It had been one of those days. I woke up just NEEDING something hot, something prepared freshly for me, something rich, something expertly conceived. Don’t get me wrong; I could be the spokesperson of Reese’s Puffs, that’s how extreme my silly love is for that cereal. But I woke up that morning and couldn’t bear to stick a spoonful of it in my mouth. I wanted something singular.
Flash forward to around lunchtime. I threw together some instant grits (not as good as the slow-cooked kind, but still, I’m a HUGE sucker for a bowl of grits) with Ryals cajun goat cheese (I go weak in the knees!) and a dollop of hot sauce just to round it out. Now for most people — and, on most days, for me — that would’ve been perfectly fine. But that day, I could only lament on the devastating lack of andouille sausage in that bowl of gritty wonders.
It is clear to me now that I must have been suffering a protein defiency, but I guess when you are in the middle of such a thing, such facts don’t register.
Now, I tell you all of this to set the stage, to help you feel a vicarious appreciation for the beacon of hope that dinner that night provided for me. My mom and I had been planning to go out for a yummy, celebratory-of-life kind of dinner with family friends Jessica and Stephen. Neil, my mom’s boyfriend, tagged along too. ANYWAY: we tossed around several ideas. Tan Dinh? As much as I wanted to try it out (providentially, I read this review on it a week later), Vietnamese food was just not going to cut it for me. We ultimately abandoned all hope of trying out a restaurant that was new to all five of us in favor of a dinner at old neighborhood favorite Dick and Jenny’s.
This is the part in my post where I apologize for having been so hungry that I forgot to take my camera to the restaurant with me.
To start, Mom and I split two appetizers: corn-fried Louisiana oysters (SO GOOD RIGHT NOW) with southern slaw and New Orleans remoulade as well as duck confit cigars with plum sauce. The oysters were delivered to my spot so they were my first bite of the savory, expertly conceived, specially prepared dinner that every ounce of me had been craving. The thing about oysters is that I believe it’s easy to go wrong with them if they are not inherently good — you know, all the rules about only eating them in months with an R, etc. — but that when you get your hands on the succulent, Platonic kind of oyster, you have to do very little to glorify it (or, as Tom Colicchio would say, honor it). The chefs at Dick and Jenny’s clearly understand this: the cornmeal batter was tastefully moderate, not overbearing and thick as cornmeal batter tends to be, offering a pleasant first-impression crunch that graciously gave way to the velvety oyster underneath (although it did leave a lingering sweetness). I didn’t go nuts for the slaw; it wasn’t that different to me from typical cole slaw, and while I am absolutely in love with the cabbage my mom cooks at New Year’s (mmmm garlic and Crystal hot sauce), cole slaw just rarely does it for me. The remoulade was VERY dijon-y, to my delight.
The cigars were delicious — just little starchy tubes (quesadilla-like, but not) that were there strictly as a conduit for the duck. I ask you this one question: HOW CAN YOU GO WRONG WITH DUCK CONFIT?! A meat that is good on its own can only be exponentially better when it is cooked slowly in its own fat. I am just saying.
Anyway, to finish up with my remarks, the plum sauce was very sweet and very thick (as should be expected). I was glad I got first dibs on the oysters; I’ve never been a huge fan of plum sauce, although I do like in moderation and I did really like it when it was sparingly drizzled over the duck cigar.
AND ONTO THE ENTREE!!! I looked at the menu and immediately knew what I wanted: beef tenderloin with wild mushrooms, seared foie gras, potato gratin, and mustard greens. The foie made it more expensive than the other dishes, but I felt so carnally and viscerally attracted to this dish that I told my mother up-front that I’d reimburse her for it. She said that would not be necessary, as she wasn’t ravenous after the appetizers and a generous round or two of crumbly cornbread and thought she’d want to split it with me. This was a perfect plan.
The steak was, well, steak — except, OHMYGODSTEAKWHEREHAVEYOUBEENALLMYLIFE,ORATLEASTWHEREHAVEYOUBEENALLWEEK? Nom nom nom. I pounced and attacked, eating in ironically ladylike bites to maximize the ratio of foie gras and mushrooms to steak. That is what I call decadence. I, like my mom, prefer the littttttle bits of foie gras that kind of crumple off, as they are the most seared, meaning they are little packets of explosive flavor. Paired with the earthy, smoky, wine-y taste of the mushrooms, it was the steak’s soul mate. The gratin, too, was just utterly delightful, mainly comprised of goat cheese with a golden brown potato layer on the top. I have a deep respect for the density of potatoes, particularly when it is manifested in dishes like this: homey and oh-so-simple, made all the more delicious by goat cheese’s splendid creaminess. Um, the greens were kind of throwaway to me. I will talk more about this later on this week, but I often find that Southern-style cooked greens are not nearly as appealing as crisp salads. My only spoiler is that I have been proven wrong.
Dick and Jenny’s, located on Tchoupitoulas right by Napoleon, is in a charming little yellow house that just reinforces the cozy ambiance. The main dining room is airy but not ethereal, with wooden paneling and furniture keeping that same vibe. They don’t take reservations, but part of the fun is sitting on a silly porch swing or wicker chair and sipping Shirley Temple (my beverage of choice that night… I was very off in all ways, apparently) as you wait idly for your table. Go.
