About this time last year I was parading the streets with the rest of the lot, enjoying a beer out in public and the sounds of zydeco and country from each open doorway. The air reeked of alcohol and seafood and seemed to intoxicate everyone even more. While I am missing New Orleans this year, Heaven and Seven on Rush temporarily fills that hole in my stomach labeled “Cajun.”
Craving something fried, spicy and hearty, I encourage a couple of my girlfriends to indulge in some Creole eats with me for lunch. I dined at the Heaven on Seven on Wabash with my mother a couple years back, but I wanted to give the Rush location a try; it has a more extensive menu.
Upon entering the restaurant (located up an escalator, halfway en route to a movie theater), I’m gloriously bombarded with a massive display of hot sauce – a trait consistent among both locations. Hundreds of mouth-singeing capsaicin syrups line multiple walls, dozens more on each table at random. I’m seated at a table with more than a couple bottles of Melinda’s, my favorite habanero hot sauce line.
The place is decked out in Mardi Gras flair (purple, green and gold masks, beads, etc.) though not to an overwhelming extent. The remaining d’ÛΩcor is humble. The tables, chairs and bars are all a matching dark wood and signs like “Beware pickpockets and loose women” hang about. Cooks in white short-sleeved chef jackets flip and fry up orders in an open kitchen area.
Cajun food is a genre of “staples” – many dishes embody the culture of NOLA and there are far too many to try in a single seating. In an attempt to enjoy a variety, we order a small smattering to share:
The gumbo, fresh from the stove, arrives first. Filled with andouille sausage, bell peppers, onions and topped with a scoop of white rice, the spicy soup excellently counters the bitter cold outside. An elegant plate of shrimp and parmesan-reggiano cheese grits follows. The small shrimp, lightly battered and fried, are tinted slightly red from the Cajun spices. The grits are thick and creamy, flavored with ham, mushroom and scallion.
I also order a large appetizer of fried crawfish tails, a crustacean new to my friend. After all: ’tis the season. Though not the same as tearing the tail of a whole crawdad and slurping the insides from the front half (one of my favorite pastimes), this finger food pleased me. About fifty little tails are fried up to a crispy, yet juicy, state and served with a large bowl of honey-jalape’Ûαo dipping sauce. The same sauce pairs with the crunchy crab cakes we order to end our meal (per demand of my friend: “Crab cakes! Crab cakes!”). Usually a menu item I overlook, the crab cakes tasted delicious and had a pleasant texture.
We washed down our meals with beers from Abita, a Louisiana-based brewing company that stocks the bars in NOLA. Ultimately, Heaven on Seven did not bring me back to the craziness of Bourbon Street. But my taste buds were pleasantly fooled.
