Tujague’s Family Tree

Marie and Guillaume Tujague Elizabeth and Hipolyte Bégué Founders Founders

Philip Guichet, Sr. 1914 John and Clemence Castet

Steven Latter1982

Mark Latter2013

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Introduction

On Tuesday, March 13, 2013, I received an email from French Quarter photographer Louis Sahuc:

Just got the sad news that Tujague’s is closing in about a month. The building is being sold to a notorious t-shirt peddler. The bar will become a fried chicken joint and the restaurant will become a t-shirt shop. Please spread the word. We might be able to stop it if we act soon.

Tujague’s proprietor, Steven Latter, had died unexpectedly in his sleep at the age of sixty-four on February 18. Steven and his brother Stanford had purchased the historic restaurant and building thirty-one years prior. Stanford regarded the purchase as a real-estate investment and intended to rent the restaurant space out to a fast-food operator, but Steven had other ideas. He left his job with Wembley Ties and devoted the rest of his life to Tujague’s Restaurant. In a curious coincidence, Louis Sahuc had known Steven from his days as Wembley’s purchasing agent. Before becoming a professional photographer, Louis had been employed as a copy-machine salesman and had called on Steven at Wembley—although he recalled he had never been able to sell him anything. At approximately the same time, Steven became Tujague’s proprietor, and Louis abandoned the copy-machine business and became a full-time fine-art photographer. He opened a gallery on Jackson Square and took up residence in the Pontalba Buildings. He then became a regular at Tujague’s, spending a lot of his time there in Steven’s company. Although the news of Tujague’s impending demise came from Louis, it seemed so farfetched, I called Steven’s son, Mark Latter, to inquire. “It’s true,” he said, “and I’ve got less than seventy-two hours to save the restaurant. Can you help me?” I had only met Mark once, when I had dropped by Tujague’s to offer my condolences and give him a copy of the newly reissued Mme. Bégué’s Recipes of Old New Orleans Creole Cookery. Tujague’s Restaurant is the site of the original Bégué’s Exchange, New Orleans’ premier tourist attraction of the late 1800s. In 2012, I had revised Madame Bégué’s 1906 cookbook and Steven had been very helpful. We’d spent several hours sitting together in the bar discussing the Bégués’ history and all of the memorabilia that Steven still had in his possession. He reveled in his role as restaurateur of a dining institution, and I treasured our brief time together. New Orleans is home to several restaurants that are virtual food museums—places where everything from the menu to the décor doesn’t change over centuries. Antoine’s, Galatoire’s, and Arnaud’s are all keepers of the flame. But Tujague’s, with its ties to Madame Bégué’s, stands alone in a very special way. Tujague’s is truly a neighborhood restaurant, located in America’s oldest neighborhood—the French Quarter. On any given day, you’ll find more locals than tourists

Steven Latter (Photograph by Louis Sahuc)

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there. Generations of family memories have been made there. This is one of the things that makes New Orleans so special and is indicative of the important role restaurants play in our culture. So when Mark and I met to discuss the plight of the restaurant, I was eager to assist his effort. Beyond publicizing or spreading the word about the restaurant’s potential demise, we explored other ways to save the New Orleans culinary treasure. I encouraged Mark to consult successful restaurateurs John Besh and Dickie Brennan, who share my love for the city and preserving its historical landmarks. I also suggested that if worse came to worst, before Tujague’s was lost, it was important to document its rich culinary history. We agreed that at the least, Steven’s two-year-old grandson, Braden, should know the part his grandfather had played in New Orleans’ dining history. Behold the power of social media: within days after the news was conveyed on Facebook, over 40,000 people had read the posting. That Friday night, as the clock ticked down, Peggy Scott Laborde, host and producer of “Steppin’ Out,” New Orleans public television’s weekly arts and entertainment show on WYES, encouraged me to share the story. I urged viewers to go to Tujague’s, for what could be their last meal in New Orleans’ second-oldest restaurant, or their last cocktail in America’s oldest standup bar. On April 1, 2013, the New York Times published “Rescue Effort for Tujague’s, a New Orleans Mainstay,” written by reporter Robert Simonson. New Orleanians flocked to Tujague’s, patting Mark on the back and assuring him that somehow everything would work out. Stanford Latter was moved. He recognized how deeply preservationists and residents cared about the future of Tujague’s. Abandoning his plan to sell the piece of history, he instead entered into a long-term lease with his nephew, Mark. The 157-year-old Tujague’s Restaurant was saved.

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Guillaume Tujague, a butcher from Mazerolle, France, travelled to New Orleans in 1852 to set up shop at the French Market. The butcher’s market, often called “Les Halles,” was an enormous, open colonnade where butchers plied their trade from dozens of individual stalls. After establishing his business he travelled back to France, married Marie Abadie, and brought his bride back to New Orleans.

Nineteenth-century Tujague’s spoon (Tujague’s Private Collection)

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Introduction 15

The financial success of the French Market’s butchers came in part from New Orleans’ burgeoning restaurant culture. As early as 1840, when Antoine’s Restaurant was founded, New Orleans had become known as a dining destination. Guillaume abandoned his butcher’s apron for the attire of restaurateur, opening the original Tujague’s at 811 Decatur Street just three doors down from the famed Bégué’s Exchange, known for lavish, hours-long, breakfast gatherings. Perhaps it was a mere coincidence that Guillaume and Marie also featured a “butcher’s breakfast.” Or perhaps it was an intentional marketing move, an attempt to capture some of the guests Madame Bégué turned away each day once her small dining room was full. Clever business move or coincidence, no matter, the Tujagues prospered through hard work on Decatur Street. Guillaume’s 1912 obituary stated:

He always supervised the kitchen and the serving. He would not permit anyone but himself to tend to the marketing. His wife, Marie, proved a valuable asset for, like her husband, she was a past master in the art of preparing delicious dishes.

Following Guillaume’s death, his sister, Alice Tujague Anouilh, and her husband, Etienne, took charge of Tujague’s. In 1914 they seized the opportunity to move the business into the celebrated, original Bégué’s location. Shortly thereafter, Etienne Anouilh passed away and the widowed Alice sold Tujague’s Restaurant to Philip Guichet, Sr., and his partner, Jean-Dominic Castet. Born in Raceland, Philip Guichet was a newcomer to New Orleans, and he was ready to make his fortune. Jean-Dominic Castet had immigrated to New Orleans in 1908 from Claron, France. Once here, he immediately found work at Bégué’s. Just four years later, John (as he’d become known) entered into a harmonious business partnership with Philip Guichet that would endure for over forty years. Tujague’s Restaurant flourished under the supervision of John’s wife, Clemence Castet, a talented French-Creole cook. Madame Castet worked the kitchen and dining room in the

John Castet Philip Guichet (Tujague’s Private Collection)

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new location, assisted by her husband, who also worked the bar with Philip. Eventually, Philip’s son, Otis, joined them behind the old, standup bar. Following Prohibition and World War II, the party resumed in full force at Tujague’s. The bar was open and hopping at six o’clock every morning, in service to thirsty French Market butchers. Philip Guichet was a great friend to his patrons, the butchers. At Tujague’s he ran a virtual bank for them, cashing their checks and keeping their money in his safe. Philip was also quick to make loans, unconcerned if sometimes they went unpaid. Spicy shrimp remoulade and boiled beef—the butchers’ favorite—were Tujague’s trademark dishes from its earliest days. Clemence Castet introduced the now-famed chicken bonne femme as an off-menu special order. With a deft French flair, she recreated many of the classic Creole dishes that gave Madame Bégué such renown. Although the kitchen was fully staffed, Clemence herself could often be seen at the stove or serving a table. But when her husband, John Castet, passed away in 1958, Clemence took up residence behind the hand-crank cash register in the dining room, keeping a watchful eye on the guests. She held that post until her death in 1965. The Castets had no children. Years before, John and Philip had agreed that, upon the death of one partner, the surviving partner would take over the business. Hence, control of Tujague’s fell solely to the Guichets. Luckily, Philip Guichet’s sons, Otis and Philip, Jr., joined him in the business, continuing the Tujague’s tradition. Tujague’s bar became a clubhouse for politicians. The city’s judges would ostensibly come for lunch and then linger, whiling away weekday afternoons playing poker dice and drinking. In 1982, the Guichets decided to sell the business. When Stanford and Steven Latter bought the building and the business, Philip Guichet’s grandson, “Noonie,” stayed on as bar manager, joined by his uncle Phil. Chasing burgeoning tourist dollars, New Orleans was named host of the World’s Fair in 1984. Held during the sweltering summer months, it was a dismal failure. Fortunately, Steven didn’t bank on the World’s Fair business to carry Tujague’s through. He introduced new menu items typical of the day—blackened fish, jambalaya, and pasta salads—but the classic table d’hôte meal held firm, as did the garlicky, delicious chicken bonne femme. Steven thrived in the business. Day in and day out he could be found there, holding court with his trademark, wry sense of humor. His son, Mark, was just five years old when his father and uncle bought Tujague’s. His earliest memories are of the bar, where the little boy learned to bet on football and play poker dice. But it wasn’t all play. Steven knew that the only way to learn the business was from the ground up. Mark bussed tables; his sister, Shane, worked as hostess; and their mother, Miriam, answered phones on busy holidays. One evening a friend asked, “Where’s Mark?” Steven answered, “Where he should be—in the kitchen, washing dishes!” After college, Mark furthered his education in the restaurant business working for New Orleans restaurateur Ralph Brennan. At the time of Steven’s death, however, Mark had returned to work in his family’s business at 823 Decatur Street.

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Once Stanford Latter agreed to a long-term lease with his nephew, Tujague’s received a much-needed, much-deserved facelift. The cases displaying Steven’s vast collection of miniature liquor bottles remained but the dark, midcentury wood paneling came down. The main dining room became a glowing, white jewel filled with natural light reflected

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Introduction 17

in the mirrors lining the walls. Crystal chandeliers were hung in the large upstairs dining room, which was named the Krewe d’Etat Room for a popular satirical, relatively new Carnival krewe with a unique style that pokes fun at the old-line krewes. Krewe d’Etat is ruled by a “Dictator” instead of a traditional, crowned monarch. The membership of this irreverent organization is allegedly made up of members from old-line Carnival krewes such as Comus and Momus that ceased parading in the early 1990s. The room is decorated with lighted cases displaying ball favors and other memorabilia, and the fireplace is tiled in mosaics proudly proclaiming Krewe d’Etat. Krewe members gather in the space for annual luncheons and other special occasions. For over a century, Tujague’s diners simply ate a traditional table d’hôte meal; nothing else was offered. The five-course menu always began with shrimp remoulade, followed by beef brisket, then soup or salad. Entrées changed each day, with Steven allowing diners a choice of fish or meat. Dessert was usually bread pudding, but occasionally pecan pie or cheesecake would make an appearance. When Mark took the helm, he introduced new menu items and, radically, à la carte items. Diners could now order whatever they wanted from the menu and craft their own meals. Though the dining room has a fresh look and the menu has evolved, the historic bar remains largely unchanged. Tourists and regulars still stand elbow to elbow along its broad expanse, enjoying camaraderie and cocktails as they have since 1856.

Mark, Braden, and Candace Latter (Photograph by Sam Hanna)

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(Photograph by Sam Hanna)

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Tujague’s Spirited Ghosts

It is inevitable that the second-oldest restaurant in America’s most haunted city could lay claim to ghosts of its own. Who are the spirits at Tujague’s? During his tenure at Tujague’s, Steven Latter said that while sitting alone in his usual corner of the bar, every morning at the same time the door of the downstairs ladies’ room would loudly slam shut. Upon investigation, there was never anyone there. After Steven’s death, sous chef Jamie Byrd was in the second-floor men’s room when he heard the adjacent ladies’-room door slam. At the time, he was the only person in the building. For the rest of that day he could not get the electric Robot Coupe food processor to turn on, although other kitchen employees could. Jamie also said that every time someone would send him to the third floor, all the hairs on his arms would raise on end. Eventually, he simply refused to go back there. Jamie wasn’t alone in his fear of Tujague’s third floor. Yet another party had a brush with something unexplainable at Tujague’s, this time in the early weeks of 2015. After a spirited dinner, emboldened by many bottles of wine, a group of eight gentlemen asked manager Victor Dinh if they could tour the upstairs rooms. “Sure,” he said. “Have a look at anything you’d like.” The group embarked on a self-guided tour. A few weeks later, one of the gentlemen returned, asking for Victor. “Listen,” the man implored, “I owe you an apology.” “For what?” Victor asked. “Your group was very generous.” “You don’t understand,” the man said, clearly embarrassed. “You have to accept my apology. When we were here recently and you said we could look around, we went up to the third floor and I stole a framed photograph I found up there.” “No worries,” Victor assured him. “We don’t keep anything of value in the attic.” “Please accept my apology,” the man begged. “You see, from the moment I stole that photograph, terrible things have happened. Immediately that night, I lost my wallet, keys, and cellphone. My best friend has had a stroke and is in the hospital, and my wife was in a car accident.” It is assumed that the spirits of Tujague’s Restaurant wanted to ensure that all of the archival images stored on the third floor would be available for use in documenting their history in this book.

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The door leading out to the street from today’s rear dining room was the original entrance to Madame Bégué’s restaurant. The only other entrance was through the bar, an area where honorable ladies of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries would never have been seen. Steven Latter christened that dining room the Bégué Room and lined the walls with photographs from the period. Of particular note is an aged, sepia-tinted image of an elegantly attired woman of the early 1900s. She stares beguilingly at the camera, a suggestive smile on her lips. Steven Latter relished having his picture taken with movie stars and notable figures

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when they drank and dined at Tujague’s. His collection of framed photos, many of them autographed, adorned the walls in every room of the restaurant and bar. It turns out that displaying celebrity photographs at Tujague’s was a tradition that began with Hipolyte Bégué. Julian Eltinge, a celebrated cross-dressing actor of the early 1900s whose given name was William Julian Dalton, was a star of both stage and screen. Julian was able to transform himself into such a beautiful woman that Dorothy Parker wrote:

My heart is simply melting at the thought of Julian Eltinge;His alter ego, Vesta Tilley, too.Since our language is so dexterous,Let us call them ambi-sexterous—Why hasn’t this occurred before to you?

Julian was paired with silent-movie star Rudolph Valentino in the film Isle of Love. In 1910, Variety magazine called him “as great a performer as there is today.” Seven years later, he performed in New Orleans and, of course, dined at Bégué’s. Julian was befriended by Hipolyte Bégué and signed two photographs for him as mementoes of his visit. At the time of Steven Latter’s death, one of Julian Eltinge’s photos hung in the Bégué Room. When Mark Latter undertook some much-needed restorations in 2013, Julian’s photos and many more were warehoused in the third-floor attic. This clearly disturbed the Tujague’s ghosts. That autumn, Ian Wrin and his fiancée, April Russ, visitors from Falling Waters, West Virginia, enjoyed dinner in the Bégué Room. Ian snapped a self-portrait of the two of them with his camera. Upon returning home, they downloaded the photo and discovered a ghostly image in the back corner of the room, hovering over another table of diners.

NBC News journalist John Chancellor, Steven Latter, and Miriam Latter (Tujague’s Private Collection)

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Julian Eltinge (Tujague’s Private Collection)

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They posted the image on Tujague’s Facebook page and inquired as to whether the apparition could possibly be that of Madame Bégué. Upon inspection, it was determined that the spot where the spirit hovered was exactly where Julian Eltinge’s photo had hung for many years. Mark Latter was apparently being warned that Julian wanted to reclaim his/her spot on the wall. The photo was retrieved from the attic and returned to the Bégué Room. The ghostly image has not manifested itself again. One thing is certain: no one wants to spend the night in Tujague’s Restaurant. An employee of over a quarter of a century, Gilmer Martinez slept over one night in a second-floor dining room. He woke in the middle of the night to see a huge shadowy figure looming over him. When the shadow moved away, loud sounds of breaking china came from the nearby service kitchen, but when Gilmer went to investigate, nothing had been broken. Mark Latter has also heard the sound of breaking china at night in the second-floor service kitchen adjacent to his office. Nineteenth-century photographs show the location to be the site of Madame Bégué’s original kitchen and dining room. Who are the restless spirits at Tujague’s? Was there perhaps trouble between Hipolyte and the first and second Mesdames Bégué when they shared the storied kitchen? That’s a question that may never be answered.

April Russ, Ian Wrin, and the ghost of Julian Eltinge (Photograph by Ian Wrin)

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Bégué’s Souvenir Spoons

Although it was the culinary genius of Madame Bégué that originally attracted attention to her establishment, it was the masterful promotional efforts of her second husband, Hipolyte, that turned Bégué’s into New Orleans’ number-one tourist attraction of the 1890s. In the late nineteenth century, travellers began collecting small sterling souvenir spoons as remembrances of special trips and experiences. Hipolyte Bégué paid a call on New Orleans jeweler Coleman Adler at his Royal Street store. Together, they designed a spoon for guests to purchase as a souvenir of their Breakfast at Begue. Measuring nearly six inches in length, the heavy sterling spoon was ornately decorated with deep embossing. At the spoon’s end appear portraits of Madame and Monsieur Bégué over a rendering of their dining room. As the spoon tapers towards the bowl, a stringer of fish and a wine bottle and glass precede the city’s name. On the other side, the restaurant’s iconic building at the corner of Decatur and Madison appears in great detail, with a banner proclaiming Maison de Begue. Often, visitors would have their spoons personalized with names and dates. When the spoons debuted, Hipolyte had Mr. Adler engrave one especially for Elizabeth. It said, For my wife, Merry Christmas. Ironically, after Elizabeth’s death in 1906, Hipolyte married her young kitchen assistant and, for Christmas, gave his new wife exactly the same gift.

(Tujague’s Private Collection)

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Judge Paul Garofoli, Otis Guichet, Sr., and Congressman F. Edward Hebert at Madame Bégué’s on St. Charles Avenue (Tujague’s Private Collection)

Otis Guichet, Sr., and ladies lunching at Madame Bégué’s on St. Charles Avenue (Tujague’s Private Collection)

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Madame Bégué’s on St. Charles Avenue

In the 1950s, Otis Guichet, Sr., ventured out on his own with a business partner, Bonnie Geigerman, from New York City. Geigerman’s brother-in-law was famed mobster Frank Costello. Otis and Bonnie met at Tujague’s, where the bar’s slot machines were under Bonnie’s management. With his father’s blessing, Otis and Bonnie opened a new restaurant uptown on St. Charles Avenue that they named Madame Bégué’s. Many New Orleanians will find it of particular interest that the location, 4330 St. Charles Avenue, is today the site of the famous college bar Fat Harry’s. Dominating the dining room was a large, lighted case displaying memorabilia from the original Bégué’s, including Madame Bégué’s famous guest registers. Part of the experience of dining with Madame and Monsieur Bégué was inscribing remarks in the restaurant’s leather-bound guest registers. Fourteen of them are known to exist. Celebrities, politicians, and tourists alike praised the Bégués, often in verse:

Now comes a ghostly epicure, His breast filled with dismay.Ah me, he sighed, then loudly cried I never should have gone and died Until I met Bégué.

After Madame Bégué’s on St. Charles Avenue closed, the Royal Sonesta Hotel opened on Bourbon Street with yet another Bégué’s. From its inception in 1969, the Sonesta’s Bégué’s boasted New Orleans’ grandest buffet brunch. The restaurant endured into the twenty-first century. In 2012, Chefs John Folse and Rick Tramonto’s Restaurant R’evolution replaced Bégué’s in the Royal Sonesta.

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Tujague’sCookbook

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