The tour of gluttony continues. What can I say that others haven’t said before me? Even Bruni came all the way to the city where the South is north of here to give it the thumbs up. My pal and NOLA expert Pableaux describes the experience better than I could ever hope to (see what context can do for food?).
Cochon is cooking up delicious food. The epynomous dish is shredded suckling pig formed into a large patty, browned, topped with cracklings, and served with a few turnips and pickles. It is salty and savory and rich and meaty and salty and addictive and too much and way too much and unbelievable and salty. What it isn’t is greasy. And there are house-made pickles to cut the richness and plenty of quaffable beverages to cure the salt factor.
So far I’ve listened to my waiters and been amply rewarded. We’d had plenty of oysters–fried, roasted, and otherwise–already and weren’t feeling the draw of the “wood-fired oysters” last night. Our server bullied us into getting them because, as she put it “I don’t want to miss the best things,” which was considerate. The fat oysters were laden with chile-butter so delicious that once the oysters were gone we picked up the shells and drank the butter.
None of this–or even the hot links with creamy grits–were the highlight for me. One word: catdaddy. It’s a nutmeg moonshine I will spend the rest of my days hunting down.
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