Jessica Taylor
02/02/2004
With its period chandeliers, rouge-red wallpaper and intricately carved fireplaces, Arnaud’s in New Orleans harkens back the glorious Antebellum parlors of the South. But its 12 private dining rooms, each cleverly concealed along secret mosaic-tiled passageways that ramble through 13 historic buildings, tell a different tale entirely—one strange even by the voodoo-influenced standards of its French Quarter environs.
The story of this landmark restaurant, where tuxedoed waiters serve haute Creole specialties on linen-clad tables, began at the height of la belle époque, when Léon Bertrand Arnaud Casenave abandoned a medical career in his native France to sell champagne in New York City. But only when a sales trip brought him to New Orleans in 1902 did the young bon vivant finally feel at home in his new country. The French Quarter, with its lax social mores, opium dens and gambling houses, infused a nightlife not unlike that of Casenave’s Paris, with a tangy mix of French, African and West Indian cultures and cuisines. Here Casenave designated himself "the Count," a title to which he had no claim, but one that aristocrat-loving New Orleans was happy to embrace. He would first lease the Old Absinthe House (where Andrew Jackson and Jean Lafitte are rumored to have met), eventually raising enough capital to open a restaurant of his own, calling it after his Christian name, rather than his spurious title.
That Prohibition went into effect a year after Arnaud’s opened in 1918 only fueled Casenave’s imagination. By acquiring neighboring buildings and poking holes through the walls, the Count increased the size of Arnaud’s, while creating a cover for the wine and spirits he continued to serve his guests. Just before Congress repealed the 18th Amendment, however, federal agents discovered the hidden rooms where alcohol flowed freely. The Count was acquitted of all charges by a jury sympathetic to his belief that "pursuing pleasures of the table is as worthy as anything else one can do in life."
Following his death in 1948, the Count’s daughter, Germaine (who had the distinction of being crowned Mardi Gras queen more times than anyone else in New Orleans’ history), took over the reins of her father’s enterprise. Under her control, Arnaud’s continued its success, but decades of neglect eventually took their toll. Archie Casbarian, a respected hotelier, approached the Count’s daughter in 1978 with a proposal to purchase. Casbarian’s striking resemblance to her father (they even shared the same initials) and a promise to restore Arnaud’s to its original grandeur prompted the aging Mardi Gras queen to sell. After the expenditure of meticulous attention and more than $3 million, Arnaud’s stands once again as the grand dame of New Orleans, authentic down to its Creole menu.
"Eighty percent of the menu is original," says Casbarian. "However, we update the menu every three months with lighter versions of Creole recipes." A signature indulgence from yesteryear is the crisply fried speckled trout nestled in a pool of meunière sauce, made of veal stock, butter, lemon, pepper and herbs. Another old favorite is the eponymous Shrimp Arnaud, a piquant rémoulade served over fresh shrimp. Oysters are another specialty and the stuff of epicurean obsession, served either in bowls of steaming soup or baked in five distinct styles. For purists, these succulent mollusks are also available freshly shucked on the half shell. Postprandial pleasures include premium cigars, rare ports and single malt Scotches, though legend has it that yet another spirit may materialize at your table along with the cordials: that of Count Arnaud himself. Pricing varies depending on the size of one’s party and the dining room of choice.
Arnaud’s
813 Rue Bienville, New Orleans
866.230.8895, www.arnauds.com