And indeed she is. She knew a lot more of the politicians and other VIP's that were hanging around the toasting stage than I did. And her presence attracted more of those than I could have. I don't think Dennis Woltering--Angela's co-anchor before she retired from Channel Four last year--would have come over from his broadcast facility across the street if I had asked. Dennis was dressed as a bride. "A lot of the men over there wear women's clothing on Mardi Gras," Angela said. Not that such a thing is unusual on this madcap day.
Actually, I wore girl's attire myself. Angela brought an extra pair of gloves for the occasion, and let me wear them. Even with those on, I felt my fingers tingle with the first stages of frostbite. Have I mentioned it was really cold out there?
Angela's shift started earlier than mine, leaving me to solo for the final hour on the air. That's the way it always is. Rex is usually still in progress at Gallier Hall during most of the 1 p.m. hour, giving me much to talk about.
But not this year. The parades were rushing along as fast as they could, to get the marchers out of the walk-through refrigerator. During the one o'clock break, my heart sank to see the first of dozens (perhaps hundreds) of truck floats beginning to pass in review. There is not a lot to be said about these homemade units. If, that is, I can be heard over the continuous horn blasts from the truck tractors. Not what you could call musical.
[caption id="attachment_41557" align="alignleft" width="320"]
Decorations at Kevin Kelly's Mardi Gras party.[/caption]By that time, fewer than ten percent of the spectators--who were completely out in the elements--still remained. It must be depressing to have tons of beads to throw, but nobody left to catch. I hope they had enough to drink on their floats. During all this, Mary Ann was up the street at Kevin Kelly's house for the fourth and final of his famous Mardi Gras parties for this year. I was there myself for an hour before I had to report for duty. The weather had about the same effect on the attendance at the party as it had in the stands outside. I heard that all the other ones had been fabulous, as usual. He certainly had the place thoroughly carnivalized. Mary Ann met up with me when I signed off at two, and we headed to the Crescent City Steak House. Sometime in the late 1970s or early 1980s, I decided that it was essential to celebrate Carnival by saying farewell to beef. Taking a cue from the fourth float in Rex--it depicts a cow surrounded by butchers preparing the last steaks before Lent begins tomorrow--I ate a steak. With only a few misses over the years, I've done that every Mardi Gras since. The first twenty years or so, few others followed my lead (if anyone else even knew about it). On a few Mardis Gras, I was the only customer at the Crescent City. No more. Today, only one table was empty when we arrived--the one that management saved for me. All the private dining rooms--including the upstairs, which didn't even exist when I first began my tradition--were full. Some fifty people stood around in the limited bar space. They couldn't wait outside, because the weather had only worsened. As soon as I sat down, a couple of Eat Club regulars came over to join me. They were the first of several, but the only ones I could accommodate. Daniel, the Gourmet Cellist, took the final chair at the table. [caption id="attachment_41558" align="alignnone" width="435"]
Collard rolls at the Crescent City on Mardi Gras,[/caption] The Crescent City is busy every year on Mardi Gras now, but never like this. I learned that instead of opening at 2 p.m. as they have for the past few years, they began broiling steaks at 11 a.m., getting quite a few people that way. Small crowds attract bigger crowds, and they did. [caption id="attachment_41559" align="alignnone" width="480"]
Tripe stew.[/caption] I knew at least half the people in the place. Kaare Johnson--radio colleague and son of Channel Four's late editorialist Phil Johnson--was at the next table over. Many people who had joined me here on past Fat Tuesdays came over or waved (it was hard to move for awhile). My table enjoyed its usual extra treats. Krasna Vojkovich--the wife of the Crescent City's late founder--was working, as always. She brought us a Croatian dish made by wrapping ground beef and pickled cabbage in collard leaves. Delicious! Then came the beef tripe stew we always get, challenging the adventuresomeness of newcomers at my table. It was even better than usual. Then fried pasta bowties topped with powdered sugar, the Croatian answer to beignets. And some soft cookies made with figs from Krasna's own garden. [caption id="attachment_41560" align="alignnone" width="480"]
Fig cookies from Krasna's trees.[/caption] We ate a few things from the menu, too. Several sirloin strips, potatoes au gratin and Lyonnaise, and a bottle of Italian red wine. By the time things wound down at around five, the Crescent City was still on a waiting list. As for me, it all warmed me back up again, but it took a couple of hours. [title type="h6"] Yesterday || Tomorrow[/title]