Big Bad Pop-Ups, Oxford, Mississippi

I experienced the most divine cauliflower of my life, on Thursday evening, at John Currence's Big Bad Pop-Ups concept. Brilliantly, this chef and entrepreneur invited four top chefs to Oxford including Elie Kirshtein, Kelly English, and the team of Andrew Ticer and Micheal Hudman, to host week-long pop up restaurants in his catering space, the Main Event.  Already equipped with a full kitchen, the site hosts a casual culinary theatre, Wednesday through Saturday, allowing locals to taste the food of a variety of chefs, all the while driving revenue and employing staff during a month-long kitchen renovation at his City Grocery restaurant.  

The pop-up concept grew out of a London trend almost ten years ago and has been used by restaurateurs to test concepts, sell investors, and provide a hip, new brand for younger audiences.
This week Elie Kirshtein crafted Israeli street food, featuring small plates such as a Turkish hummus served warm with paper-thin slices of toasted garlic, butter and paprika.  Unlike the typical grocery store cousin, this hummus was light, almost whipped, and creamy.  Our poor server nearly received a hand smack, when he very politely tried to take our plate away, prior to us cleaning the last dredges of garlicky goodness from the bowl with warm pita slices.

The cauliflower, whose tips seemed dredged in tahini, which when roasted created a crispy crust, was then tossed with shaved celery, parsley and toasted pine nuts.  Determined to recreate this bright and slightly citrus infused dish, I have thought of little else since Wednesday.  

Catbird Seat: Nashville, Tennessee

Tocai Frilano Cocktail

It looks like an Oreo, sitting on a perfect wooden block, waiting for us, as we emerge from the elevator, proceed down the trippy wallpapered hallway leading to the simple, clean, restaurant kitchen of Nashville's Catbird Seat, but expecting the unexpected, the treat is actually an earthy porcini mushroom biscuit filled with a smooth Parmesan cream.  And just like that, our minds are blown, and so goes the night. 

Located upstairs above the Patterson House, a local craft cocktail haven, the Catbird Seat is a culinary theatre in the round, seating 32 guests at a U shaped bar, intimately overlooking the kitchen.  The performers, led by chefs Erik Anderson and Josh Habiger, calmly wield tweezers, among other instruments to achieve artistic and gastronomic masterpieces.  The prix fixe menu is more than culinary genius, it is truly a transcendent experience. 

Nantucket Bay Scallops

Anticipating that this would be a memorable night, we opted for the reserve beverage pairing created by the talented beverage manager, Jane Lopes.  She started us with a cocktail of Tocai Frilano (Savignon Vert), Cocchi Americano, Mezcal with a splash of soda water and lime. 

Following the Oreos was a tongue-in-cheek plate featuring a play on mortadella, a cracker jack and hot chicken.   Elevating deli meat to an entirely new level, the house made mortadella was replete with pistachios, garnished with pickled ramps, and shaved Parmesan. A shitake mushroom cracker jack made with sorghum, was an elegant version of a childhood favorite.  Lastly, a riff on Nashville's famous hot chicken, a crispy slice of chicken skin was dusted with chili powder and finished with a dot of wonder bread puree.

Next up was my favorite of the eleven courses and not just because of my New England roots; raw Nantucket Bay scallops tasting briny and of the sea, were covered with paper-thin, lusciously red, slices of Mt. Rose apple, then topped with a dollop of Island Creek Oyster puree.  Also on the plate in an homage to oyster stuffing, was a cornbread dressing with a cube of delicate earl grey and chamomile jelly.  I grew up mere miles from Duxbury harbor, the home of Island Creek oysters, and possess a deep affinity for their product.  In a million years, I would never imagine fooling with such perfection in a shell, however I have since dreamed of mainlining that puree, directly from the pastry bag, on more than one  occasion.  This fall inspired, light dish was served with a Basa Juan Cider, that had a wonderful sweet and tart balance and a slight sparkle. 

Sunchoke Soup

Over a bowl filled with artichokes, roasted fennel, black olives, black truffle, and fermented black garlic, was poured a sunchoke and caramelized yogurt soup flavored with a little thyme oil.  The black garlic added a crunch and deep flavor that when combined with the truffles and the olives, worked symbiotically with the creamy soup. The rich flavors were complimented by a dry and fruity, 2008 Montinore Pinot Gris served, unexpectedly in a green chartreuse rinsed glass.

Golden Tilefish

Continuing onto the main courses, Golden Tilefish was delicately poached, and wrapped with a ribbon of chipotle, completed by an avocado puree, pickled baby onions and radishes and dusted with a coconut powder.  Admittedly, these ingredients sound incongruent, but together they created a buttery, crispy, spicy sonata, that paired nicely with a 2010 Weingut Robert Weil Riesling. 

It would not be a fall feast without fowl and for me this presented an opportunity to try a new bird. Roasted pigeon leg was served over a squab dashi, smoky oak broth with a hibiscus sugar-cured egg, nasturtium leaves, black trumpet and matsutake mushrooms and shaved tuna. The poultry was succulent and begged to be eaten from the bone.  A dry, French, 2010 Domaine Berthet-Bondet Cotes du Jura Rubis embraced the hearty dish.

Roasted Pigeon

Rare and marbled, a Wagyu beef filet, was served with red beets and sauce and topped with a fresh, house-made cow cheese, horseradish cream, and onions.  Yukon gold crispy potato chips added texture. The accompanying Sam Adams Imperial Series Double Bock served in an Aalburg Aquavit rinsed glass, may have spoiled me for life and helped me to discover a tolerable use for aquavit.

Wagyu Beef Filet

Our main courses behind us, we moved on to the deconstructed cheese course channeling the flavors of beer with roasted barley and oats.  This was paired with a sparkling Gruet Brut, mixed with honey, quince vinegar, and walnut liqueur. 

For dessert, we began with a beautiful pear sorbet, in the shape of the sliced fruit, with a black walnut pudding, a cardamom crisp, and an Amaro Fernet blanco gel that exploded in an herbal liqueur splendor in the mouth.  Perhaps my favorite drink of the night, was the Sawa Sawa sparkling sake served in an elegant, custom glass.  Then came the egg.  A petite shell was filled with a maple custard, hinting of flavors of thyme and hibiscus honey and garnished with a crispy slice of Benton's bacon.  For the ice cream lovers among us, the next dessert course featured a charred oak ice cream, a vanilla cake, cherry crisp, pineapple gel and bourbon encapsulations.   Fondly referred to as bourbon balls, these small, yet powerful, exploding treats remind me of a refined, adult jello shot.   A sweet Trius ice wine served in a bourbon rinsed glass, married aromatically with the dessert. 

Dessert Quartet

Satiated, and a little giggly, we had reached the end of our journey and immediately began reminiscing about the courses, staking claim to our favorites.  From the simple atmosphere, evoking a sense of sitting at a friend's kitchen bar, to the handwritten menus provided post-meal as a memento, and to the ever accessible chefs, who served the food, detailing stories of farmers and inspirations, this evening of food theatre surpassed all of my expectations.  As we thanked our chefs, we were served one last surprise course, on the now-familiar wooden block, homemade coffee-and-cream oreos.

Mayme Gretsch Servin' Up Hot Chicken

Maple Thyme Custard

Cheese Course Assembly

Sawa Sawa Sparkling Sake

Author: Bethany Cooper

Honky Tonks, Duck Fat, and Cheesy Chicken Pie - Nashville, TN

Unlike most New Englanders who grew up in the late '70s, I loved country music as a child.  While my friends were rocking out to Rick Springfield, I wore out Johnny Cash tapes on my cassette player and sat riveted, nightly with my parents as they watched the country music TV station.  We lived frugally, my parents had a date night every Saturday, sans kids, and my Dad loved the motto "children were to be seen and not heard", so you can imagine my elation when I found out that my folks were taking me, an eight year old, to a Johnny Cash concert at the Cohasset Music Circus. This also happened to be fourth grade, my lost year.  Inexplicably, most afternoons in the second half of fourth grade, I would fall sound asleep at my desk after lunch.  I tried hard to avoid this embarrassing fate as I not only shared a desk with the fourth grade heart throb, Billy Lincoln, but being the bookworm that I was, I devastatingly snoozed right through reading period where Mrs. Henderson was reading us the the enthralling story of James and the Giant Peach.  This went on for six months, including countless trips to the nurse and even a few school counseling sessions with my folks to determine if there was foul play at home.  Near bursting with excitement on an early summer night, I dressed up to attend my first-ever concert, alone with my parents, to hear my idol, Johnny Cash.  Unfortunately I only made it three songs deep before falling sound asleep in the 3rd row.  I was devastated and ashamed, and although it was only a few weeks later that we learned the pharmacist had mixed up my fluoride pills with an elderly person's blood pressure medication, causing me to pass-out daily, I still carry regret that I missed most of that concert.

Perhaps this history explains the tingling excitement I get at the prospect of visiting Nashville, a mere four hours from my current residence.  Recently I set out early on a Friday afternoon to meet two of my country music-loving girlfriends in the music city for a weekend of honky tonks and food. Country music blasting out of my open sun roof, I sang along loudly, and off-key, with great gusto "I am not here for a long time, I am here for a good time....", only interrupted occasionally by my need to stop and take in the back road views. Autumn in the upper south is stunning; the air is void of all humidity after a long summer's grip, and it settles into a comfortable 78 degrees for weeks on end, the fall foliage lights the undulating hillsides breaking up the vast plains of cotton, which hold their own unique beauty. Row after row of plants are covered in huge orbs of stark white cotton; it seems unreal that a textile can actually grow directly from nature in such purity. The sun nears the horizon as I roll into Nashville, fittingly in time for cocktail hour at the Capitol Grill Oak Bar located on the lower level of the historic and elegant Hermitage Hotel, where we were staying. The pub is cozy, and old-school refined, a perfect place to imbibe great wine, catch-up on gossip, and plot our upcoming adventures.  Little did we know that there was a time when three women would not have been allowed, as the bar was a gentleman's club, rumored to have been accessed by wealthy politicians via a tunnel that connected the capitol to the bar's famed men's room, which in recent years has been named the "best bathroom in America".  Strangely I can vouch for this title, as I was offered a tour when walking past to the ladies room, by a kindly older gentleman, happy to show off the glamorous art deco interior.

Hungry and buzzing with first-night-of-vacation energy, we set off by cab to Tayst, a restaurant known for its fresh local food and dedication to sustainability. What began as a pursuit to find the best tasting, local food, the chefs at Tayst are now deeply entrenched in the values of the green movement. They compost, they purvey green products for the restaurant such as beeswax candles and cleaning products, all in an effort to ensure that the entire dining experience respects the earth and the bounty it has provided.  Lest you fear tree-hugging, tofu laden dishes, rest assured that the menu is playful and creatively modern while steeped in the classics.  In fact the only reference to tofu on the entire menu was the  ravioli appetizer, consisting of paper thin slices of turnip, filled with tofu walnut ricotta, laced with sage brown butter, lemon balm and mint.  If that is hippie, bring on the patchouli.  

The foie gras was stylistically gorgeous. A thin round slice of apple was cored and filled with seared foie gras, which when eaten together provided superb juxtaposition; the crisp, sweet apple contrasted the rich, silky foie gras beautifully. The only downside was that I had to share it with my girlfriends.

Fortunately the third starter was a surprise stunner, at least for me as I have a slight aversion to the texture of spaghetti squash. As is often the case here in the south, if you take an unremarkable vegetable, mix it with eggs and fry it, it becomes something otherworldly. The hush puppie-sized spaghetti squash fritters were crisp on the outside, soft on the inside and completely worthy of the highly coveted "best app" title.

Next the watermelon salad was colorful, served with fried lardon and caramelized onions. Creamy and bursting with flavor, the squash soup was clearly not made from pallid grocery store squash.

The savory goat cheesecake was beautifully displayed next to a summer squash salad and a heap of sweet grilled cherry tomatoes. When eaten together, the cheesecake offered a sinfully rich depth to the bright salads.

Our waiter oozed southern charm, delighting my L.A. girlfriends with his chivalry. He warned us that the chicken dish, complete with a chicken cheese pie, was outrageous. Being a yankee, I expected a pot-pie of some sort, but in keeping with southern tradition instead it was a flaky, fried pie, filled with a cheesy chicken concoction; this is the type of meal you can envision begging your grandmother to make with holiday leftovers. The pie was served with a succulent roasted chicken and a flavorful corn salsa.

The trout dish caught our attention as it was served atop a bolognese. The vibrant pink fish was buttery and surprisingly well paired with the tomato meat sauce, then ringed with a basil emulsion.

Lastly, the special was a rich, meaty sturgeon served over a broth piled high with wax beans, sweet turnips and arugula. The sous chef visited with us and shared his enthusiasm for the fresh sturgeon, a surprise his fish monger had delivered that day.

We ended our meal with the flour less chocolate cake, and candied fruit, which paired amazingly well with our zinfandel, however I think anything including the local Tennessee moonshine would have gone well with that creamy slice of heaven. Smitten by the food and the service, we reluctantly took leave of Tayst to head to Second Street and Broadway for a tourist's Nashville music experience.

Robert's Western World, an ole Nashville establishment known for its great bands, walls lined with boots for sale, and cold Pabst Blue Ribbon, seemed like the logical next step.  We nabbed a table and had barely wiped the condensation off our PBRs when we were dragged out to dance by a rodeo belt wearing cowboy, complete with a hat, embroidered shirt and boots.  Apparently he learned more than roping on the ranch as this guy knew his way around a dance floor, leading us through dips and spins that would make those on Dancing with the Stars envious.  The crowd was diverse; it was a place where we made friends quickly. Time flew by, as it does when feeling completely ebullient, and in the wee hours of the morning, we left the neon behind for our hotel, almost hungry enough from dancing for the fried bologna sandwiches they were grilling up at the back of the bar.

In the morning we hit Puckett's Grocery for a southern version of eggs benedict - poached eggs over a biscuit, topped with creamy pork gravy. Now if that did did not soak up our previous night's adventures, nothing would. After lazing around the hotel we readied ourselves for afternoon snacks and a little shopping. As we walked the few blocks from the hotel to Broadway we noticed a few folks dressed up in bloodied costumes, but seeing as Nashville has a diverse blend of art and tradition, we didn't think much of it until a bit later, while comfortably seated at Merchants eating tater tots fried in duck fat, washed down with local Yazoo beer, we saw hundreds of zombies walking past the large picture windows. Apparently we were in town just in time for the annual zombie walk.

We spent time in Germantown, Hillsboro Village and Music Row and barely scratched the surface of what Nashville has to offer; there is much more to the city than the country scene.  Perhaps because of our deep love of music or because I am still making up for my lost Johnny Cash concert, we thoroughly enjoyed the tourist tour of the city.  I am reminded of Jason Alean's hit Crazy Town, "Its a crazy town full of neon dreams, everybody plays, everybody sings, Hollywood with a touch of twang..."  We did not once hear even a mediocre band; the talent was staggering, the musicians were accessible, and southern culture and chivalry reign strong.

From the old world elegance of the Hermitage to the green movement at Tayst, and of course the bars of downtown, where the music starts at ten in the morning and for all I know it doesn't stop, I found one of those rare places where my night actually exceeded my preconceived expectations. Since returning to Oxford, I have found an excuse to wear my boots every day and continue to crank up the country music, channeling a little Nashville spirit into my daily life.

As for my lost fourth grade year, we never sued the pharmacy, but, I now have a built-in excuse for anything I cannot recall learning - algebra...must have missed that in the 4th grade.

Parlor Market, Jackson, MS

New Orleans in a glass...does it not sound like the perfect way to begin one's weekend? In my case, the night was Friday, the place was Parlor Market in Jackson, Mississippi and the drink was a Vieux Carré. Rye whiskey, cognac, sweet vermouth, benedictine, and bitters swirled in a glass, reminiscent of the classic, New Orleans sazerac, coupled with a dark, candle-lit atmosphere, a deserted downtown city, an early weekend electricity in the air, and I felt excitedly like a character in a Raymond Chandler novel. Fortunately, no shots were fired, or damsels found in distress, just a romantic meal to awaken the senses.

On our way to the coast from Oxford, we decide to break-up our trip in Jackson, and were thrilled to learn that our friends were playing downtown at 119 Underground. This cozy basement blues club and restaurant, is keeping Mississippi blues alive and adding entertainment to an otherwise sleepy urban downtown. After popping in for a quick visit, which included a huge treat, a tour of the building's dreamy loft apartment and businesses, we left for a late reservation at Parlor Market. Jackson is one of those cities that evacuates at night for the suburbs. Fortunately, places like 119 Underground and Parlor Market are revitalizing city life in this historic district.

From the moment we entered Parlor Market, the service was warm and attentive. The vibe was hip and yet classic. The menu offered a number of raw bar options and appetizers. I rarely turn down an opportunity to eat foie gras and the description made it clear that tonight would be no exception. Served atop a french bread style brioche, the foie gras was served with a kudzu jelly and a red-eye gravy, with a fried sunny-side-up quail egg. As one would expect, the foie gras was silken and rich. I often experience the purist syndrome with foie gras, in that I want to simply eat it plain to relish the buttery depth of the liver, but after trying that, I moved on to feast on the pudding-like texture of the brioche, encapsulated by the crispy french-toast exterior. When dipped in the sweet kudzu jelly, made from the fruit of the infamous locally invasive vine, and the rich coffee flavored red-eye gravy, I felt I had discovered the love child of an affair between France and Mississippi.

In addition to the foie gras, we ordered the southern cheese plate, which included a salty blue cheese, a truffle cheese,  a cinnamon and vanilla gouda and an aged, buttery cheese for which our server didn't know the name (it reminded me of a piave vecchio). Served with locally made jalepeno honey, tiger melon, small seedless muscadine grapes, blueberries, incredibly fresh roasted candied pecans, and sliced brioche, I felt like I had gone to tapas heaven.

For my main course, I could not resist the venison special, seared with a dry rub atop a butternut squash puree, drizzled with a truffle gravy, alongside a mushroom and foie gras bread pudding with fig preserves and a haricot vert and sun choke stir fry. Please believe me when I tell you that I could have cut the venison with a fork! The loin was flavorful and tender, almost delicate, and completely unrelated to any of the game venison I have cooked on my grill. The bread pudding should be illegal, it was moist, deep in flavor, and completely satisfying on the tongue. The bright and crispy haricot vert, juxtaposed the fullness of the meal as did the treat of the sun chokes, one of those delightful root vegetables that just never quite make it to my home table.

Mark opted for the burger and as you might expect, it was a work of art worthy of the finest european pub.  In keeping with their bread of choice trend, the burger was served on buttered, toasted brioche with butter lettuce, heirloom tomato, and horseradish pecan cheddar. It was accompanied by sweet potato pomme frites in their own miniature fryer basket -- fried to perfection.

While the famed strawberry cake tempted us, the shear richness of our meal prevented us from indulging further, leaving us with a reason to return. While it is easy to patronize our local suburban venues, there is something sexy and historic about driving into the city for a night of great gastronomy and music. Put on your heels, crank the music, and head downtown for a night worthy of writing home.

NOLA Revisited - Bon Temps

Choctaw Parade

I have a love affair with New Orleans.  I adore the architecture, the music wafting out of clubs where big names play, the art, the grit that lends a raw feel to the city, the humidity that inevitably makes my hair huge and my skin feel young, and of course the food.  Armed with a new local dinner recommendation from our friend Scott Barretta, I was feeling the pre-Mardi Gras electricity the minute we landed in the city on Friday afternoon.  After a short rejuvenation at the pool, Mark and I headed out to pick up his sister at her hotel in the French Quarter.  To date, I had not visited during parade season and thus made a rookie mistake; I alloted 15 minutes to get to dinner across town. Now, granted,  I am ridiculously spoiled living in the small town of Oxford, Mississippi where going across town means a 5 minute drive, except on football weekends, but what I was not accounting for was the instantaneous mob of cops, who can swarm in on your red light at any time, and throw up metal barriers directly in front of your car in order to enable a parade to cross by. For those of you who can learn from my mistakes, parade schedules and even smart phone apps, can help you avoid such beautiful, wacky, but delaying events. Fortunately, we were only shortly detained that first night making it to the restaurant 5 minutes late with a lesson well learned.

Parmesan amuse-bouche

Boucherie is located uptown, in a little neighborhood house, not far from Jaques-imo's, another local favorite that unfortunately is not so local anymore. We were seated in an elegant yet cozy back room, that might have been a family's dining room at one point.  Immediately, we were welcomed with an aesthetically beautiful amuse-bouche of puffed, fried parmesan cheese atop a cilantro pesto served in an asian style spoon.  There is something wonderful about receiving a bite-sized appetizer as a gift from the chef, to set the tone for the evening.  About this time, I noticed a chalk board listing a special appetizer described as a salted torchon of foie gras on a bed of micro greens with a kumquat chutney, served with homemade ginger snaps. While that beautiful description had me salivating, the dish somehow managed to even exceed my very excited expectations. The foie gras was rich and creamy with just the right level of salt to liven it. The micro greens were young and tender, and truly micro, which as a gardener who struggles to simply thin seedlings, I have huge respect for being strong enough to pick something that young. The kicker was the kumquat jelly/salsa/chutney, tender quartered kumquats, cooked down into what I would describe as a sweet salsa. Served cold along side the dish, the slight chew to the fruit added a sweet and tangy contrast to the lush, salty foie gras torchon.

Salted foie gras torchon

We also ordered boudin balls, a cajun specialty of white pork sausage, usually including heart and liver meat, mixed into a ball with rice, battered and then deep fried. Boucherie's were served crispy brown on the outside, piping hot and moist inside, with a perfect rice-to-meat ratio, made even better when dipped in the side of garlic aoli.

For the main course, I chose the duck breast served with roasted turnips and wilted arugula. The duck breast was tender, but the best part was the skin-on leg, which was crispy and flavorful. My new favorite vegetable this winter is turnip which I cook roasted in a honey butter glaze. Because of my infatuation with turnips, I was drawn to this dish and they did not disappoint. Sweet and melt-in-your-mouth tender, for me the turnips made the dish.

Boudin balls

Mark and Jane ordered the ribs, which were perfect. Fall off the bone tender, loaded with meat, trimmed to perfection, and dry rubbed with a spice that simply added to the flavor of the pork -- they felt like a refined version of your favorite gas station rib, which in Mississippi is a compliment. The ribs were served over a healthy portion of crisp celeriac slaw, which was light and provided a great celery flavored twist to the classic. Finally, the dish was topped with a pile of crispy fried shallots, an elegant and subtle take on the old school fried onions that top green bean casseroles.

Duck breast

We could not leave the restaurant without trying one of their unusual desserts. While I was curious about the Krispy Kreme bread pudding, it sounded a little sickly sweet; instead we opted to share a Thai chili chocolate chess pie. I am here to tell you this dessert was designed for me! The heat of the chili cut through the rich chocolate flavor and left a slight feeling of heat in your mouth after the lushness receded. Admittedly, I am not a pie person, because I think pie crusts taste dull and are just the conduit to the goodness inside. This crust was an exception. It was slightly sweet, flaky and full of flavor.

Ribs

After dinner, we popped into a club to hear renowned bluesman Benny Turner, brother of Freddie King, tear it up for an intimate crowd. Hip, smooth, and smiling the entire time, it would be impossible to feel down in his presence. As we left the club, I marveled at the beauty of New Orleans; it was a balmy February night, the doors to the club were wide open tempting passers by to drop in for a few songs, there was no cover charge, and musicians were playing with heart to small crowds. It struck me that this antithesis of the 15,000 seat arena where you need binoculars to see the performers, is what music is all about.

Thai chili chess pie

A visit to New Orleans would not be complete without a good breakfast. For the most part, we try to avoid the French Quarter with all of its crowds, and therefore headed to Satsuma in the Bywater. At this local alternative, hippie coffee shop, I had my fix of Chicory coffee alongside a croissant egg sandwich. Mellow flavors of avocado and swiss cheese, punctuated by the cilantro, and oozing egg yolk, were balanced by the sweet onions and buttery, chewy croissant. Mark's eggs benedict, were served with caramelized onions and crystal hollandaise sauce atop a jalepeno biscuit. For a coffee shop with a kitchen the size of a postage stamp, these dishes could go up against any French Quarter establishment. Save your money, and hours in line at Cafe Du Monde and head to the Bywater.

Benny Turner

While New Orleans certainly has a desperate side to it, there is something magical that makes this city unlike any other I have visited. Everything is in excess: the food, the drink, the brilliantly gaudy parades, even the funerals are celebrations, and yet what is truly a marvel, is that it is all served without guilt. Perhaps it is my puritan New England roots, but I find this exaltation of exuberance truly refreshing.

Eggs Benedict

A Day in the life of New Orleans: Domilise's and Cochon

New Orleans is right up there on my list of all-time favorite cities because it embodies many of the things I love most in life: food, music, romance and that rough edge that makes it feel exciting. Somehow I tend to find myself there in the summer and therefore I also associate it with a very sultry, thick heat, which for me is an excuse for strappy sundresses and cool cocktails.

This year was no exception. Mark and I traveled 90 miles from Biloxi to NOLA to wrap up our weekend on the coast. Upon landing we walked downtown to build our appetite for what was to be a one-day NOLA extravaganza. Usually we visit for a few days so we immediately felt the pressure of choice. To me, lunch was easy as I have been craving a Domilise's fried oyster po' boy for months. Upon arriving at the unassuming dive, the line was already out the door. Once inside I reveled in the seedy interior, not updated in decades and the 3 stoic "lunch-lady" looking older women behind the counter, wearing hair nets, working the fryer and methodically creating works of art. Every once in a while they yell to the customers to ensure we are taking numbers as we slowly crawl along the counter until it is our turn to order. The process is not obvious and of course I don't remember to take a number until I hear the barked order. Mark scores a table, which is not easy, so I take over the ordering. One small fried oyster po' boy, dressed and one fried shrimp po' boy for Mark, also dressed. I learned on our previous visit that dressed basically means loaded with mayo, lettuce, hot sauce and I am sure a few other things. I try not to look at the huge tub of mayo from which they slather, because I know that what comes out of this cramped kitchen is pure genius. You don't pay when you order, but instead when the order is up. In the meantime they instruct you to get drinks from the bar tender. The phone rings off-the-hook, but no one even attempts to answer it, so you are better off driving by if you worry whether or not they are not open. There could be some major streamlining in their processes, but who am I to make suggestions.

At last our orders are ready and they are pure perfection. Sweet juicy oysters in a crunchy fried batter, balanced by cool lettuce and mayo and the best po' boy bread ever. It is one of those sandwiches made better by pressing down and mushing it all together. It is completely messy and so delicious that my only regret is how fast I end up eating it. Once you bite into it, you really cannot pause for fear of it all falling apart and losing the balance of each bite. They do not skimp on the oysters, either. A small, definitely a misnomer, is $14, but it is entirely worth it. I also scarf my meal down because while you eat you cannot help but notice the line out the door and feel some pressure to let the next group of people nab your table. On this visit another couple, who said they are from NOLA, but whom I suspect relocated from NY at some point, made the bold and savvy decision to request our table before we were done. Of course we asked them to join us while we finished as we had extra chairs and thoroughly enjoyed getting to know them. We now shared the Domilise's bond.

After a brief visit to Bayou Boogaloo festival for music and art, we retired to the rooftop pool for afternoon relaxation. Mark made Dirty Martinis, poolside, with the new Cathead Vodka, from the first "legal" Mississippi distillery. I met the owners at their office/distillery on my way down to the coast and was excited to try their product, which proved to be very smooth.

After relaxing at the pool we cleaned up for dinner at Cochon. Having been to Cochon previously we worried as to whether it was as good as we remembered and were not disappointed. As you would imagine from the name, which means pig in french, the menu is filled with very diverse, carnivore friendly items. The atmosphere is bustling and the tables are tight; it is definitely not the place to have an intimate conversation, but more likely where you make friends with the folks on either side of you, or at least get ideas of what to order when you see their meals arrive.

We started out with paneed pork cheeks with baked peanuts and radish-turnip salad as well as a fried head cheese small plate. Both were out-of-this-world, but the head cheese was by far the winner. We debated about ordering the rabbit livers, which we have had previously and loved and would highly recommend.

For entrees, I ordered the special, a fried soft-shell crab over a green bean, fennel and soy bean salad. I know, it sounds crazy to order crab at a restaurant called Cochon, but after asking the waitress, she recommended it and reminded me that soft-shelled crabs are only available a few weeks each year. Given the situation in the Gulf, with BP employing strategies that involve golf balls and old tires, I felt that I should take advantage of this delicacy while I could. While I was full for a few days afterward from the sheer richness, I did not regret my order for an instant. It was the most juicy soft shelled crab I have ever experienced. It was fried delicately and seemed to be brushed with a chili sauce. The balance of crunchiness to sweet, juicy crab meat was exquisite. Mark, who would never order soft-shelled crab, voiced some regret that he did not also order it as he loved the dish. By no means is that a slight to his choice of the ham hock with sweet potatoes, pickled greens and black eyed pea ham broth. The ham in one word, was sophisticated. It was smoky, tender, falling off the bone and completely not your Christmas Day spiral sliced, pineapple ham.

Following dinner we set out on foot to enjoy the NOLA nightlife and within a block of Cochon, we happened upon a wedding parade. Only in NOLA would one consider walking the streets of a city with all of your wedding guests, led by a police escort and followed by a wedding float. Music was blasting and the guests danced as they processed. I felt tears in my eyes as they passed and thought that this moment was a perfect example of the magic that I so often feel when visiting New Orleans.

Emeril's Gulf Coast Fish House, Gulfport, MS

Vacation to me means great food. Scenic walks, music and other forms of entertainment are important, but ultimately I wrap every great trip around a food tour of the area. Like most fellow foodies, I strive to find that amazing local find, where I can experience flavors entirely unique to the region and feel that I "hunted" out an experience as if it were a contest. My partner Mark excels at this "sport" and I am willing to say that he is largely responsible for many of our amazing meals. This last week during our trip to Biloxi, where we stayed at the beautiful Beau Rivage, Mark took charge once again, but instead of seeking out that elusive local joint, he booked us at one of our favorite celebrity chef establishments, Emeril's Gulf Coast Fish House in Gulfport. While we are not celebrity chef whores, there is something about Emeril's empire that continues to draw us back. Perhaps it is that he grew up just a few miles from both Mark and me. Maybe it is the impeccable service that we always receive. Possibly it is stories about his dedication to his employees, post Katrina. Definitely, it has much to do with the flavors; the dishes are consistently on target with their descriptions, yet always manage to offer a little surprise. This time was no exception. We learned on the shuttle into the casino that this restaurant is slated to close at the end of the month, which may have enhanced the experience as we knew this was our only shot. Being my first trip to the coast, I was struck by the remnants of Katrina still, five years later, not only in the empty foundations along the shore, but also in the eerie quietness of the tourist spots, hurt even further by the BP oil catastrophe. There is no oil on the beaches, but the tourists don't know that.

As we entered Emeril's Gulf Coast Fish House at 8:30 on a Friday night, after seeing David Copperfield's show, we had the place to ourselves. The menu was rather short, which I actually prefer as it makes me feel like the restaurant has taken the time to perfect a small number of dishes. We selected the fried artichoke heart appetizer served with local honey. What I loved about this dish is it was very down-home feeling. This was not one of those appetizers where you need to figure out how to split a shrimp 3 ways in order to share it with your friends. The batter was light; the hearts were crispy on the outside and juicy on the inside. The dipping sauce tasted of honey mustard, which, while it did not disappoint, I was expecting the hearts to be drizzled with straight-up local honey.

I selected the andouille encrusted Red Fish over red potatoes. I upgraded by adding crab meat to the top at my servers suggestion - why not? The Cajun seasoning on the fish was spicy but not too hot. The andouille, scattered over the fish, was crunchy and added a nice texture and salt. In addition to the bed of potatoes, the red fish was served with roasted summer squash, both zucchini and yellow, which were roasted to perfection. The fish itself was meaty and buttery. Again, the serving size was plentiful and the dish was rich enough that I could not finish it, particularly after noshing on the fried artichokes!

Mark ordered the shrimp and grits. He recently experienced this quintessential southern dish at John Currence's James Beard winning, City Grocery Restaurant for the first time and now is on a quest to experience as many culinary interpretations as possible. It did not appear to disappoint judging from the fact that I did not get a bite!

I had a nice Californian Savignon Blanc. It was a pleasant accompaniment, however lacking the robust flavor that many of my favorite (thanks to Peggy's introduction) New Zealand's posess.

We chit-chatted with our waiter and learned that while the restaurant is slated to close, Emeril is transferring his employees across his restaurant group and Vegas is our waiter's next stop. Sealing the deal for a big tip, our waiter, upon hearing that we were too full for our original dessert intention, brought us a complimentary boxed up bread pudding, on-the-house. While I cannot expound on the virtues of the warm bread pudding, I can tell you that served cold with coffee the next morning in bed, at the Beau Rivage, I may have found religion.

I want to thank my friend Jessica for encouraging me to start a food blog and thank those of you who read through this very first passage. My decision to write came a few days after this dinner, so forgive my lack of recall on the wine label and from now on I promise to insist that Mark share his meal, you know....for the blog's sake!