Herbsaint

Donald Link named his flagship for the anise-flavoured spirit that New Orleans adopted as its absinthe substitute after Prohibition — herbsaint, green and aromatic and distinctly local. The name announces the programme: this is cooking that is rooted in place, concerned with provenance, and committed to flavour over fashion. Link opened Herbsaint in 2000 on St. Charles Avenue at the edge of the Central Business District, and in the quarter-century since it has been a consistent fixture on the Times-Picayune's annual list of New Orleans' ten best restaurants.

The menu moves between Southern and French registers with the confidence of a chef who was trained in both traditions and sees no contradiction between them. The dark roux gumbo is among the best in a city that takes gumbo with terminal seriousness. The duck leg confit with dirty rice and citrus gastrique has appeared on the menu in various iterations for years and will never be removed because it is too good to remove. The pastas — Link spent time in Italy and it shows — are made in-house and reach a standard unusual in this city; the spaghetti with a fried poached egg in brown butter is the dish that regulars recommend to first-timers, not because it is showy but because it is perfect in the way that simple things are perfect when executed with complete attention.

Chef de Cuisine Tyler Spreen maintains the kitchen with the same rigour and the same lack of formality that characterises everything Link does. The dining room is warmly lit and moderately casual — not as grand as some of New Orleans' historic institutions, which is entirely the point. The long bar counter along one wall is one of the city's finest solo dining positions: high stools, a view of the open kitchen, a glass of Languedoc rosé or a sazerac, and the perpetual theatre of a serious professional kitchen at work. Reservations strongly recommended for Saturday evenings.

Herbsaint is one of the few New Orleans restaurants that has been designed, consciously or otherwise, for the solo diner's complete comfort. The bar counter faces the kitchen and provides the solo guest with both entertainment and community — you are not isolated at a small table against a wall, conspicuously alone; you are at the best seat in the house, with a view of professional cooking at full pace and the natural opportunity to speak with whoever sits down next to you. New Orleans has always been a city where strangers talk at bars, and the Herbsaint bar counter channels this quality with particular intelligence.

The portion calibration also rewards the solo diner: the small plates format allows for a genuine survey of the menu without committing to the architecture of a full dinner for two. Order the gumbo, a pasta, the duck confit, and perhaps a cheese plate to close, and you will have eaten better than most two-tops at restaurants twice the price. The wine list is extensive and the by-the-glass selection is generous. The pacing — relaxed, attentive, unhurried — is exactly what solo dining requires. There is no pressure to turn the seat. The staff understand that someone dining alone at the bar is a valued guest, not a problem to be managed. This is less common than it should be.