A Pleasure Within A Pleasure. . .
This past weekend I was lucky enough to host an out-of-town accomplice who was irrational enough to take up my last minute offer of a fun-filled weekend of food, casual banter and hurricane. I mean really, who could ask for more? It's not often that she has time off from her executive industrial espionage position with a large, nationally-known health care provider and I think she as well as I needed a break from our collective norms to satisfy simple urges such as dining, laughing and being unique.
Saturday afternoon we dined at Mary Mahoney's, which is a bit of a tradition here on the coast and to be honest, other than the ambiance, there weren't many highlights to speak of. Seems everything came covered in what looked like biscuit gravy (aka groovy gravy), including the bread pudding. And my guest, bless her clandestine little heart, set a trend of being dripped upon by air conditioner vents which would become thematic as the weekend progressed. If you go to the Mary Mahoney's website, we sat at the window table in the first picture you see, frame right.
For our evening dinner I offered that we dine at 32 which is the steak/seafood house that sits atop the 32-story Imperial Palace casino/hotel in Biloxi. The current executive chef there cut his teeth in the Ritz-Carlton franchise, as did I, and had I known that beforehand I would have asked him out for some polite conversation as well as a trade or two of insider Ritz secrets and gossip.
I made reservations for 9:00, late yes, and we were delayed by countless obstacles and intrusions that kept us slightly askew from meeting our hard timetable. We called again to the restaurant informing them of our tardiness and they were more than accommodating.
We made our reservation under the name of Russell Jemson, as it is best to remain anonymous when traveling with my friend, who I shall refer to hereafter as Beatrice. There are many who know her, plenty that want to know her and few that REALLY know her.
Beatrice and Russell Jemson we were. And a fine looking couple we made, dressed to the max in our slacks, skirts, button downs, fancy socks and jewelry. The poor staff of 32 had no idea what was in store and frankly, neither did we. We arrived at 9:30, pensive and our ears popping after the rapid ascent in the elevator.
The dining room at 32 is built around the focal point of a glass and stainless wine storage room of some 5000 bottles outlined in burgundy-stained wood. Even at that late hour, the place was still jumping, roughly at 60 percent capacity, and several big-top tables were dining which added a nice jolt of energy to a rather dark and refined ambiance. There was a somewhat raucous nine-top right next to us with an old geezer who kept commenting on the young girls and their skirts at the Michael Bolton concert and the legs that were "up to here" gesturing around the chin area with his hand as he spoke. Free entertainment from the old folks home. What ambiance!
The maitre'd, whose name I don't recall was very accommodating and polite as we joked about a busy night and the unknowns of the restaurant business. She seated us at a spacious 4-top table, not with a window view of the vista, but hey, it's not always about vertigo. Soon after her departure the back waiter arrived taking away the extra, unnecessary dinner plates, glasses and flatware and offered us an option of tap or bottled water. We chose bottled and they served Acqua Panna.
The front waiter or maybe he was a captain named Tom, arrived to take our drink order and after a perusal of the wine offerings of which there are many, we settled on the 2002 Vine Cliff Merlot. The sommelier came with the bottle commenting that we picked the best Merlot in the house, either a lie or my dumb luck, and he opened the bottle expeditiously, poured a taste that I sampled.
The wine was full of tannins, but also a rich and complex flavor of coffee, berry, ash, charcoal, jujubees, currants, filibusters, galapagos turtles, sand, coriander, bilge water and earth. What the hell do I know?? It was a nice wine, just needed some time to breathe off the weird gases that collect inside. 45 minutes later, it was superb.
We chatted and laughed, gossiped and people watched. The ambiance was simply perfect. The tiny lights of the cityscape sparkled below and we listened intently at the the bellowing of the old pervert at the next table. The wait staff was smart enough to leave us alone for a while as we studied the menu which is beautifully ensconced inside of a brushed aluminum cover.
The selections were fairly typical for a steak/seafood house, yet a couple of items still managed to catch my eye like the Anise and Basil crusted tuna appetizer and the foie gras, but I was in the mood for flesh. I ordered the beef carpaccio. My accompa. . .my accompan. . .the woman with me ordered the lobster bisque. I also ordered the "thirty-two" salad informing the waiter that we were to share and finally, a medium filet mignon for her and a 2 minutes past medium-rare NY strip for me. Sorry, it sounds picky I know, but it's a chef thing.
As in all upscale restaurants the first course is actually a small gift of food from the kitchen known as the "amuse bouche" that translated from French means to amuse or please the mouth. The amuse bouche is usually some small item of food to tease and tantalize the taste buds prior to your meal, it's also a neat way for the chef to welcome you into his restaurant and a good indicator of things to come. If the chef can excite your mouth in one bite, there must be more good flavors on the horizon. Our amuse bouche was a simple preparation of tuna tartare on a crisp wafer of crostini. The tuna was delicately seasoned with ginger and garlic and had crunchy bits of red sweet pepper, onion and a leaf of cilantro as a garnish. Perfectly sublime and the essence of the amuse bouche. My guest, not normally one to partake in the consumption of raw foods was taken away to another world by the tuna. Good job chef!
The appetizers arrived about ten minutes later and this gave us plenty of time to enjoy the freshly baked bread basket that contained sun-dried foccacia, crusty ciabatta rolls, sliced baguettes and a sesame-crusted cracker-style flatbread. Very nicely done.
The appetizers came and the bisque was poured at the table immersing the lobster, brandy and herb garnish in a thick creamy deluge. My carpaccio was plentiful, served with crusty toast points and nice garnishes of sliced cherry tomato, petite cucumber orbs, mustard vinaigrette, fried shallots and what was pure ecstasy for me, beet sprouts. Phe-nom-enal! The bisque was also very well prepared, albeit maybe a little too thick, but hot, flavorful and rich as it should be. No complaints.
We ate and laughed, joked and told stories, shared our food delights, drank our wine and water and enjoyed what had begun as a beautiful evening of fine dining. Beatrice was trooper enough to again eat some raw foods by trying the carpaccio. The beef was just divine, fresh and heavily marbled, the subtle flavor of the meat not overpowered by the garnishes or the sauce. Very well done.
The waitstaff kept a close, but distant eye on us. Never intruding, but keeping glasses of water and wine full and only when it appeared that we were finished with our appetizers, did they approach and ask. The plates were cleared, appropriate flatware replaced and we waited for our next course. And this is where is gets important sports fans.
I asked for the "thirty-two" salad to share. Simply that. When the salad arrived, it had already been split for our convenience onto two separate plates. At this level of dining, this is what is referred to as "guest anticipation." I didn't ask for the salad to be split, I only admitted that we were to share. Good job Tom, damn good job.
The salads were beautifully composed, nested high on very cold plates and quite refreshing after the weight and substance of our appetizers. The "thirty-two" salad consists of mixed baby greens, including arugula, dressed in a simple and slightly sweet champagne vinaigrette served with Maytag blue cheese, candied pecans, grapefruit wedges. The greens were perfectly dressed, garden crisp, fresh and the simplicity of the vinaigrette really let the individual earthy flavors of the greens dominate the palate. Not just sayin' it to say it, but again a perfect accomplishment, plus bonus points for guest anticipation.
Again our plates were cleared, the table de-crumbed, and glasses refilled. As if on cue our entrees arrived. The steaks were plated nicely, centered on the plate with a garnish of steamed, sliced yellow squash and zucchini at the 12 o'clock position a stripe of the thick, house steak sauce along the 6 o'clock position and a drizzle of balsamic reduction and either basil or extra-virgin olive oil at 3 o'clock. They looked thoroughly delectable. I also ordered a side of haricot verts that arrived steaming hot, perfectly cooked and seasoned with coarse salt and olive oil. The only thing I forgot to ask for was a side of Bearnaise sauce. Tom, ever accommodating, returned promptly with a ramekin full of the beautiful, partially coagulated egg sauce known as Bearnaise. A sin within itself is Bearnaise and no fine piece of prime beef should be eaten without it.
The steaks were cooked perfectly. Beatrice's filet to medium and my NY strip to 2 minutes past medium-rare. Just perfect. Perfect. Perfect. I can't say anything more. The meat was soft, again heavily marbled, delicious, seasoned correctly. Again, they nailed it. The bearnaise was outstanding, the green beans perfect, the service exceptional. Can't say enough.
Our bellies were so full from all the great food that we could barely work through half of the steaks, but every bite was juicy, tender and satisfying. Tom approached after he noticed we stalled and jibed us a bit about our full plates, yet we had to decline a further bite.
After our plates were removed I ordered an espresso for a night cap and it arrived piping hot with a garnish of lemon zest and a swizzle stick of coarse brown sugar. The rich and thick espresso was just what I needed and I offered to Beatrice to race her downstairs. She in the elevator and I by stair. I think after that coffee I could have won.
Nights likes this almost, just almost make me long for the days of the white cloth of my chef's jacket and a kitchen to stand master over. Then I remember how pissed off I used to get when some smug bastard and his old lady would roll in late wanting a four-course meal at 10 o'clock at night. Ah, the fresh taste of hate! Nothing like it!
But before I digress too far into the complex world of chefdom, let me just say that our meal was as close to perfect as it could have been. The service, the ambiance, the wine and to food were all five-stars, 12 stars actually. To the staff, front and back, of 32 I say thank you and thank you and thank you for a job very well done. It's been a long time since I had a meal of such quality and service beyond expectation and to some of you long time readers, maybe this explains my disgust when some motorhead at McDonald's can't seem to get the cheese onto my biscuit in the mornings.
The stark and brutal difference between cooking, cooks, chefs and shoemakers.
