Small packages

During my second bite of the frenched pork chop with a sauce of morels and truffles at Brandt’s Maisonette, I wondered why a line wasn’t forming outside the door. Not that the place wasn’t busy. But still. The bone-in chop was thick and juicy, its brandied cream sauce woody and elegant, and its flesh blushed just pink. I chewed slowly, eyes closed. Then I suddenly worried about the satisfied, come-hither look that must have been on my face.

But I got over it. Too many pork chops end up dry in this age of skinnied-up swine, and too many sauces, flat and lifeless. I was in love.

Brandt’s Maisonette, now four years old, is the creation of Chef Greg Brandt and his wife, Paula. Classic fare dominates the menu. Take note: It’s one of few places in the area that serves sweetbreads and homemade terrines of duck liver (more reasons lines ought to be forming).

The small red cottage in Mid City features only nine tables, a tiny bar and a comfortable, but refined vibe. Ties are not unusual. It’s often filled with regulars. Some are familiar with Greg Brandt’s culinary trajectory. He’s worked with some of the world’s best chefs, run several of his own spots, and is the son of Charles Brandt, the owner and executive chef of now-closed Chalet Brandt, often credited for putting fine dining on the local map. Others who come here just love French food and know what a find the place is.

The menu changes to an extent daily, but usually features a soup, a few appetizers, and less than 10 entrees.

After kir royales on our first visit, we started with the silken vichysoisse, cold cream soup of potatoes and leeks ($6). While delicate and soft, this sturdy rendition was also rich and nicely salted, giving it heft and character.

The tender escargot Borguignonne, served in tiny individual ramekins, were tucked in an elixir of butter, anchovy, garlic and shallots. They were tinged green with chopped parsley ($10). I couldn’t decide which was better, the texture of the escargot or the sop-worthy sauce.

We also mooned over the lump crabmeat Peggy, a longtime menu item at Chalet Brandt named for Greg Brandt’s mother. It’s a luxurious gratin of crabmeat combined with cream sauces and topped with breadcrumbs and candied almonds ($10). Remarkably, it evades being cloying and heavy.

We also fared well with entrees. My sampling of the pair of quail with seafood stuffing and sauce Perigourdine, or truffle sauce, was really satisfying, particularly since I decided to go after the leg and thigh of the sumptuous, pull-apart bird with my fingers ($29). My companions didn’t mind, but the distinguished couple next to us who smelled faintly of mothballs might have. The quail’s savory stuffing was enhanced with Pernod and its truffle sauce, earthy and aromatic.

I also behaved badly with the rack of lamb au vin rouge with sauce Colbert and candied garlic ($35). But what’s not to like about rosy, gamey lamb set off by rich red wine sauce? The layers of ingredients in the Colbert sauce, including demi-glace, shallots and lemon juice, along with the sweet, pungent candied garlic were mad, hypnotic accompaniments to the mid-rare chops.

Brandt’s is known for its fresh fish and frequently features trout and scallops. The red snapper with jumbo lump crabmeat is almost always on the menu ($26). We gave it a whirl, and found it springy and fresh, its beurre blanc sauce smooth and lovely.

On another night, we started with the lobster bisque, whose subtle notes of shellfish stock, sherry and tarragon gave the creamy backdrop glorious depth ($6). Hunks of sweet, fresh lobster floated throughout. When this soup is featured, it would be a big mistake to miss it.

One of the entrees that night was the classic American dish, crabmeat imperial, an illusive item on regional menus ($26). This stately, elegant version is not just baked crab in a creamy sauce; it was a wondrous blend of fish stock, hollandaise sauce, mayonnaise, tiny bits of red and green pepper and a topping of breadcrumbs and capers. Greg Brandt also features it with crab and crawfish, but I couldn’t imagine it being better than it was that night.

The crabmeat imperial played well with the 2005 Dauvissat Chablis and the frenched pork chop, mentioned at the outset, worked nicely with the Adelsheim Pinot Noir from Oregon (not on the wine list, but available by the glass). By the way, the wine list is small since the maisonette, I’m told, doesn’t lend itself to storage. The corkage fee though is a great deal at only $15, so consider bringing your own.

For dessert, Brandt’s almost always features the pecan ball, a Chalet Brandt relic emblazoned in the psyche of the Baton Rougeans who ate there ($6). Case in point: I watched a 40-something woman and her husband celebrating their anniversary nearby devour the ball of vanilla ice cream rolled in toasted pecans and bathed in Grand Marnier milk chocolate sauce. When I asked her about it, she moaned happily and said, “I used to eat this at Chalet Brandt on special occasions growing up.”

Nostalgic as the pecan ball might be, I found no big wow factor although it was homey and good. But I was wowed by the exceptional crčme brulee served in deep crčme caramel custard cups ($6). During both my visits I ordered it, once served classically, once flavored with espresso. The shell of burnt sugar, wonderfully substantial and unyielding to my spoon, finally cracked and gave way, opening up the glassy, full-bodied cream within. It was really memorable.

The service at Brandt’s Maisonette, handled chiefly by Paula Brandt, one waiter and one back waiter was perfect on both occasions—unobtrusive, gracious and knowledgeable.

As seating goes, your best bet is the main dining room, where the subtle action unfolds. Two other tables are sequestered in an adjoining room and are perfectly fine, but not as jolly. For parties of up to 10, a separate room holds one large round table.

So few tables might sound like force-fed intimacy with your neighbors, but Brandt’s is an incredibly comfortable place to have dinner.

Unless you, too, get that come-hither look over your pork chops. Then, you’re on your own.