We were starving. Something about this city just made us all ravenous. I felt like a zombie but instead of brains I wanted po boys, gumbo & anything laced in butter. Max whisked us off to Domilise's for a true authentic po boy. This place was an original for sure. Total hole in the wall with a tiny bar, about 4 tables & an open kitchen (if you can even call it that) where the prepared amazing po boys. Kelly & I split a large fried shrimp po boy dressed with everything. Look at this beauty.
Perfect chewy bread, crispy shrimp that wasn't greasy, crunchy cool toppings. I drizzled hot sauce on mine & devoured it like I hadn't eaten in years. Absolutely delicious.
For dinner we decided on Herbsaint.
I've been reading about Chef Donald Link for years but never had a chance to try his food. Needless to say I was hungry. Thirsty too so I ordered a bottle of Henri Biliot Brut Champagne for the table. The server brought the bottle & some flutes & I asked him if he could please instead bring regular wine glasses instead. I learned from my good friend Sam that good Champagne should be treated with respect & should never be locked up tight in a flute. One sip of Champs from a normal wine glass & you'll never use a flute again. Thanks for that Sam!
Next we went Northwest for a little Oregon pinot gris.
Crisp, bright, nutty, rich but not over the top. This wine is lovely.
My first course was the most memorable. A unique spin on carbonara.
Panko fried soft boiled egg, housemade guanciale, creamy noodles. Heaven. The server actually said to me "be careful when you cut into the egg. It's been known to explode on people." To which I replied "I love it when things explode on me."
He wasn't kidding. Super creamy yolk that just ran right into the saucy noodles. Damn.
I nearly squealed with delight when I saw this bottle on the list. Again, Sam is responsible for creating a new obsession in me with this wine.
It is one of the most sensual, luscious, hauntingly sexy wine I've ever experienced. Truly something special.
The Things We Do For... - “Sam! What are you doing? Are you still fucking with those malt balls?” my mother’s voice echoing through the narrow hive-like caverns that were our “...
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