urban bicycle journeys

The exclamation point is theirs, not mine. I learned of Pulcinella! from an almost year old review by the local restaurant writer Ian McNulty. (Do readers refer to his employer by its newspaper name Times-Picayune or do they say NOLA dot com? I suspect it’s an age thing.) Some in our pickle ball group here still take the daily delivered paper paper.

Pulcinella! sits on St. Bernard Avenue, a main commercial drag of the traditionally Creole Black Seventh Ward. Being only seven or eight blocks from the French Quarter this restaurant is a sign of the area’s gentrification.

Tootie and I rarely eat out mostly because I am obsessed with cooking. If we go out I lose a chance to prepare dinner that evening. I find my myself riding a bicycle to at least one New Orleans grocery store every day. Nevertheless, a joint marital decision was that in the coming four or five months until Jazz Fest we would try to eat out once a week. The idea of Pulcinella! came to us the morning of and online reservations were still available.

It is less than four miles from our home but we did not bicycle there. That day was unusually cold for New Orleans, not much over forty degrees at 6:00 PM. I do stupid bicycle stuff constantly, but I do it on my own and my lovely wife makes her own decisions. In our Ford Escape Hybrid we parked at the curb right out front at 5:59 PM for our 6:15 reservation.

We were greeted cordially at entrance. We told the hostess we wanted to have a drink at the bar and then eat at our table. It was early and I saw no other customers save a table of about eight twenty somethings of various sexes and races jammed together and already eating. Pulcinella! chooses to close on Tuesdays and Wednesdays but is open on Mondays. Ian McNulty had written that working foodies from competing restaurants like to come here on their day off.

My first thought sitting at the bar was that it was cold in here! The raucous young people at that other table seemed to be having a good time but I now noticed all were still wearing their coats and many had hats on as well. Tootie had just knitted me a beanie and I kept it on, as well as my coat.

The bartender offered the usual list of specialty cocktails. I like gin drinks but anything with ice and fizzy water seemed a turnoff in this frigid setting. I ordered my usual, gin gimlet, up. In New Orleans I always ask if they stock Gentilly Gin, just to pitch support for a local distiller. I had to settle for Hendrix. It was a delicious drink but I asked Tootie;

“What would the Scottish do?”

I am sure in Edinburgh bars are even colder than this. Wouldn’t a Scotsman order his whiskey neat and warmingly un-iced? I should have done that. Tootie’s drink the “Alba Venezia” was an iced spritzer. She said it would have been a good drink but only in another setting. I couldn’t wait to have some non-chilled red wine. We moved to our table and perused the menu.

Pulcinella! bills its food as “inspired by (the chef’s) Sicilian heritage.” Ian had recommended ordering what the menu called The Meatball, eighteen dollars for one giant softball covered with red sauce and cheese. I saw several being delivered to other tables. Another of Ian’s other recommendations was the fifteen dollar oyster artichoke soup. We ordered one of those to split while we thought of what to get next.

The soup arrived thoughtfully in two small cups. The first slurp of that cream based artichoke broth was my best flavor experience of the month, maybe the year, with a sharp bite of artichoke, still bracingly and appropriately near boilingly hot. Floating in it for each of us were about two just breaded and fried oysters. It was all amazingly delicious and I thought “this is what food is about.”

For two dollars each you can order “housemade focaccia bread service.” It was softer and breadier than what I had thought of as focaccia but stunningly fresh with a delightful slightly salted crust. This succulent bread was overshadowed by the olive oil in a dish, the pepperiest olive oil I have ever tasted. The core of great Italian food is simple ingredients carefully chosen. Godfather Part 3 is a flawed movie but I still remembered this description of similar bread and olive oil, muttered by an elderly hired assassin. If you are in a hurry just watch the fifteen seconds starting at 1:45. “Que pane!”

Tootie and I do not eat large portions. We were essentially full and we had eaten only soup and bread! We had decided to skip The Meatball and instead split the “Grilled Steak Tagliata”. accompanied by “crispy smashed potatoes, Hollandaise, salmoriglio butter.”

That main course of steak and potatoes was good but problematic. It had taken too long to arrive and had sat out, already at room temperature. Nevertheless it was still succulent but we could not avoid thinking we should have just split The Meatball. Ian also had pitched the Bucatini alla’ Amatriciana; pasta with a meaty spicy red sauce. Maybe next time.

By this time the restaurant had warmed up, was almost full of people, and I felt comfortable finally taking my hat off. We enjoyed lingering over the remains of our meal. We just did not feel like having a tiramisu. There was King Cake at home.

Pulcinella! sits in a two story building, the top floor housing a Burlesque venue run by the same married couple, the wife, at least online, appearing shockingly trendy, with a partially shaved head. As we walked out to drive home you don’t even notice the Burlesque part of the building unless you specifically look for it.