I wanted to go to the beach, to Mississippi, with Jesse in the middle of the week. But I couldn't get off from work so maybe another week. Ironically, Jesse and I spent dinner this evening at MiLa, named for Mississippi and Louisiana.
I'm not as well-traveled as I'd like to be, but I think I can say that only in New Orleans, on a Monday night anticipating torrential rain, would we have trouble getting a table.
After Jesse met me at work, we discussed what our dinner plans were. We went back and forth about cooking at home, ordering delivery, and making it to one of our neighborhood staples or an unexperienced eatery. Since moving into the CBD, I have often criticized the choices as either too touristy or too expensive to go to on just any night of the week. But, as we walked Saki, we thought, Mike's on the Avenue? Herbsaint? Yokohama? Ste. Marie? Reginelli's? We didn't want to drive back Uptown, but we knew the rain would prevent us from eating outside or venturing too far on foot. When we finally decided that we would go out instead of making grilled portobello and cheese sandwiches and warming up store-bought creamy tomato basil, Jesse said he knew where we were going. He had eaten there the week before, and so now, he was going to surprise me. We began to walk in the direction, and I guessed at it. He was taking me to Delmonico's, an Italian countryside-inspired John Besh restaurant, located in the Roosevelt Hotel. Unfortunately, the hostess asked us if we had a reservation, and when we answered, "no," we were informed that there would not be a free table until 9. So then we decided to go across the street (one and a half blocks from our apartment) to MiLa. We had been in protest of MiLa, actually, for a while. Despite the quaint namesake's fresh, organic, local and celebrated menu, the product of a husband and wife chef partnering, we had not eaten there because MiLa offered foie gras. I had even written a strong email to the restaurant, expressing my distaste for such a barbaric practice. Later, a chef friend of mine had told us that the ducks and geese are not necessarily always force-fed, but you cannot really know unless you ask the kitchen staff. In any case, I don't know what changed our mind, maybe we were just really hungry. Maybe we didn't feel like sushi again (Yokohama, being right across the street in the other direction), but as we walked into the swanky hotel restaurant, we asked for a table and our request was met with a similar response, that it would be hard to squeeze us in. Luckily, the hostess had to take a phone call and a female server walked up to the front and asked us if we needed a table. We let her know what the hostess said, and the kind server offered to give us one of her tables. That was the beginning of a night of treats and surprises.
The wine menu was extensive, mainly by the bottle, but although there were 30 bottles under $30, we decided to stick with water. Later, perhaps we were a little regretful, but I still need to do schoolwork tonight and I have no tolerance and a soft spot for being tired. Jesse and I carefully deliberated, but agreed soon on two appetizers and an entree, all to share. After giving our server our choices, another server brought us an hors d'oeurve of lobster salad on a slice of cucumber. Jesse ate and liked [for the first time] cucumber. One bite for me because like sushi, I have a hard time sometimes taking a smaller bite without pulling a mess along with it (think seaweed wrap). Promptly after, our second server brought us a sampler bundle, sweet potato rolls and scallion corn bread served with two tiny cast iron pots of Louisiana cream butter and pureed lima beans. Essential butter, archetypal butter. The lima beans were simple yet so fresh. Homemade bread, enough said. And, these two offerings before we even got to the food we ordered. Next came the Oysters Rockefeller "Deconstructed" and the Vegetable Puree Soup. The soup was made of pureed beets, celery root, rhubarb and cream. Jesse loved it! I did, too, of course. But, Jesse eats a very select few vegetables. There was lump crab meat, green onion (maybe leeks?), spices, and melt-in your-mouth croutons centered in the bowl of warm squash-colored liquid. We fed each other the other's primary appetizer, though Jesse informed me is poor etiquette per a book he was reading today at Scriptura. When we finished, and I told Jesse that I was already starting to feel full, our shared entree was brought to the table. Sweet Potato Pappardelle. For those of you who don't know what pappardelle is (and we were included among you), it is a sheet pasta. Let me tell you, our divided portions of this vegetarian pasta were more than enough and a melee of delicious flavor. I am a fan! Oh, and the dishware was all very modern and put each of its contents as if on a pedestal, like an offering to a special guest. I have since contemplated what party/event might I host at MiLa.
By the end, maybe we shouldn't have, but we had to see the dessert menu. The choices were difficult, but we settled on our server's suggestion, the root beer float. As she promised, it was like nothing you'll have anywhere else. An ice-cream sandwich, smartly positioned in the middle of a glass-blown, square plate, its top and bottom crystalized sugar, reminiscent of the top of creme brulée. A fig-shaped, thawing root beer solid was perched on the ice cream sandwich. We were glad we ignored the lack of room we saved. And, when the bill came, we were pleasantly surprised, especially considering the fixe pris is $65 a person, and $100 a person with wine pairings. Because veal was essential to that menu, we did not go that route, and gladly so. Our choices suited us just right. Our ticket including tip was roughly the same price as the fixe pris sans wine.
I write too much to ever be a great food critic, but I thought I'd enjoy writing about our whim of a restaurant-going. I hope you enjoyed reading. I hope to get better. Oh, and I regret that we didn't have a camera when we went. We did not anticipate loving our Monday night dinner so much.
