After a night in Cajun Country, celebrating the wedding of two very special people, the remaining reunited college friends set off for a little New Orleans magic. This city doesn't disappoint...it just doesn't. With my dearest friends Katie, Emily, and Louise (missing a K and a J, but with a couple of men in tow), I hit the streets and the kitchens I love and wanted to get to know.
We started at Domenica, that John Besh spot that so reminds me of the food from that other restaurant but with a slightly different sensibility. That I love. The chicken liver pate (above) surprised...super smooth, with tangy caperberries and hard-boiled eggs, and finger-lickin' good.
Then the octopus carpaccio, which never surprises.
Because it's always so dang good. A few more appetizers, like this burrata with tomatoes and pesto (no way on earth that could be bad), and we hit the road to pursue slightly less *guaranteed* results.
What does that mean? That means Sylvain, a newbie, a darling of the French Quarter and of the city's chefs. We called ahead. They told us not to come. We came anyway.
To be fair, it was the night of the Final Four. There were a lot of drunk, hungry people stumbling around. But we were more hungry and less drunk, which is perhaps why they ended up letting us sit down with the stipulation that only one plate could be ordered (among 5 people).
We chose the pork roulades, on the recommendation of our waitress, which were served over polenta and deliciously rich collards. The serving was huge, the pork and veggies divine. And we were also allowed to pay $90 for a bottle of champagne and a plate heaped with French fries. And if that comes off sarcastic, well, it's not.
A night in the French Quarter, in a courtyard, listening to fireworks and drinking champagne, is priceless.