We started with specialty cocktails and then ordered an excellent, reasonably priced Cotes du Rhone with dinner. Shared appetizers of fried boudin balls(!), charred okra, pork cheeks with pickles, and charbroiled oysters (a local specialty) were accompanied by some expertly done dinner rolls. It was all good, but everyone at the table agreed we like our oysters raw and un-gussied, without butter et al. We also observed that previous meals elsewhere had been heavily salted, like the current okra dish. None of us are anti-salt, and The Skipper is definitely pro-salt, but even he thought the seasoning was a little heavy. Maybe this is a regional taste we have not yet acquired.
My pillow-y biscuit-dumplings topped chunks of rabbit with white turnips and carrots in a medium-thick, thyme-flavored gravy. An additional side of grits were the consistency and sweetness of ice milk ice cream and second only to Maurepas’ grits. There were two pork-themed plates and one fried soft shell crab entree. Again, all good. Looking at his pork cracklin’ the size of a jib sheet, The Skipper was mystified. Tabasco! These were seriously crunchy skins, not air-puffed hoo-ha from the gas station. The desserts looked good, but we were too full to do them justice.
After a drink at the hotel bar (the bar couldn’t do dark and stormies or Pimm’s or sazeracs – WTF?), the party broke up. The Skipper and I couldn’t deal with our hermetic hotel box, so we went for a walk. It was late and Decatur Street was shutting down, but not Bourbon. The Saints won that night, and the party was in full swing. Erin Rose was relatively quiet, so we had a drink and caught a cab back.