With Apologies to Emeril

I have a confession. Part of me always thought Emeril Lagasse was an overrated hack of a chef. I was wrong. I was so, so wrong.

From before Lithus and I were even thinking we might one day be in love, I have known he wanted to go to Emeril's Delmonico. He owns the cookbook. He drools over the cookbook the way some men (and women) drool over a beautiful woman. And we live in New Orleans...

We ride by the restaurant several times a week. He almost always gives a little glance at it, even if he doesn't realize he's doing so. Back in October, it dawned on me we were going to be home on his birthday. I jumped on the chance to make reservations. And because I made them six weeks early, we even got the table I had requested ~ in the corner, by the window, looking out on St. Charles Ave. The window he glances at wistfully every time we ride by it.

Plain and simple, it was possibly the best meal I have ever eaten. Every bite was perfection. Each component was excellent and delicious and when combined with its sister components, evolved into culinary perfection. We kept thinking the next course couldn't possibly live up to this one. And the next course kept proving us wrong. 

There are a lot of celebrity chefs out there. Hell, there are a lot of celebrity chefs here in NOLA. Honestly, while the food has been good, it hasn't been...something. It hasn't been what I expected based on the reputations and press. Until last night. Last night, Emeril wasn't everything he was reported to be; he was more. And I'm woman enough to admit it.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.