -- unsurprisingly, in search of a late night burger.

Checking In & Checking It Out

And so the gal's weekend in California wine country began.

Karen and I made our way to the charming and historic Napa River Inn, where we delighted in our luxurious accomodations, the ample marble bathroom and the comfy beds outfitted with goosedown and such, and even the soft echoes of "choo-choo" emanating from the Napa Wine Train across the river. The only drawback? The room's working fireplace, which both made us regret that we were on a gal's weekend instead of a romantic escape.

Still, we made more than the best of it. Much more...

*Visiting Clos de Val for a wine tasting and oddly enchanting decanter demonstration involving a glass dreidel.

*Hitting a strip mall in Napa, only to find kickin' Memphis-style Baby Back Ribs and Painted Hills Brisket tucked in between the Target and Trader Joe's at the beloved barbecue joint BarbersQ.

*Being befuddled by the pirates "search for the booty" theme treasure hunt at Pine Ridge Winery for the Stag's Leap District Winegrowers Association V2V open tours.

*Tucking into a tender House-Cured Ham and Egg Salad Sandwich from the Oxbow Public Market charcuterie fave Fatted Calf (pictured below), while I pick up the latest issue of Meatpaper Magazine.

*Looking deeply into the mesmerizing gaze of a blue-eyed winemaker at Robert Sinskey Vineyards. Recognizing a wild flirt when we see one, Karen and I turning heel to focus on the winery's mesmerizing Abraxas, with hints of exotic spice and white nectarines.

*Being told we smelled wonderful by a busboy at dinner at the much-lauded Redd, where the Carnaroli Risotto with Maine Lobster and Truffle Oil was sublime, the Halibut with Sunchoke Ravioli ho-hum, and dessert of Strawberry Pain Perdu perfection.

*Realizing that we are being unwittingly followed by a burly blue-shirted gent and his Flamingo bedazzled wife, as we hopped from Stag's Leap Winery to Shafer to Regusci Winery, all the while enjoying the breathtaking vineyard views.

The finest vino experience during our stay? Not at a vineyard at all. Got you curious now, don't I? Stay tuned...

By The Bay In A New York Minute

My time in San Fran went by in a flash. Then again, I did only have a mere day and a half to log in before heading out the wine country.

Nonetheless, in between business and such, I did get a sampling of the city -- and a tail of the city too. As seen above, I was lucky enough to meet a royal figure at the Hotel Rex: a majestic, wrinkly pooch named Max. Quite the scamp with one soulful set of eyes, I almost ended up throwing him in my satchel and taking him with, but his Front Desk Manager owner kept too watchful an eye.

Guess I'll simply have to make do with my own Max back in Brooklyn. But it's not exactly like he inspires a petting session. A cocktail -- yes. A real tail -- no.

I also hit the Ferry Market Building and SFMOMA, but of course the real Bay Area bliss was to be had when I arrived at Zuni with my longtime pals Hi and Ho in tow.

I'm a sucker for classic comforts. A beginning of briny, sweet oysters and a shared Caesar Salad started us off well.

Then, of course, came the Chicken with Bread Salad.

It was delish.

That said (dare I say it?), I do think my riff on this bird is a bit better. Guess Hi and Ho have no choice now, but to visit me in New York for a taste test comparison.