Pissed at Payard

The wedding is right around the corner. There have been a few mentions I know, but I have tried to keep my wedding planning separate from MeetAndEatOnline. Today, I must tell you how incredibly angry I am at Payard.

Jack and I went to the bistro for our first tasting menu. It was one of the most perfect meals because as a culinary student, I wanted to know about every salt granule in my food. And our waiter knew it all. The chef did this, the chef loves that…for you we have… it was a beautiful evening. And to say that I would not want as much detail now is an understatement. But for that evening, it was fantastic. The food was solidly delicious and we left there positive that we’d be back.

A return meal with my father was a disappointment.

A few months ago, after the owner of Tisserie came to speak in my Entrepreneurship class, Jack and I did a walking Croissant tour. We started at Tisserie, then to Cognac Boulangerie and then to Payard. Payard won by an easy margin. Everything about these croissants were the best of the bunch. Flavor, butter level, flakiness…etc.

I have never been a girl to plan her wedding. You hear about girls who keep boxes or scrap books filled with ideas and clippings of the things they might some day want. They keep articles, pictures, fabric samples, advertisements, and programs. I never gave my own wedding much thought. I certainly hoped to have one. but that was about as far as I got.

A few years ago, when my first friend got married, I suggested that she put a different cake on every table. That way, guests would have to mix and mingle to try new flavors, or if they did not like the one on their own table. I thought you could even go so far as to find out what kinds of cakes people did not like and then sit them there; forcing them to make friends. Friend and friend after bride after bride, no one liked the idea as much as I did.

So here I am, having my own wedding. And the single thing I ever contemplated in advance was to have a different cake on every table. Jack is not thrilled and by way of compromise, the plan was for the cake on our wedding-party table to be a small traditional wedding cake. One that we could cut and would look normal.

The rumors went around the food industry a while ago that Payard might be closing. Rent hikes and internal problems would force Fracois to close the flagship location, but to keep others alive. It was then formally published in Crains and a few other places. The day of my cake tasting, I asked very nicely, “I understand that you are closing. Will you be able to deliver 30 cakes on August 15^th?” to which we were told “absolutely. That is not a problem.”

I received a phone call last Friday. “Hello. This is _______ from Payard. I have some news.” I stopped. I was going to make this poor woman say it all. “We are going out of business.” To which I responded very plainly “I know.” Long pause. Then she said “so we will not be able to make your cakes for your wedding.” I then said, “ma’am, when I had my cake tasting, I knew that you were going out of business. I even knew that your lease was up in August. But when I asked ________ if the cakes could be made, he assured me that it was no problem.” She said that he had not known. And then asked if she could recommend any other patisseries. I said no.

Folks. I am pissed.

Searching for the Perfect Conch Fritter

My final post for the trip to Exuma will be about the glorious Conch Fritter. Almost an ‘ode.

Maya started asking about Conch Fritters the moment she bought her ticket. I promised her that there would be fritters, even if they happened at six in the morning right before we flew out. (One trip, Kermit had to pack them for us to take through security and eat on the plane. Since everyone on Exuma is related to Kermit, we were allowed to take the fritters AND the more than three ounces of sauce without a problem)

Our first evening, when Neville was our bartender, waiter, movie coordinator, lost-and-found, and friend, we ordered a plate of Conch fritters for the table while Maya asked for a separate order for herself. Somehow, we ended up with three orders; no one complained.

The fritters were spongy on the inside and crisp on the outside. The spices mixed inside came though while not a ton of conch flavor shone. Still, Maya gave them a 7.5 (which was the beginning of the rating system that continued through the trip).

Friday afternoon, after Fried Conch sandwiches and French fries, Kermit had a vat of Conch Fritters waiting for us at his bar. It was a great surprise since his cook had retired. I still have no idea how he got them done, but there you have it, re-heatable fritters waiting for us with a side of spicy sauce. I baked them at 350 for 12 minutes in batches and they were delicious. Slightly less spongy, slightly less crisp, with spicier herbs and a distinct taste of conch. The conch was finely chopped instead of pureed so you could bite into it and see small pockets of air in the sponge where the Exuman national flavor was hiding out. The sauce was really great. It’s basically a thousand island dressing with spice.

Maya gave it an 8.

Here, we all asked her what the base of comparison was. Where was this magical Conch Fritter that set the bar for all fritters to follow? Wherever it was, it had been about 8 years since she’d experienced Conch Fritter-10-bliss.

At Houseman’s on Saturday night, the evening began with Conch Fritters. Some dinner parties that you go to, have little quiches on toothpicks. We had large, fried balls of conch on toothpicks. (that’s the dinner party I’d rather go to). This fritter had the best of all worlds. While they were not quite as spiced, the sponge was spongy, the outside was crisp, and the conch was fresh and fully integrated into the fritter.

I give Kermit my own top marks because he’s Kermit. I cannot remember the rating that the final Houseman fritter got. I do know that discussions broke out about Conch Fritter of the Month shipments and similar Fritter-by-mail ideas. My dad insisted that we send Sharon back to make more fritters for Maya. She stood her “no thanks” ground really well and eventually, Dad gave up in favor of her returning to eat the fried delight another time.

Fritters every day. Having been back for a few weeks, I can safely tell you that Conch Fritters every day means that you are somewhere special. And you probably shouldn’t leave. Also, does anyone know a place that serves Conch Fritters in New York?

Sharon's Recipe for Conch Fritters

Flour
Sweet Pepper
Onions
Celery
Conch
Water
Ketchup
Baking Powder

Cut up everything
Combine together

Drop in hot fat with a tea spoon

Happy Un-Birthday Mr. Clarke!

Here it is, the meal that you are all waiting for. We of course went to Houseman’s! We can only go once a trip because, while it is the best food we can find, it is so heavy that I need a week to recover.

To relive a few memories, Dad insisted that we sit in the crow’s nest-deck that Houseman built last year. It hangs way out over the beach and is quite possibly my favorite spot on the planet (there is a stone indicator on Caldy Hill overlooking the Marine Lake and at Wales in Northern Liverpool that might be my most favorite. But this is pretty perfect).

We dragged tables and chairs up there, ignoring the nice little spread that Sharon had put together inside, away from the bugs.

Having never been to Exuma in June, we had no idea what the rains would do for the mosquito population of the island. They were ferocious. Each person who arrived to join us brought with them their own can of bug spray. It was like bringing bottles of wine to a dinner party. We had Kaliks, no wine needed…so bug spray it was. And each time a new one arrived, Maya and Jack leapt from their seats to douse themselves, hoping for a new solution.

The sun set as we sat up there, slapping the bugs away from our ankles and each other’s faces. My mom clear slapped me in the face and giggled, muttering something about bugs. Hmmmmmm.

Dinner was Sharon’s finest. Sharon is Houseman’s wife and we were thrilled to find that she now has a cook to help her out. Phew. It was a lot of food. Every single one of us ordered the cracked lobster because where else can you find fried lobster and not feel badly about it. But we also had Conch Fritters and a couple of plates of Crispy Fried Conch that was in no way chewy. It was sweet and succulent with a bit of lemon squeezed over it.

Matching plates of fried lobster tail, a pile of dirty rice, and a square of squishy mac and cheese appeared. The fried lobster was fried and lobster…what could be wrong in all of that? The dirty rice was enough to make Maya stop fighting the bugs and say, “this is awesome rice!” and the square of mac and cheese, although overcooked, was gooey and full of flavor. People were nervous till they tried it. Then, it was all over. Not a bite was spared.

Almost the very moment that people were done eating, I suggested that we move inside. My dad was the only one who seemed disappointed. Even Kermit and Houseman were relieved to move to insect-safety.

Tables were pushed, chairs were drawn, Kaliks were replenished, and dessert happened.

I had ordered an Un-birthday cake for my dad when we arrived on Thursday. It was because of his generosity and my wedding that we would not be in his favorite place for his birthday this year and I thought, “what better way to say thanks, then to have it here anyway.”

The cake was so cool! Over an icing-version of a photo of the Grand Isle front sign (without goats), they had written “Happy Birthday Mr. Clarke!”

Dad cried out with huge surprise, not having any idea who to thank or what to say. Houseman gave him a restaurant shirt that only made his excitement worse. He was uncontrollable. Cutting thick slices of the chocolate and vanilla cake, we sang happy birthday. He saved the entire bottom and lopped it at an angle so that “Mr Clarke” was his. It was larger than the plate itself.

This was when I missed my brothers. They would have loved Houseman’s and being there for Dad, singing and cheering into the night.

Getting home was no problem. I don’t actually drink Kalik (sorry. I know, terrible. I’m not a beer drinker). A Dilly Crab spotted my headlights and took a stand, raising his claws high in the air to challenge me. I let him live but I cannot imagine that challenging cars is a good idea. Even for a Dilly Crab.

At home, we declared each person officially “Kaliked!” and all were in bed pretty early.

Two Dozen Eggs for Lunch

Saturday was the highlight of the trip for those who went on the boat.

For breakfast, there was English muffins (lovingly smuggled in by Mom for my grandmother who needs them every morning) and coffee…and Cuban cigars for those who could stomach it.

As a troop, bags were packed, wonderful sundresses adorned, and off we went for the property. 45 minutes of trying to stay on the left side of the road and staring at my “deregistered” sticker, we went over the one way bridge that takes you to little Exuma, turned left at the pink garbage can (turns out to not be a garbage can at all. Thank goodness I wasn’t giving anyone directions), right at the fifth or sixth barely mowed opening and tada. Paradise.

We swam and looked for fish, walked around and floated in that awesome-blue water. Triple S demonstrated her water-ballet clam move. Apparently, it confuses sharks so that they don’t eat you. Who knew?

Back at the villa, we found two goats munching on the entryway sign (neither looked like they would do well in a pot pie). Dad was working on lunch; a Frittata for eight. The poor guy chopped and diced and peeled and cracked. Starving (few dared to tempt fate eating Grandma’s English muffins at breakfast) we all sat at the long, glass, banquet table and stared at him.

Cooks Note: 24 eggs in a Dutch Oven, do not cook as quickly as 6 or 8. After stomachs really began growling, Dad tried his luck with the frittata in the oven. He baked it till done and we ate it like a pie. The cheese was perfectly melted, the potatoes soft and salty and the eggs had somehow maintained a fluffiness that one would not expect after ages of cooking. I would say “ask him how he did it.” But I’m not sure he would trust his nerves to 24 eggs or an oven ever again.

For the afternoon session, Maya, mom (still in her sprained-ankle boot) and I stayed behind to read and nap and not get sea sick (that last part is for me). The others went on a chartered boat to find some snorkeling.

They returned having had masterful adventures. Something about Seth remembering his lifeguard days for a fly-away flipper, a beautiful Grouper sighting and a starfish that only pictures would force us to believe.

If seasickness were not my issue, I would have been hugely jealous and regretful that I didn’t go. On the other hand, we that stayed felt like a million bucks when we went to dinner. The others MUST have been tired. No?

What is Exuma Without A Lobster Roll and a Kalik?

Friday, we, the kids got up when we wanted, swam in the ocean when we wanted, sat by the pool for as long as we wanted and ate huge, fried, fish sandwiches with French fries.

I had a fried conch sandwich on a hamburger bun that was a bit too chewy, but highly satisfying. Maya had the fish tacos. Fried grouper with a slightly spicy cream sauce and lettuce. Jack had the crab cake as a sandwich which was sort of heaven to him. A crab cake big enough to become a sandwich was basically the best thing he could think of.

Early in the morning, Jack and I saw Neville in a wet suit. “Neville, what are you doing?!” I asked. “Taking these folks snorkeling of course.” Are you kidding? Two questions if you’re out there Neville. 1) do you sleep? 2) And what don’t you do at the Grand Isle?

Have you noticed that everything is fried in Exuma? It is.

My parents’ flight arrived in the mid afternoon. We met them at Kermit’s Airport Lounge. Our friend Kermit has owned it since my dad got off the plane 25ish years ago in a full cowboy outfit looking for some good beach.

The fans were blowing, the bug spray was out and it felt like home. Kermit is about 75 and had pulled six tables together to seat 8 people. It felt like a banquet of Kaliks. Grandma was happy which is always nice.

For dinner, Dad, Seth and Jack went into Georgetown to rustle up frozen food of some sort. And to buy all of the Cuban cigars the island had. He of course stopped at Houseman’s on the way back and bought out their lobster stash.

For dinner, Dad sautéed onions, eggplant and some other vegetables to make a spiced, fragrant vegetable sauté. I boiled the lobster tails, chilled them with mayonnaise and added finely chopped shallot. Served on a buttered hamburger bun with some white wine (the liquor store woman did not need my ID this time).

The kids headed down to the main bar in search of the advertised “live music and dancing.”

Neville did not even have hurt feelings when we turned around and went home to Triple S-Cocktails, Kaliks and Cuban cigars.