It's both a blessing and curse being on the road for work. You get to meet new people and see new places, but you also spend a lot of time away from family and friends, sleeping in strange beds and walking down endless corridors dragging a suitcase. Everyone has their own routines that make it less stressful, be it working out or eating the same breakfast every day. For me, I like to go sit at a bar.
Not to drink, mind you (though that's OK too), but to be alone and watch the people. Often the folks I'm working will invite me to dinner, and that's all very nice. But especially after a busy day, sometimes it's nice to be anonymous and alone. I find a place that's a bit aways from the hotel and serves dinner at the rail. I take a book and settle in to have a bite and decompress. And usually the longest conversation I have involves asking the bartender their favorite dish.
The night in New Orleans started like that. If there was any stress, it was trying to decide what to have. The menu at Cochon is designed around local Cajun and Southern flavors, using locally sourced pork, seafood and produce. Usually I glance at a menu and find one or two things that interest me. Cochon's menu is a home run: there are more things that attract my attention than courses I can possibly order.
Luckily they had small plates as well as big. So maybe the wood-fired oysters with chili garlic butter? Or the dirty rice meat pie? And not to gloss over the fresh cucumber and herb salad in vinegar. I asked the barkeep what he thought, and he validated all. He suggested starting with the cukes, and away we went.
As I sipped my wine, the gentlemen next to me looking at his menu shook his head knowingly: "Yeah, had all of those last time." We commiserated (if that's the right word) over the injustice of only being able to eat so much in one sitting. "This time I'm starting with the fried livers with pepper jelly and toast." He placed his order and we chatted a bit, the usual "just the facts ma'aam" small talk about home towns, travel schedule and the weather. We were strangers, until the food came out.
His came first. I tried minding my own business, but his livers looked great, and I don't even like liver. I remarked on it, and before I knew it a portion was on my bread plate. I tried it; it was delicious. So naturally, when he remarked on my dirty rice pie, I reciprocated and shared some with him. We both retreated to our drinks, then he turned away to chat with the gentlemen next to him. A few moments later my new pal put a small plate in front of me, courtesy of his new food buddy on the other side: wood roasted Brussels sprouts with crispy onion topping. I thanked them both, and dug in. Not really a sprout fan, but these were great.
Meanwhile, on the other side of me, a seat opened and a new fellow inquired if it was available. I told him it was his, and he too started to look at the menu. And like the rest of us, he joined the brotherhood by remarking on the difficulty of selecting a dish. I agreed, and he placed his orders. He glanced at my dirty rice pie and remarked how good it looked. So I gifted him a bite as well.
Back at the ranch, my liver friend got his next plate, pork cheeks on hominy grit cake. And again, he pushed some my way. I barely finished savoring that before the latecomer on my other side offered me some of his first round, smoked lima beans. I eagerly had a bite of that as my next plate came, a boucherie assortment with pate, mortadella and other goodies. I offered it up and down the bar, but by then all were pretty well stuffed. Except for me, of course. I plowed on and enjoyed it all. Final tally? An impromptu dinner party with 8 courses sampled. An evening low in stress, high in cholesterol, and off the charts in satisfaction.
-END-
Marc Wollin of Bedford loves to eat local. His column appears regularly in The Record-Review, The Scarsdale Inquirer and online at http://www.glancingaskance.blogspot.com/, as well as via Facebook, LinkedIn and Twitter.
Not to drink, mind you (though that's OK too), but to be alone and watch the people. Often the folks I'm working will invite me to dinner, and that's all very nice. But especially after a busy day, sometimes it's nice to be anonymous and alone. I find a place that's a bit aways from the hotel and serves dinner at the rail. I take a book and settle in to have a bite and decompress. And usually the longest conversation I have involves asking the bartender their favorite dish.
The night in New Orleans started like that. If there was any stress, it was trying to decide what to have. The menu at Cochon is designed around local Cajun and Southern flavors, using locally sourced pork, seafood and produce. Usually I glance at a menu and find one or two things that interest me. Cochon's menu is a home run: there are more things that attract my attention than courses I can possibly order.
Luckily they had small plates as well as big. So maybe the wood-fired oysters with chili garlic butter? Or the dirty rice meat pie? And not to gloss over the fresh cucumber and herb salad in vinegar. I asked the barkeep what he thought, and he validated all. He suggested starting with the cukes, and away we went.
As I sipped my wine, the gentlemen next to me looking at his menu shook his head knowingly: "Yeah, had all of those last time." We commiserated (if that's the right word) over the injustice of only being able to eat so much in one sitting. "This time I'm starting with the fried livers with pepper jelly and toast." He placed his order and we chatted a bit, the usual "just the facts ma'aam" small talk about home towns, travel schedule and the weather. We were strangers, until the food came out.
His came first. I tried minding my own business, but his livers looked great, and I don't even like liver. I remarked on it, and before I knew it a portion was on my bread plate. I tried it; it was delicious. So naturally, when he remarked on my dirty rice pie, I reciprocated and shared some with him. We both retreated to our drinks, then he turned away to chat with the gentlemen next to him. A few moments later my new pal put a small plate in front of me, courtesy of his new food buddy on the other side: wood roasted Brussels sprouts with crispy onion topping. I thanked them both, and dug in. Not really a sprout fan, but these were great.
Meanwhile, on the other side of me, a seat opened and a new fellow inquired if it was available. I told him it was his, and he too started to look at the menu. And like the rest of us, he joined the brotherhood by remarking on the difficulty of selecting a dish. I agreed, and he placed his orders. He glanced at my dirty rice pie and remarked how good it looked. So I gifted him a bite as well.
Back at the ranch, my liver friend got his next plate, pork cheeks on hominy grit cake. And again, he pushed some my way. I barely finished savoring that before the latecomer on my other side offered me some of his first round, smoked lima beans. I eagerly had a bite of that as my next plate came, a boucherie assortment with pate, mortadella and other goodies. I offered it up and down the bar, but by then all were pretty well stuffed. Except for me, of course. I plowed on and enjoyed it all. Final tally? An impromptu dinner party with 8 courses sampled. An evening low in stress, high in cholesterol, and off the charts in satisfaction.
-END-
Marc Wollin of Bedford loves to eat local. His column appears regularly in The Record-Review, The Scarsdale Inquirer and online at http://www.glancingaskance.blogspot.com/, as well as via Facebook, LinkedIn and Twitter.
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