This was the first time we had ever had Friday lunch at Delmonico, which was okay but I’m not sure we’d ever do it again.
Things looked to be in such awful condition, from the drapes to the chairs and even the tattered lampshades. And it wasn’t even that gentle worn state that gives an atmosphere of warmth or character, it just felt careless:
Or maybe it’s that he said this.
I think I may have made my own mistake here too. I’m going to call this gentleman the water sommelier because I never saw him approach anyone about wine or any other matter — the water sommelier came to the table immediately after we were seated to get our preference on the variety of waters they offer. I explained that I was happy with just “regular, still water” — I didn’t name any brand offered. Moments later, he brought to the table a bottle of Fiji (which…I’m also opposed to the idea of transporting water 7000 miles). I was a little surprised and sweetly explained that I didn’t think I had ordered bottled water, that I was really happy with just regular, still ice water, which he brought back. So. Did he think I wouldn’t say anything when bringing me something I didn’t order, or am I a simpleton who doesn’t realize that “regular, still water” here is synonymous with Fiji? Anyway, Don’t Mock the Water Sommelier.
Everything was good…but just good and no better. Not great. And I wanted that daube to be so terrific, but eating it with the macaroni and cheese was just heavy and boring.
It’s been 25 years since Emeril opened his first restaurant here (longer than that, when he started at Commander’s).
And this at NOLA (nobody knew who it was). Get thyself some HBO, if only for Monday night docs.