Short note: First of all, thanks for reading and subscribing, we had a great launch here at HM. Secondly, sorry for not posting last week. Some screenwriting duties kept me busy.
OK…let’s talk about Luke
In a city that is full of restaurants old enough to have once catered to the horse-and-buggy crowd, any mention of the supremacy of the new usually elicits an eye-roll or is dismissed outright. “But TRADITION” they sputter.
The old-timers are not to be ignored. Whether it’s elder statesman Antoine’s (NOLA’s oldest restaurant), with their renowned French-Creole cuisine, including favorites Oysters Rockefeller, Eggs Sardou (poached eggs over artichokes, with anchovies), or Pommes de Terre Souffles, a puffed potatoes dish they create, or Brennan’s, with their beloved dessert cart where they’ll flash-fire your Bananas Foster so close to the table you have to double-check your eyebrows are still there, each of the Crescent City’s long-standing joints are must-visit locations.
But Luke, a block or so away The French Quarter, on Saint Charles Ave, is the best restaurant the city has to offer. Full stop. Open since 2007 - I know, it’s not that new, but, again, compared to the competition, Luke is still a baby - the eatery, led by Executive Chef Erik Loos IV, aims to bring back the spirit of the Franco-German brasseries that once ruled the New Orleans culinary scene.
Per their website, Chef Erik has proudly created meals for “heads of state, lunches with first ladies, weddings, and other functions both large and small with professionalism and poise.” Well, now he can say with utmost pride that he fed a guy in a horse mask. What an honor!
And I want to start this short review by giving complete credit to my wife for picking this spot. A talented chef in her own right, she has a Bloodhound’s nose for great food (Author’s note: that was a metaphor. Her nose is totally human-looking and we find her to be a quite beautiful woman). When she gets passionate about a place she’s discovered, either via Yelp, Instagram, or another trusted soul’s word, I listen. While I was planning out Po’ Boy pitstops and booking brunch at The Court of Two Sisters (wish I hadn’t, will write about in another post), she only had one destination on the mind: Luke.
Let’s just get to what we ate. Each item was so fantastic I can barely come up with any jokes for this piece. That’s respect.
Luke has an excellent Raw Bar section. Tempted as we were by the smoked Redfish dip, accompanied with toasted in bacon fat saltines, we went with a dozen of P&J oysters. The wife and I sucked those down, chased with a glass of Ugni Blanc for the lady, a club soda for old John Barleycorn over here.
Next came what can only be described as the perfect bite: Pâté of Louisiana Rabbit & Chicken Livers. With a intoxicating perfume of truffles, we smeared this silky-smooth treat across buttery garlic bread. Each bite cemented the idea that this dish, and this dish only, would be my last meal if, for whatever reason, I were to end up on Death Row and today was hanging day.
As a bit of a palate cleanser, and for the sake of heart-health, I guess, we then proceeded to munch on the Luke Salad. Perfectly tossed in a creamy buttermilk dressing, the Bibi lettuce salad, cheery tomatoes, and picked beets was a nice interval between the opening courses and what was to come next. Something so good, I had to rethink that multiple-murder-get-caught-plead-guilty-and-enjoy-rabbit-pâté idea I had hatched only ten minutes before.
Luke serves the best Shrimp and Grits this struggling comedian and out-of-print author has ever enjoyed. The gooey roasted jalapeño cheese grits, with strands of cheese so thick you could zip-line from the fork to the cast iron dish, was worth the schlep on foot from our hotel. But it was the chunks of green onion sausage coupled with the plump Gulf Coast shrimp that sealed the meal for me. Fucking hell, if you come to New Orleans and don’t try this dish, you can lose my number. How did you even get my number to begin with?
My wife had gone with the Grilled Gulf Swordfish for her entree. And while she professed to how perfectly cooked the fish was, I caught her eyeing my dish more than a few times. Not today, lady, not today. This one is all mine.
Dessert came to us in a form of a rich and decadent chocolate lava cake with bourbon ice cream. Is there anything more sensual than pressing your fork into a molten cake, watching that dark mocha ganache slowly ooze out like lava that covered the victims of Pompeii? Well, maybe for you there is. I have a dark (chocolate) sense of humor. Either way, this was a fantastic conclusion to our stop at Luke.
Thanks for reading and tune in next week! Please check out my latest episode of The Horse’s Mouth.