Family Fries
BRUNING'S has survived a hurricane and the sands of time to remain a
Bucktown seafood favorite - relatively speaking.
By Sara Roahen
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The kitchen at BRUNING'S, featuring salad counter prep cook Michel Smith,
chef Gerald Dannel and executive chef O'Deal Stills, has a history of creating
huge seafood dishes such as 'flounderous Brunicas enormous.'
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WHAT: Brunings
CUISNE: Seafood
WHEN: Lunch and dinner daily
WHERE:1924 West End Pkwy., 282-9395
CARDS: Major
Bruning's fried seafood predates the Civil War. The restaurant is older than
Kansas. Its kitchen has seen only two chefs in the past 100 years. The same
purveyors have supplied the restaurant seafood since anyone can remember.
Recipes do not change. Ever. The same brand of vegetable shortening has filled
the deep fryer since the 1920s. The family members' dedication to their
business spans seven generations and runs deeper than Lake Pontchartrain.
Imagine this: Hurricane George marches across the Gulf and makes a
last-minute swerve to swat your family business into the lake, over which the
restaurant has hovered since your great-great-great-great-great-grandfather
opened it in 1859. Do you shed a tear? Yes. Do you wallow and wait for your
insurance company to cover damages? Not if you are Sam Urrate (his mother,
Amelia Bruning, married a Sicilian). If you are Sam Urrate, you made plans for
such a disaster. Years ago, you and your family bought the building next door
(the former Federico bar) just in case. If you are Sam Urrate, you reopen next
door in only seven weeks.
Urrate plans to begin reconstructing Bruning's original building --
still partially standing -- after hurricane season this year. His mother and
brother, Jimmy, also share ownership of the institution. He has been grooming
his son John for an imminent takeover for years. Urrate does not mess around.
The show must go on. Crawfish must be boiled. Abita Amber must be tapped. Not a
day must pass sans the crackling of a fried oyster.
At twilight last Sunday, as my gaze drifted out over Lake
Pontchartrain and my tongue lingered over the creamy remnants of the last fried
corn nugget I had dipped in my ketchup/Crystal concoction, I contemplated the
longstanding partnership between the Bruning-Urrates and their community. I
have a friend who has celebrated birthdays, anniversaries and other monumental
familial events at Bruning's her entire life. When asked why Bruning's fried
catfish was her favorite, she launched into a description of the original
restaurant's antique Brunswick bar (it survived the hurricane) and the walls of
framed newspaper clippings documenting decades at the seafood house. Yes, fried
catfish does taste better surrounded by the mythology of a family.
When I prodded, she described the frying at Bruning's as "clean."
She was right. Each bite of golden-fried lakefood (Urrate calls it "lakefood,"
because every crab, crawfish, oyster, shrimp and fish served could be caught at
the seawall) looked and tasted like it had been submerged in a fresh batch of
sizzling oil. I've done my time as a fry cook; this is no small feat. Their
frying success also involves a light corn flour and milk batter recipe that
Urrate and his chef, O'Deal Stills, dare not alter. This could be the recipe
Theodor Bruning brought with him from Germany when Bucktown was just a fishing
village. Whatever its origin, it works. The batter coats the fish and oysters
tightly and continues to cling to them from fryer to bite.
The attrition rate of waitstaff at Bruning's is almost nil. One of
our servers sat with us long enough to describe with longing the original
stairless building; another laughed at our inability to diminish our abundant
servings of lakefood, relating how her family always leaves with doggie bags.
Both of them sailed through the rooms with the ease of family. Heck, I felt
like family at my first sip of Barq's out of the bottle.
I indeed fell for the charm of a business with more years under its
belt than I will live in my lifetime, a New Orleans tradition with more pluck
than a dozen cutting-edge eateries combined. As if I were in love for the first
time, I forgave Bruning's its culinary mishaps as they slid down my throat.
While you will be similarly charmed, professional courtesy and duty bid me to
mention those missteps.
Although the batter was of divine consistency, it lent no seasoning
to the mildness of catfish. A lovely, toothsome, fried softshell crab was much
too salty. While my petit shrimp were spicily boiled and juicy, their
accompanying cocktail sauce had less to offer than my own ketchup/Crystal
mixture and would have benefited from a little horseradish. The gumbo, with an
amazingly nutty roux, had little seafood flavor save the bursts of a few tiny
shrimp. Dry oysters on a combination platter and in a po-boy were fried either
too long or at too high a temperature to hold in any moisture. Lastly, the
remoulade sauce dousing a shrimp appetizer tasted identical to the Thousand
Island dressing on my dinner salad. Cajun spices and a little Creole mustard
with a squirt of lemon would do the trick.
These culinary imperfections, though disappointing at first, vanish
in the face of such tradition. In fact, they are trademarks upon which loyal
customers depend, for which they return year after year. They are the endearing
quirks of a family member that we affectionately pardon, gradually accept, and
finally celebrate.
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