There’s an enviable clarity of vision at Lucky 8 Luncheonette, the new New Orleans-style concept in the Hillview district. The decor: eclectic but cohesive with here and there a reference to something personal. The music: interesting and mysteriously connected. On the television: an idiosyncratic YouTube playlist of consistently obscure videos that must mean a lot to someone. But it all fits together. It all seems to come from the mind of one person. And that mind belongs to Chef Mark Marjorie. Hailing from New Orleans, Marjorie’s kitchen career has seen him cycle through fine dining kitchens before settling into a highly successful run at Veronica’s Fish and Oyster. Now, twenty or so steps north on Osprey Avenue, he gets the chance to deliver the food of his youth to the place he calls home.
Sarasota residents are unlikely to find a more faithful expression of dishes like crawfish etouffee. The crawfish in this dish are sourced from Chef Marjorie’s hometown of Westwego, a suburb of New Orleans on the west bank of the Mississippi River. Its brininess melds well with the butter roux and tomato, all of it fortuitously soaked up by the rice at the bottom of the bowl. This rice should be cherished and devoured.
The chicken sausage gumbo shares a similar flavor profile to the etouffee—thanks to a similar spice and roux potion, sans tomato—but brings just a little heat and an extra layer or two of unctuousness. The heat comes courtesy of pickled banana peppers, while the unctuousness is delivered by the tasty rendered fat of the sausage. This is another rich, savory, hearty bowl of goodness, also served over rice. Lucky diners get a bay leaf in their serving.
Lucky 8’s traditional crispy boudin offers a great deal more complexity than Italian arancini, a close rice-stuffed cousin of crispy boudin. Boudin, however, adds pork, Cajun trinity, chicken liver and other pinches and dashes of flavor before getting the breaded and deep fried treatment. Chef Marjorie adds poblano peppers, which he marinates with the pork, before mincing everything and forming it into balls. The result, served with a ramekin of Crystal hot sauce aioli, has all the youthful joy of a hushpuppy with all the deep culinary history of the Big Easy.
All the handheld menu items are worth repeat visits. Lucky 8’s smashburgers are quintessential, hearkening back to the days when a drive-thru burger was actual beef and bread, not synthetic, vacuum-sealed astronaut food. The sesame seeds on these buns fight for space, the beef patty (or patties) are seared just right, the cheese and toppings all contribute to that synergy of burger parts that form the burger’s soul. A picture of this burger belongs in a burger textbook or instruction manual.
The muffaletta—a New Orleans invention out of Central Grocery Co.—is a sight to behold. It’s stacked impossibly thick with ham, genoa salami, mortadella and provolone, smothered with an olive salad and giardiniera blend, then toasted between two thick slices of Sicilian bread. It soaks through the deli paper that lines every tray at Lucky 8. More importantly, it’s about as filling of a sandwich as can pass through the fully open jaw of the average adult. If trying it for the first time, split it with at least one other person. Then don bibs and gloves.
Leave the bib on for the Creole crispy chicken sandwich. Served on the same sesame seed bun as the smashburgers, the inventive twist on this sandwich is the collard greens, which are cooked along with rutabaga, smoked paprika and watermelon radish. It’s altogether savory, vegetal, slightly bitter and unexpected, adding a bit of flair to what is, at heart, a fried chicken sandwich. If the bread, chicken, collard greens and swiss cheese don’t all hit near the edges of the sandwich, bite deeper. It’s there and it’s worth getting sandwich on your face. And not to say that a visit to a New Orleans-style restaurant has to include the excesses associated with its March festivities, but Lucky 8 does serve draft beer by the liter. From the mind of Chef Marjorie to your gut. SRQ
