Trust me, this is....

Despite the uncertainties arising from the Fiscal Cliff debate, I decided to treat myself and my Latin lover Rufio to a dinner at True in the happening No-Clo district of the Gump this past Friday where we enjoyed  great service (thanks Chris), reasonably priced and decent house wines by the glass, and a tasty--although slightly chewy--prime rib for me and a delicious grilled snapper on a bed of mushroom puree and Brussels sprouts for Rufie.  I know, Whiggin Blanquet, that mushrooms are not precious truffles, but Rufio purred with surprised delight at the flavor of the puree as if they were cooked with a fine truffle oil. Indeed, my nose, which has saved a few of the LITG members from suspicious smelling entrees, detected the hint of truffle coming from Rufio's plate on the other side of the table.

Of course the place--formerly known as Roux--is run by James Beard Award Nominee Chef & Owner Wesley True who brings his national talent to Montgomery. After working for John Currence at City Grocery, Marcus Samuelson at NYC's Aquavit, Wesley has brought TRUE from Mobile to Montgomery.

True has an adventurous cuisine and a gypsy heart, sort of like me.  Chicken and syrup on waffles, Elk burgers and lamb meatloaf are among the current dinner selections.  Interesting and fun food combinations to be sure.  It is no coincidence that man's best friend cannot talk, but at least we can blog and you can take this to the bark: True is an interesting dining experience.

I mean, other than a slight disappointment with a cut of meat not up to very good restaurant standards a/k/a "Butter Beast," Rufie and I had a terrific experience at a reasonable price i.e. $50 a pooch.  After the meal a nightcap at the dog-friendly Pine Bar water bowl next door put an enjoyable exclamation point on a fine evening for some humble hounds in the good ole Gump.

So verily I say: Try True and enjoy.

"Nobody knows the truffles I've seen...." or The Trouble with Truffles.

Truffles have twidges

The rumors of the death of our blog are exaggerated. I personally admit, however, to being distracted for months by my introduction, at an advanced age, to real fresh white truffles from Italy and the resulting obsession they have created.  I have been the victim of a delicious distraction from the important work which is blogging about lunch in the Gump. Why, most of my retorts to statements about the "fiscal cliff" are usually: "What does this have to do with truffles?" or "How will this affect the cost of truffles?" or "Can truffles be grown at the bottom of cliffs?" While it is somewhat of a blessing to be addicted to something so rare and expensive that a high-level "Statey" could never afford enough to ever need rehab, the realization that there are no restaurants in the Gump actually serving them does bring on the need for excessive amounts of Rye Whiskey and maudlin recollections of "American Pie." Such is a life of perpetual trade-offs.

Scallops, black garlic, "truffle" and mushroom risotto at La Jolla.

This post is not only about truffles, but about a dinner at La Jolla where they purport to serve "Pan-Seared New Bedford Scallops with Black Garlic, Truffle and Mushroom Risotto" for less than $30.  I was a little skeptical. After all, truffles are the most expensive food in the world.  They cost up to $3,600 a pound.  So, although a part of an over-large group of loud locals, I specifically asked the waiter whether the dish "really" involved truffles.  I was assured that it did and that the truffles cost $50 per oz. I decided to put my doubts aside, and order the scallops.

Now, had I not just returned from San. Gimignano in Tuscany, perhaps the meal would have fooled me. It was quite good and certainly worth the price. But, once you have tasted a dish cooked with fresh white truffles from Italy or France, you are unmanned and ruined.  Nothing else tastes like truffles.

"The Trouble with Truffles" which aired on 60-Minutes in January 2012, laid out the scandal which is the infiltration of Chinese and Oregon truffle knock-offs into American cuisine.  I would wager that the "truffles" used for my dish were not Italian or French white or black truffles but rather were the relatively tasteless variety from China or Oregon.

And don't get me started on truffle oils.  Although I have heard that oils from Urbani or Antica are genuine and a great way to introduce yourself to cooking with truffle flavor, many so-called  "natural" truffle oils are usually not made from real truffles but from chemical recombinations derived from one of the main components found in real truffles.  High price is also no guarantee of the use of real quality truffles.


Truffle hunting dog before a truffle hunt with an interesting band of truffladours

How can I write of truffles without paying homage to the talented beasts that find them?  Allpots used to bore me with his whiskey-infused memories of his pet truffle-hunting pig Mortimer.  Not any more.  Not since my senses were awakened. But I will tell you that the pigs are no longer the hunter of choice for serious truffle-hunting.  Why you ask? Well, the same reason one should never trust me to hunt them: The pigs eat them unless you stop them immediately when they locate a truffle.  Very intelligent reaction I say. Dogs, on the other hand, although less intelligent have great noses and can be trained not to bother the truffles. Indeed, there is a 'Truffle Hunting Dogs' website in the U.S. for dogs "worth their weight in gold."

Preparing a young Gumpund Shedder for a hunt.

You may also find it interesting to know that by far the best truffle hunters in the world are a breed which originated in our area.  Indeed, the noble Gumpund Shedder*--a breed of which our own Shadow Pup belongs--has shown terrific abilities to find truffles without damaging them.  Apparently, it has something to do with spending their young puppy weeks in the Humane Shelter that gives them a sensitive nose.

So now you know a little more about truffles than you knew before you stumbled upon this blog.  If you ever enjoy the real thing, you will savor true truffle joy not to mention that you can have fun with the word "truffle" because it sounds funny and rhymes with trouble.  Trouble indeed is what you will have if you enjoy truffles too much for, at the very least, you will risk plunging over the "fiscal cliff."

As for me, see you at the bottom of the cliff.....

Whiggin a/k/a "Whiggy B in the Velvet Undershorts"

*Shortened version of the full name: American Gump Pound Shedding Mutter.

Atypical Luncheon Conversation Between Gumpy Old Men at Roux (with apologies to Saki).

[Alas, they were too late. Roux is now True.  The silver lining is that True--and I dined there last evening--is hitting on all cylinders. I enjoyed my lamb loaf with sweet potatoes and I normally don't eat sweet potatoes. Ed. 10/20/2012]

The Archives Office clock reached eleven with the respectful unobtrusiveness of one whose mission in life is to be ignored until 4:59 p.m.  Without so much as a “Tah” to his assistant, our career management level Statey, one Whiggin Blanquet, rose from his calculations of his DROP payment at his faux-wood desk, grasped his walking stick and strode out the door to his near-by reserved parking spot. He quickly drove off toward his favorite lunch spot in Cloverdale—Roux—where he was to be treated to lunch and to a rare conversation with his foil/counterpart, one Chase N. Allpots, the decayed gentleman from Ireland.

“I’m starving,” Whiggin Blanquet announced, making an effort to sit down gracefully and read the menu at the same time.

“So I gathered,” said his Irish host, “from the fact that you were nearly punctual.  Perhaps I ought to have told you that I am now on an Atkins diet.  In your absence I’ve ordered two bowls of gumbo and rice without the rice and a truffle pasta salad without the truffles and pasta. I hope you don’t mind.”

Blanquet pretended afterwards that he did not go white above the collar line for a fraction of a second before he realized Allpots was trying to make a joke.  He was saved when he saw the waiter approaching with two cups of gumbo with rice piled above the rim and his favorite truffle pasta salad that he one day hoped would be named for his boyhood pet and beloved truffle-hunting piglet: Mortimer. (For a prior post mentioning dear Mortimer, click here.)

This little pig could hunt

Whiggin Blanquet breathed a sign of relief.

“All the same,” Blanquet said, “you ought not to joke about such things. There really are such Atkins people.  I’ve known people who’ve met them. To think of all the adorable things there are to eat at this restaurant and in the world and then to order and go through life munching tofu and being proud of it.”

“These Atkins people are like the Flagellants of the Middle Ages, who went about mortifying themselves,” Allpots sniffed.

“They had some excuse,” Blanquet said. “They did it to save their immortal souls, didn’t they? But as for these Atkins dieters, you needn’t tell me that a man who doesn’t love pasta and bread and truffles has got a soul, or a stomach either.  He’s simply got the instinct for being unhappy highly developed.”

Blanquet and Allpots relapsed for a few golden moments into tender intimacies with a succession of rapidly disappearing shrimp and truffles.

“I think shrimp and truffles are more beautiful than any religion,” Blanquet resumed presently. “They not only forgive our unkindness to them; they justify it, they incite us to go on being perfectly horrid to them.  Once they arrive at the lunch-table they seem to enter thoroughly into the spirit of the thing. There’s nothing in Christianity or Buddhism that quite matches the unselfishness of a shrimp or a truffle.  Do you like my new tie? I’m wearing it for the first time today.”

“It looks like a great many others that I have seen lately, only worse,” said Allpots.  “And you really should try to avoid marginalizing religions by comparing them to shrimp or truffles.”

“Touche,” said Whiggen Blanquet once again mindful that the skin-flint Allpots was actually treating him to lunch for a change.  “To what do I owe the honor of this fine occasion?”

Allpots became apparently serious and lowered his voice saying: “We may not agree on much—or even enjoy each other’s company for that matter—but we do agree on one thing: Roux for lunch.  And those of us with the sense to know True Banh Mi from a Taco Bell burrito must patronize our fine lunch spots to keep them here when we need a Shrimp Ceasar Po’boy or Tuna “Nicoise” Salad with a Pimm’s Cup.”

Dear me, Blanquet thought to himself, Allpots has found something worth supporting with his purse and the old boy had a point.

“Well then, “ said Blanquet finishing off the last bit of pasta, “I shall show my support for the cause by ordering one of those divine Shrimp Caesar Po’Boys and a Vodka martini.”

Allpots wiped the trace of gumbo and the beginnings of a smile from his lips, and slowly lowered his dexter eyelid.  Which, being interpreted, probably meant, “Not on my tab.”

(For info on Saki: http://www.online-literature.com/hh-munro/)

No Bread in the House

We proud Gump Guinea Pigs have seen a lot of strange things in the service of Lunch in the Gump fans.  We've taken gastronomic risks no patrons of lunch fare should have to endure.  We've been starved, sat upon and thrown out on our ears. But the last thing we expected to face when a squad was sent in to sample the chicken salad sandwiches offered by "The House of Bread" in Old Alabama Town was they were out of wheat bread by 12:15.  Yes, you read that right: No bread at House of Bread.

House of No Bread
(Photo from Montgomery Advertiser)

Normally we discount anecdotal accounts of the foibles of new restaurants because we all know a very good restaurant can have a bad day or a bad meal or two.  But "House of Bread" has been open about four months now and not only did they have no wheat bread, they ran out of the chicken salad after serving one of the GGP's this tiny portion--a mere melon ball scoop--of chicken salad with three packs of saltines.  At least, because they originally thought they were going to be able to serve us a sandwich, there was a bag of chips included which, as you can see below, was devoured before the entree arrived.

A daub of chicken salad with a few leaves of lettuce and three small tomatoes.
(Photo from secret GGP iPhone)

The chicken salad was more finely ground up than we usually see in restaurants this day and age but what was of it available was tasty for the three bites it supplied. The "unsweet" tea was also good although it came pre-sweetened.  It was a good thing one of the squad tasted it first or he would have enjoyed super-sweet tea.

All in all it was not an auspicious performance. But, that is what the GGP's are here for: checking places out and twitching their noses.  On the bright side, the building is quaint, the waitstaff is willing and the menu offers traditional light lunch fare. I understand the catering side of the business is what propelled them to open for lunch.  We emphasize this is only one visit and one item ordered.  We believe it is worth a visit to see if others catch them on a better day.  For a more favorable reviews click here or there. The location is, at the very least, an interesting place to visit.

Lunch is Served in Gump Central

Finally! We have a true replacement for The Elite where you can enjoy fine dining for lunch in the Gump: Central at 129 Coosa. I know that is saying something, especially to those of you old enough to have actually experienced a business lunch at The Elite. And I also know I am very fond of the Olive Room. But I dare say I do not exaggerate when I say that Central is a very good choice for a lunch with clients and colleagues because it has some interesting spaces that can provide various levels of appropriate privacy with attentive service and an interesting selection of variously-priced entrees.

Why, just the other day I was invited to lunch with a group of financiers to discuss why I was wanting to teach my loans to roll-over when my dog was not house-broken. They were kind to include lunch as part of the cordial reminder that eventually you have to pay your debts back (or resign yourself to the status of a nare do well like Whiggin Blanket).  By the way, that reminds me of an e-mail response from a listener who was a former navy seaman who took offense at some comment to the effect that Congressional Republicans spend money like "drunken sailors" and Congressional Democrats would spend  money like "drunken sailors on crack."  His point was well made when he wrote: "I take offense at the comparison of Congress to drunken sailors. At least even we drunken sailors stopped spending when we ran out of money."  I, your humble servant, have taken heed that I need to stop spending but, as we are wont to do, I digress.

The point of all of this was that Central is now open for lunch and I enjoyed a very fine lunch there.  I had the Central version of a gyro sandwich which is actually called a grilled chicken pita with feta cheese, tabouli and a Greek vinaigrette ($10).

(For the correct pronunciation of Gyro see this link.)

My only possible complaint pertains to the portions. Notice the New York City style portions and glasses. Anyone heard of what NYC is trying to do about portions? Perhaps you like the idea, but I, for one, am squarely against a city telling me what size portions my favorite restaurant can serve food and non-alcoholic beverages. Why, I would never want a 42-ounce tankard of Diet Dr. Pepper, but by goodness I have and do occasionally want the chance to devour a 42-ounce sirloin and win a free meal.  Again, at Central recently my meal was delicious and well-prepared.  My only constructive criticism would be for Central to enlarge the luncheon portions. I must of consumed six glasses of water where one larger glass would have probably sufficed. Not asking them to "Super Size Me," mind you.  I am just suggesting a larger water glass, a few more vegetables in the side dish and a pita that can hold a few more ounces of chicken. "Just saying" as you natives and Josh Moon say.

You see, I just don't buy the idea that the government needs to be involved in my dietary choices in a free lunch market. If you believe government should do something about the fact we are the fattest people on earth then just tax the fatties by the pound and it will all work out in the marketplace!  Ooops.  Did I step over the line a bit there?  Well, if I have offended any of you "Biggest Loser-Types," I humbly apologize because I know your life choices are actually the fault of the city's failure to regulate the number of french fries you can sneak off from work and order at the Wendy's drive-thru between your five other normal feedings. At least, that is what they say in enlightened New York City. Today it is no sodas over 32-ounces. What's next: No triple Whoppers? No extra mayo? Gee, thank you Mayor Bloomberg.  Who said Republicans don't like expanding the role of government? Leave the fatties alone. Sock it to the thin. And lunch at Central!

Don't blow a gasket over the portions (and mind your head at Central).