Emeril’s NOLA
NOLA
534 Saint Louis St.
New Orleans, LA 70130
ph: 504 522 6652
http://www.emerils.com/restaurant/2/NOLA-Restaurant/
I gotta tell ya, when I actually lived in New Orleans I avoided this place. Now, to be honest, I kind of wanted to know what all the hype was about, but pre-Katrina crowds (and the general animosity of New Orleaninians to Mr. Lagasse) kept me away.
Well, it’s three years after the hurricane, the economy is in the dumpster, and there just aren’t the kind of rabid, Emeril-obsessed masses that there used to be. As a result, it was too easy to slip into an empty barstool on a Wednesday night and let my first impressions of this neo-classic joint wash over me.
My bartender was fast, attentive, and able. My Grey Goose martini (sorry, Dad), was close to perfect, and, paired with an Italian sparkling water called (jesus, how do I talk about imported sparkling water without sounding like a blow-hard elitist(?)) Biogenisi L’Acqua, that was so clean, so mineral-free, so sodium-less…it was a freaking dream. And man did that stuff get the vodka into my blood quickly. NICE.
First course: Pan Roasted Crab Cake with Smokey Eggplant Puree, Feta Cheese, Kalamata Olives, Crispy Spinach and Citrus Butter
Verdict: Well, somehow “pan roasted” turned into “deep fried,” which isn’t something I’m about to object to. However, it did appear a bit OVER-fried, and that had me somewhat concerned. However, it really turned out to be much like the crab balls that I’ve had along the Louisiana coast in grovelly little schwag shacks. That is to say, it smacked of the genuine local article, which was a real pleasure. The mediterranean milieu was a bit off balance, but that isn’t to say it wasn’t good. Especially the citrus butter. Funny that.
Main Course: Buttermilk Fried Breast of Chicken with Bourbon Mashed Sweet Potatoes, Smithfield Ham Cream Gravy and Sautéed Sugar Snap Peas
Verdict: Now, I generally steer away from fried chicken, because I get the hee-bees from grinding on dark meat bird limbs, and the part that I like the most (the batter!!!) is always seared to the skin. And, well, I don’t like to eat skin. It’s skin, for the love of god. But Monsieur Lagasse has had a contemporary brainstorm, and features his fried chicken as skinless breasts, sans dark meat, sans bone, sans epiderm. BUT, the crinkly southern batter is there in spades in the way that Shake ‘n’ Bake always looked like it would be in the commercials but never was when mom had her way with it. Teamed with the sweet mashers and the hammy cream sauce, this dish rocked. I didn’t eat it all because it was huge and even without the skin I didn’t think my arteries deserved that much coating, but every bite was pleasure. A triumph!
Peanut Butter Pie and booze
Desert Course: Chocolate covered peanut butter pie
Verdict: Yeah, I should have been done. I usually only glance at a desert menu to let the waiter think I’m humoring my wife (who really doesn’t care for dessert), when I’m really looking for some sugar to go with that caffeine I’m going to order. The NOLA Coffee, which seemed to be half a glass of Amaretto with a splash of coffee and that rich, butter-like whipped cream they serve in this town, was a fine accompaniment to the pie. The pie was the best Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup I’ve ever had, served with fresh blueberries and strawberries and more of that obscene whipped cream. Terribly delicious.
Emeril’s NOLA verdict: Well, I guess I shouldn’t have avoided it so long. I must concede its deliciousness. It’s also a great space, old-school brick-front real estate that blends classic French Quarter skank with the expected nouvea chic. The service was excellent, and that is saying something as this is New Orleans, after all.
-Bryan Fryklund
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