Following a run, a sunrise, and commiseration with Sheraton hotel staff re the loss to the Lakers, I wandered The French Quarter. What makes it French, I dunno, but it has a charm due to the narrow streets, the dissolute, the lost souls, and the low, quirky architecture.
Lunch was at Herbsaint. Personally? Personally, I think this must be the best restaurant in the city and for sure, for sure one of thew best in the country. Up there with Zuni and one notch below Esca. First of all, staff is chill and well-informed. The room is happy and sleek without pretension. The food: Just amazing. Chef Link conjures up a fine menu well-executed by his cooks. I had house-made spaghetti topped with a deep fried egg that oozed when opened and a thin, perfect slice of guanciale followed by a tuna as if in a sandwich. Perfect portions, smart and sensibly arranged. This is what happens when genius meets terroir and lets the food express itself. What happens when the chef gets out of the way.
In the afternoon, heard Wyclef @ the music festival.
In the evening? MiLa: Salad of local spring vegetables and Alaskan halibut. Waiter looked like Roy Orbison. Food? Just splendid.