Category: New Orleans

Rest in Peace, You Ladies of the Kitchen and Table: Bidding Farewell to Raffetto, Council, Kafka, and Brennan

It gives me solace that they each lived a long life, these woman whose cooking and writing and spirit gave happiness and nourishment to so many. Pasta, fried chicken livers, a recipe for shrimp and asparagus with sorrel, and eggs Sardou: these things are evocative entry points to, respectively, Romana Raffetto, Mildred Council, Barbara Kafka, and Ella Brennan, four women whose legacies won’t soon fade. Losing them all within the space of a few weeks is a tough blow, but let’s try to celebrate the exuberance and love of food they displayed.

One of my favorite things to do in New York is to walk the streets of the West Village and make the rounds of my shops, including Murray’s, Faicco’s, and Ottomanelli & Sons. For pasta, when I did not want to make my own, or lacked the time to do so, I would stop at Raffetto’s on West Houston Street, pasta whose quality never disappointed. Romana Raffetto, who passed away on May 25, was behind the counter on most days, talking to customers and extolling the virtues of her family’s products, which evolved over time to include all the shapes and types that are now ubiquitous in even the most pedestrian of grocery stores (think pumpkin ravioli and squid-ink tagliatelle). The store, officially known as M. Raffetto & Bros., opened in 1906, and there’s no telling how many meals have been composed with Raffeto’s pastas and sauces since then. I enjoyed talking with Raffetto, and her pride in the store, and what her family had created, was obvious. (If you want to try a few things intriguingly delicious, order the following from Raffetto’s: pink sauce made with cognac, gorgonzola and walnut jumbo ravioli, and black squid Tagliarini all Chitarra. Those are my favorites.)

Romana Raffeto stands at the counter of her family’s store in 1978. (Photo courtesy Gino Raffeto)

Stores like Raffetto’s are national treasures, and in many cities are extinct, if they ever existed at all. As I write this, the aromas of that wondrous space in the West Village are all around me, and I know what one of my first stops will be the next time I am in New York. In the meantime, mail order will have to suffice.

Here’s a look at the place and the people behind it:

Mama Dip. What can you say about Mama Dip, otherwise known as Mildred Council? What about her Community Dinners? Or the courage and bravery she exhibited in choosing to end her marriage after 29 years, in 1976, having endured emotional and physical abuse? “The biggest turning point in my life was when I left my husband,” she told an interviewer in 1994. A cookbook that has so far sold 250,000 copies (“Mama Dip’s Kitchen”)? Fried chicken livers adored by Craig Claiborne (and thousands of other individuals)? How about the fact that she opened her first restaurant in 1976 and had but $40 to make breakfast, and at the end of that first day went home with $135? Her food was honest and filling and delicious and spoke of the lessons she learned cooking for her poor family, which she began to do at the age of 9, when her mother passed away. She was tall — 6 foot 2 — and she was loving and gracious, and Chapel Hill will never be the same.

“I’m not a chef. And I don’t like people to call me a chef because a chef is more like—I call them the artists,” Council told the Southern Foodways Alliance’s Amy C. Evans in a 2007 interview. “They have so much artist in them, artistic, ever what you call it. Artist, I guess, because they can just make things so pretty, you know. And I try to make things good.” Did she ever.

Mildred Council left countless fans and admirers, who will forever miss her cooking. (Image courtesy Mama Dip’s)

Barbara Kafka’s books sold millions of copies, and her advocacy of using a microwave to prepare food — she even used the appliance to deep-fry, alarming many and disgusting others — earned the disdain of many chefs, but the indefatigable author didn’t let the criticism bother her. She pushed on with her testing and writing and consulting, and in 2007 was awarded a Lifetime Achievement Award from the James Beard Foundation.

“I do try to write in English, I don’t write ‘kitchen’ and I don’t write French,” Kafka told an interviewer in 2005. “What’s wrong with saying matchsticks instead of julienne?” Clearly, her straightforward — many would say brash — approach spoke to legions of home cooks, who devoured her writing and learned their skills from her books and articles. She supported Citymeals on Wheels early on, spent thousands of hours testing recipes, and maintained a passion for the transformative power of food and cooking. If you like cookbooks with a definitive voice and point of view, Kafka’s are for you. And you know what? Though I do not use the microwave to deep-fry my chicken livers or cook artichokes, I do start my roast chickens at 500 Fahrenheit.

New Orleans is one of my favorite destinations for food and eating. I can still recall the first time my family visited the city; I could not have been more than 10, but the flavor and sights and smells are still vivid in my senses. Strong black coffee, beignets covered in powdered sugar, shrimp and gumbo and everywhere, it seemed, the sounds of jazz.

Ella Brennan and the Crescent City were made for one another, both colorful and romantic and stubborn. “Hurricane” Ella was definitely a force of nature, and her love of restaurants and the people who made them work is worthy of much admiration. Here is all she said at the podium at the 1993 James Beard Awards (Commander’s Palace picked up the Outstanding Service award that year): “I accept this award for every damn captain and waiter in the country.” Classy lady was she.

If you want to read a lively autobiography, get a copy of “Miss Ella of Commander’s Palace: I Don’t Want a Restaurant Where a Jazz Band Can’t Come Marching Through“. Then set aside a part of your evening and watch “Ella Brennan: Commanding the Table.”

The experience will be all the more pleasurable with Miss Ella’s Old Fashioned in hand, a fine drink with which to toast the memories of these four amazing and strong women.

Miss Ella’s Old Fashioned

Ingredients
2 ounces Bourbon
2-3 dashes Peychaud’s bitters
one half-cube sugar
lemon peel for garnish

Fill a rocks glass with ice and a touch of water. In a second rocks glass, muddle the sugar cube with Peychaud’s bitters , then add Bourbon. Swirl the ice in the first glass to chill it, then discard the ice and water. Pour the drink into the now-chilled glass. Run the lemon peel around the rim of the glass, then toss the peel into to the drink for garnish.

The Peacemaker

New Orleans was treating me well. I had arrived the night before, driving up from South Florida, and my first stop, directly off of the interstate, was Pêche, a new destination – it opened about three months ago – in the Link Restaurant Group, the people behind Herbsaint and several other places. If you are in New Orleans and want some great seafood, take a drive to Magazine Street and sit for a while in Pêche.

Looking for Walker Percy: The courtyard of Creole Gardens, a bed and breakfast in New Orleans.

Looking for Walker Percy: The courtyard of Creole Gardens, a bed and breakfast in New Orleans.

After oysters, smoked tuna dip, raw tuna with fennel, corn and tomato water, and excellent grouper collars, I drove the short distance to my inn, the Creole Gardens, and settled in for the evening, thinking of tomorrow’s meals. A comfortably shabby courtyard, complete with banana trees hanging with bunches of the fruit and a gurgling fountain, and a small but serviceable room, greeted me.

Up early the next morning, breakfast at the inn – grits, two eggs over easy and bacon. My mind wasn’t really on that food, though, because I was thinking about how long it would be before I could have lunch. You see, my plan was all about the po’ boy; specifically, one with the name “Peacemaker” made at Mahony’s, a restaurant I knew of and one of the meals recommended to me by John T. Edge when I asked him “If you could eat three meals in New Orleans now, where would you go?” (Pêche and Brigtsen’s were the other two.) I had read about the Peacemaker a few years ago, and that, along with John’s input, resulted in Mahony’s getting my business in a po’ boy-rich city.

You must go here when in New Orleans.

This sign guides you to one fine  po’ boy.

I made the right decision. Mahony’s is also on Magazine, in a non-descript house with a welcoming front porch that allows for outdoor dining. Wooden flooring, SEC football posters on the walls, condiments stored in six-pack containers. You place your order at the end of the bar, give your name, and wait for the goodness to come out of the kitchen. The Peacemaker is “market price,” owing to the fried oysters that are key to its deliciousness. It comes in large and small, and I ordered a small, knowing dinner was still on the agenda. Pickles and mayo, please, hold the lettuce and tomato. I took a seat, looking forward to the sandwich.

A few minutes later the cook delivered it to me, wrapped in white butcher paper. I opened it and inhaled, then slowly took the first bite. Perfect muffaletta with sesame seeds, slightly warm, the proper level of chewiness. (Mahony’s get its bread from the Leidenheimer Baking Company, which was founded in 1896 by George Leidenheimer, who was from Deidesheim, Germany, a city near where I lived in Germany.) I asked for a side of mayonnaise and settled in for a leisurely meal. The Abita Amber was a good complement.

The Peacemaker, closed view

The Peacemaker, closed view

Not the most visually appealing image, but once this is in your mouth you will be in heaven, guaranteed.

Not the most visually appealing image, but once this is in your mouth you will be in heaven, guaranteed.

What we have: three or four fried oysters, cheddar cheese, and two slices of bacon. And we also have something approaching perfection. Oysters cooked with aplomb, crisp on the outside, warm and soft interiors. The bacon combined with the oysters to create a great taste. Even the small pickles added their element, turning these ingredients into something really special. My only thought other than “This is excellent” was that a better grade of cheese would make this po’ boy even better. The cheese resembled the Boar’s Head variety, and alone had an unremarkable taste. Perhaps a goat cheese, or a sharp cheddar. But, minor quibble aside, I would without hesitation enjoy a regular appointment at Mahony’s.

Oh yes, the name. Peacemaker. You might be wondering about that. I asked a waitress and she told me that she had heard it was because when musicians would stay out late at night playing and doing other things that happen at night they would stop by Mahony’s and take one home as a peace offering to their significant other, thereby keeping the peace, at least as long as that po’ boy lasted.

The perfect way to arrive in New Orleans

I  drove up from lower Florida yesterday – that state is too long – headed to New Orleans, where I am spending two days on my way to Houston, so I asked my friend John T. Edge where he would eat now if he could have three meals in the Crescent City. Pêche, one of his picks, was my destination last night, so I made sure I drove rapidly enough to make it in time for dinner. It’s on Magazine Street, and as I approached the building I spied a parking spot directly in front of the restaurant’s main entrance. I took it, got out of the car, and marveled at my luck. As I shook off the road two young guys who were smoking on the sidewalk asked me if I was “from around here”. I told them no, that I had just arrived from Florida … they were bartenders, in town for Tales of the Cocktail, a five-day convention/festival. So, not only do I find a parking spot right outside the restaurant, but I arrive in New Orleans on the opening day of an event dedicated to mixology … That is the perfect way to arrive.

I took a seat at the raw bar and scanned the the crowd; the place was packed, loud, the the diners ran the gamut from old to young, hipster to grandparents. John’s recommendation, as I knew it would be, was sublime. I started with a small bowl of smoked tuna dip, which contained a hint of heat – perhaps jalapeño – and was a creamy delight on the Saltines that accompanied it.

The oysters looked good as they were shucked in front of me, so I chose six: Blue Points from Connecticut, Louisiana Area 3, and St. James (Virginia.) Cold, crisp, revivifying. Eating them drove the long drive right out of me.

Blue Points, Louisiana Area 3, a St. James (Virginia)

Blue Points (Connecticut), Louisiana Area 3, and St. James (Virginia)

Next came raw tuna with fennel, tomato water and corn (and a little basil thrown in). Again, amazing, fresh flavors. Tuna was a bit warm for my taste, but that was probably because I took my time with the dip and oysters before I proceeded to that plate.

Tuna, fennel, tomato water and corn

Tuna, fennel, tomato water and corn

I then took a pause and perused the menu, considering the Louisiana Shrimp Roll before deciding on the Grouper Collars. I am very fond of Hake Cheeks, which I ate often in San Sebastián, so I thought I would give the grouper a try. It was a good choice. Served with tomato and cucumber and parsley, fried to the perfect level of crispiness, full of tender, rich meat.

Grouper collars, pepper jelly, and cucumbers

Grouper collars, pepper jelly, and cucumbers

Bartenders surrounded me, I was finishing a glass of Albariño, and New Orleans was just outside. It was a perfect evening. Donald Link, Stephen Stryjewski, and Ryan Prewitt have a new winner on their hands.

© 2024 Mise en Place

Theme by Anders NorenUp ↑