Dooky Chase

My first experience with New Orleans, as I imagine it is for many Americans, was at Disneyland.

The striking colors and architecture of New Orleans Square made a bigger impression on me than Main Street or the Disney castle itself. It wasn't until I was brave enough to ride the Haunted Mansion for the first time that I realized it too was part of "New Orleans," and now Tiana's Bayou Adventure, formerly known as Splash Mountain, is part of it as well. My parents are the type that always opted to eat as little as possible at the park, but the smell of natural gas and bouillon emanating from the kitchen of Blue Bayou, mixed with the intoxicating chlorinated water from Pirates of the Caribbean, managed to leave a lasting impression anyways (seriously, I've been looking for the perfect Pirates theme park water perfume for years). It wasn't until high school that I had the Gumbo, which is not only a choice for a theme park to have had since the 60's, but arguably the best meal Disney has to offer, worth devouring in a bread bowl even on a sweltering summer day.

I was reminded of Disney when I tried to call Dooky Chase, in the actual New Orleans this time, to see if we could push back our reservation – Ian and Jordan and Chloe were all on the same flight, which was delayed, and there was no way we would all be able to make it for the original 7:30pm reservation. When you call Dooky Chase, you are aurally greeted with a full-on jazz band as a Black, motherly voice guides you through a phone tree; imagine calling Nobu to be greeted with Japanese flute and Morimoto's voice talking about the "fine art of sushi". I was simply not prepared and deeply triggered by past experiences calling the IRS and after a stint of hold music being unceremoniously sent straight to voicemail. That's exactly what happened with Dooky three times in a row, and, while we imagined they were slammed, we figured it was best to just go talk to them in person, but not before a quick pitstop at the nearby surfer-themed Lucy's, which, of course, had incredible hush puppies.

A no-nonsense security guard greeted us and opened the door, a recent addition after a fatal shooting took place here earlier this year. A smallish waiting area opens up to a wide, rectangular room carpeted in maroon. It looks like a banquet hall and every table is full, but even though it's hustling and bustling, the vibes are mellower than I expected. We explained our situation to the hostess and she seemed genuinely excited I was here for my bachelor party. She did some finagling to push our reservation for a party of seven back an hour. Trying to kill time, Dennis found a craft brewery in Tremé (Treme? the Tremé?), a very white person establishment in a place so historically Black that David Simon wrote a show about it. At least (?) the brewery, Skeeta Hawk, prefers European-style lagers to American IPAs. Last night's schnitzel and potato salad, a reference to NOLA's Saint-Germain past, come to mind.

Ian, Jordan, and Chloe all make it to Dooky on time. After we are finally seated and drinking champagne, our server kindly asks us if we can order soon since the kitchen was getting ready to close. As a food person, I pride myself on my wide-reaching adventurous palette. But I was reminded looking through Dooky's menu of the extent of all I do not know. How does one choose between the Chicken or Shrimp Creole? Or between the gumbo and the crab soup?

Going clockwise: Caesar Salad with Fried Oysters, Shrimp Dooky with Pickled Okra and a Deviled Egg, Roasted Red Beet Salad

I chose the crab soup because I'd eaten plenty of gumbo (so I thought). It wasn't a creamy pink bisque like I expected, but thin and brown with a few white lumps of crab meat strewn in. It wasn’t fishy and well-flavored, if a bit on the salty side. The gumbo, which I did try, was something else however. Its broth was on the clearer side and deeply flavored, completely different from thick and goopy gumbos past. The slice of andouille I tried with the broth was thin and had crispy edges but was pleasantly firm. I also opted for the Chicken Creole, as did Kenny. Everyone else ordered fried chicken and mac and cheese, which came highly recommended. The fried chicken was crispy and devoid of grease, the mac and cheese was substantial and appropriately portioned. Sometimes it pays to go along with the crowd, but I savored each bite of my Chicken Creole, consisting of chicken breast, shrimp, and okra simmered in a brown sauce and served with jambalaya.

Going clockwise: a side of Mac and Cheese (more filling than it looks), Chicken Creole, Dooky Toast served with a “trio of spreads”

The chicken, the shrimp, the okra, the jambalaya (mostly rice): all of it kind of tasted the same. I hypothesized that was maybe the point – Creole cooking is heavily French in ancestry, and French cooking cares a lot about creating harmonious flavors. This Creole food was also spiced but not spicy, unlike Cajun food, its more rustic cousin. But even Cajun food is generally not very spicy given the heat from its dishes all comes from Cayenne – a pepper imported from Africa (more hidden history). What does it say about our collective perception of these cuisines if it primarily comes from Disney? What does it say about our country if Dooky Chase can be shot up while the Cheesecake Factory serves jambalaya pasta in a "very spicy Cajun-style sauce" (and a tomato-based one no less).

Our server clears our table after the last of the peach cobbler has been devoured. He asks us if we need anything else, like an espresso martini which he mutters under his breath with a smile. I didn't want one when he said that but then I remembered I'm on my bachelor party dammit, I'm having fun, and changed my mind and ordered one. My friends stared at me like I just killed someone. I flip through the menu and realize that an espresso martini isn't on it, our server was joking. I get up and go to the bathroom, and while I'm peeing the security guard walks in with his Bluetooth headset. I learn that he just found out he has to deport tomorrow because of the Iran War. He has to go home and tell his kids that in the morning he will be gone for probably around four months, and that he doesn't yet know exactly where he's going (if by any chance you're reading this, best of luck brother and hope you're hanging in).

I'm suddenly aware of the weight of my presence. I am at Dooky Chase because it is a legendary establishment in New Orleans. And I am here in New Orleans for my bachelor party, already the most Disneyfied ritual-vacation. But the ragtime I heard on the phone that reminded me of a restaurant across from a water ride is not a reference or hokey homage. It is simply all too real.

I return to my seat, an espresso martini awaiting.

Commander’s Palace

Saint-Germain