Acadiana

My top 100 breakneck pace--and subsequent laziness in writing up my dinners in a timely fashion--isn't doing justice to the lovely company I keep and the delicious food I eat. But, since today I'm going out with two other lovely people, I have to keep to my self-imposed deadline of writing before eating out again. This pathetic lead-up is not meant to suggest that my most recent dinner, Acadiana, was anything to scoff at.

It was a great dinner... quick, undulating conversation covering a variety of subjects; avid, hospitable food sharing; great cocktails; and a lovely bathroom. This was noticed by two members of our party (granted, both female).

I started with a Pimm's Cup. It was Friday night and wine didn't seem appropriate at a place with Abita's full beer offerings on tap and sculptured cherubs more often seen in above-ground cemeteries. I salvaged every cucumber cube from the bottom of the glass.

Next was a river tea, before sitting down. I wanted to get my metro ticket's worth. The river tea features Firefly sweet tea vodka, lemonade, and soda water.

Acadiana is a Southern restaurant, of which there are several in the DC area, but it's more specifically and more successfully a New Orleans restaurant. There's grits and collards on the menu (Sue taught me I can just call them collards), but the ethos for eating that type of food slowly becomes evident eating at a place like this. The clientele is a bit older, there are regulars at the bar, the dining rooms are classy and antebellum, and the arrangement of tables facilitate the types of conversations one has in New Orleans: raucous, intimate, telling, friendly ones.

Designated holder for the third (arguably most important) condiment

My delightful friends entertained my ordering two waves of appetizers. We started first with buttermilk biscuits with a butter/pepper jelly accompaniment.

Mike suggested we get the oysters Rockefeller, what he noted were a prized item at New Orleans' Acme Oyster House (incidentally, where in the pre-blog era I photographed my gumbo while there for the ill-fated OU/LSU national championship). The oysters were juicy and crispy and sinfully unseafoody.

We ordered the buffalo frog legs, which were mildly spicy with appropriately-greasy meat hanging off the bones (with a delicious, cabbage-heavy coleslaw).

My preferred first-wave appetizer was the trio of pies: a beef/pork pie ("natchitoches"), a crawfish pie and a vegetable pie, obligatorily accompanied by a black pepper buttermilk sauce. They were flaky, overstuffed, and generously delicious.

Mike and Sue made better choices with the next round. Mike got the "grillades and grits," sauteed veal medallions with cheese grits, sauteed spinach, and pan gravy. This was enviable seemingly-home-cooked meal number one.

Sue got the pan-crisped roasted duck with dirty rice and collards. This bird was not shy and subsumed the entire plate, with its tender meat and deliciously crispy skin.

Foolish amateur food critic, in the meantime, decided to continue ordering appetizers, mostly because she couldn't decide. I got the turtle soup, which was good for about the first three bites, until I realized it was better with sherry for the subsequent four bites. It tasted like a beef stew, but being dark and dense, its contents were unnervingly unclear and not noticeably reptilian. It was worth a taste but not much more.

To complement that foolish decision, I ordered the boudin balls. Boudin, turns out, is less nefarious than I thought. I always thought it was blood sausage, but the waitress noted it was veal and pork. She told us that because I ate one bite and made the same face I made 10 years ago when I was forced to eat canned, vinegared beets. Well, she didn't see that part but saw the subsequent response, not eating any more than the one boudin-ball bite.

The waitress, who mostly-charmingly told us longer and longer stories at the evening went on, took it off the bill, which was most appreciated. I considered ordering two desserts with my new found credit but ended up getting the vanilla bread pudding with bourbon cream and praline ice cream. It was delicious but fairly mediocre, consisting mostly of sugar and bread and not the more interesting things, combinations, and proportions that find themselves in bread pudding.

More cleverly, Sue got the chocolate doberge cake with pineapple confit and Tahitian vanilla ice cream. The ice cream was as smooth and exotic as its name sounds.

Mike got another variation on vanilla, the bourbon vanilla bean creme brulee. It was incredibly smooth and beautiful arrayed.

I know what it means to miss New Orleans, Harry.