L’Acadiane serves up Cajun and Creole in Lafayette Square
Tucked beneath Baileys’ Chocolate Bar, Dave Bailey's new spot specializes in NOLA-style fare.
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Photography by Kevin A. Roberts
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Photography by Kevin A. Roberts
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Photography by Kevin A. Roberts
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Photography by Kevin A. Roberts
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Photography by Kevin A. Roberts
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Photography by Kevin A. Roberts
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Photography by Kevin A. Roberts
Bottles of Crystal Hot Sauce on the table are a good sign. It’s odd that some think New Orleans cuisine—almost ridiculously illuminated with electric flavors—ever needs additional liquid conflagration, but the sauce is a Louisiana staple, and its presence here is a bellwether. So is the absence of tacky Mardi Gras frippery or anthropomorphic gators. Instead, L’Acadiane resembles a real NOLA eatery: Attractive sconces lend brick walls a subdued light. There are metal chairs and simple wooden tables graced with tiny vases of fresh flowers. It all works to create that relaxed, genteel atmosphere of a Garden District boîte.
Atmosphere’s one thing, but there are no more Serious Eats than those of Big Easy cuisine. The bar is lofty, the standards exacting. Maybe that’s why our city’s seen very few restaurants devoted to it. At first skeptical, we sampled an appetizer, hushpuppies, mostly because we wanted to try the rémoulade dip. The ’puppies? A trifle too doughy, slightly under-seasoned. That rémoulade, though… Mayo, horseradish, mustard, cayenne. It’s all that and more, enough to encourage you to venture to the next course, a shrimp-heavy po’ boy on house-baked bread. It’s perfect—light but substantial enough to hold a tumbling heap of golden fried shrimp curls, shredded lettuce, and a savory slathering of that rémoulade that hits every note gloriously.
So down to business. Jambalaya—think of it as America’s paella—must strike a balance: moist, not mushy; seasoned, though without tongue-numbing extravagance; exactly the right protein proportions to make it all work. L’Acadiane’s version represents a master class, with spicy sharp andouille coins, shrimp, and shredded chicken thighs swirled into a pillow of rice that’s splendidly tender, every grain loaded with Cajun fire and smoke.
The po’ boys are stuffed with fried red tomatoes, blackened redfish, a house-made hot link (splashed with gumbo broth), fried chicken, and slow-roasted pork shoulder. The only fault we could find in our shrimp-strapped sandwich was that not enough of that exquisite rémoulade dressed it, so we dribbled in some from the hushpuppies. (Tip: Order extra rémoulade.)
An otherwise creditable dirty rice was compromised with way too much cracked pepper. The gumbo is suitably fragrant and smooth, the color a rich chocolate, meaning that the roux was pan-roasted with painstaking care. A crawfish bisque is silky, the russet essence of sweet mudbug. Not only do these standards succeed, but L’Acadiane also ventures outside the French Quarter with such surprises as an awesomely extravagant presentation of catfish fillet stuffed with crab and a restrained garlic dressing on a cushion of poblano grits—unquestionably one of the best dishes in my recent memory. It exemplifies the combination of simple ingredients and polished preparation that defines New Orleans food.
Chicken and waffles, that curious combination, gets an enjoyable twist. The breast is expertly deep-fried and perched on a waffle of pressed cornbread. The waffle, with a pleasant corn-flecked texture and herby substance, soaks up the maple syrup satisfyingly. If, like us, you just don’t get this pairing, order a waffle as a side. (It’s worth it.) Red gravy’s the wild card in shrimp and grits. Supple and creamy, it adds a lusciousness to the dish, bathing the grilled shrimp and poblano-spiked grits.
Details elevate the restaurant. Note the cushioned stools with backs and armrests, making for comfortable bar seating and a nice place to dine. And while you’re in the area, the cocktails are also above average, with thoughtful style. Bitters, rye, and an absinthe rinse work for an alchemical Sazerac. The Faulknerian “Joe Christmas” bourbon–and–black tea concoction is smacked with Aperol and smoked juniper. The wine list is short; some here are hefty enough to stand up to the demands of NOLA fare. A better idea: the selection of artisanal brews.
A whiskey-and-caramel “baked Alaska” bread pudding is an extravagant shareable dessert. Pass on the beignets; ours were leaden, underdone. Or just go upstairs to Baileys’ Chocolate Bar for some of the legendary fun.
We visited L’Acadiane on a warm, mist-thick night and afterward strolled out past the towering Mississippi River map and the compact bar, where a woman was dining alone, absently forking in a nibble of crab cakes, lost in thought. She was mysterious, intriguing, a glimpse of the fascinating enigma that is New Orleans. We wanted to talk, to discover her story, but didn’t.
Truth be told, we really just wanted to reminisce about that rémoulade.
This article was originally published as part of St. Louis Magazine’s June 2018 issue.
