The most exciting thing about our meal at Broussard’s, one of the old-school French Quarter restaurants in the vein of Brennan’s and Arnaud’s, was the rat on the patio outside the window. Its presence was announced by a woman at a nearby table in the relatively drab side room.
Unfortunately, a wedding rehearsal dinner party had booked the entire front and much more elegant dining room.
There wasn’t anything particularly wrong with the meal, it just wasn’t very noteworthy.
Crabmeat Gratinée was served hot and creamy with a few cauliflower florets curiously on the plate. Candied Pork Belly, drizzled with cane syrup, was ho-hum.
My Black Drum Rosalie was a very nice piece of fish with a crumb crust seasoned with rosemary and mustard. My companion’s Duck a l’Orange was perfectly fine.
Service was officious and aloof.
Broussard’s needs something to stir things up a bit. Ratatouille, perhaps.