[title type="h5"]Sunday, March 23, 2014. Santone To N'Awlins. [/title]
It's funny that the most effective wake-up call for me on a train is when it stops completely and all the movement and sounds stop. That's what the train does in San Antonio, where the cars belonging to the Chicago-bound Texas Eagle are taken off the Sunset Limited. Then, at around 6:30 a.m. comes a bump, a grind, and away we go--right on time. I went back to sleep, and I think MA did, too.
When we finally arose, we saw that the clear skies of yesterday were now dark and overcast. I heard a rumor that there was a storm ahead of us. That never turned up, but the cloud cover was more or less like what we left behind when headed the other direction eight days ago.
It must have been fun. It seems like at least a month ago since we were there.
Scrambled eggs and bacon for my breakfast. Once again, Mary didn't eat. She must be pining for her beloved Langham Resort's fine breakfasts.
The steward in the dining car has become a character in our play. With a style of speech that resembled that of a teacher, he laid down the law as to how we lowly passengers would follow his orders, repeating them to make sure you knew.
"I have today's menu for lunch in the dining room," he said. "Your choice is. . . the Angus burger. That's all we have left."
This proved not exactly true. I had made friends with the chef, and she managed to pull an entree salad together. Same as yesterday's, but just what I wanted.
Dinner hours came not long after lunch was finished. Pickings were better. I liked the salmon so much on the way out that I had it again tonight, as my farewell feast on the Sunset Limited.
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Leaving Houston via junkyard. You can see the end of our train on the right.[/caption]
Interposed between lunch and dinner was our stop in Houston. In the rain. Exiting downtown, we took a triple pass through a number of large junkyards. Scrap-metal operations are often close to railroad tracks, because that's how scrap metal travels. The train went through it all, then backed up through it again for some reason, and finally made one last pass before heading for Beaumont.
Which has the most pathetic modern train station I've ever seen. Especially when it's raining.
Sounds dreary, doesn't it? The worst day of any journey away from home is the last day. One is tired out, and facing either the prospect of having to go back to work the next day, or that of relaxing after the vacation. Both make the final travel day much less enjoyable.
I usually get a lot of writing and reading done on trains. Not this time. MA and I have big topics to discuss. Both our children are in the opening chapter or two of their independence. My thinking is to let the kiddos do what they want, and help them only when the need is critical.
And some little topics. Like, the dogs, for example. Where will they be during the two and a half weeks we'll be in Europe next month? We can't let them run loose anymore, now that we have close neighbors.
Back in my single days, I'd solve problems by going on vacation. I'd always come back with great ideas. It didn't happen this time. Maybe I need to be alone.
It was dark as we crossed Bayou Lafourche. Next thing we knew we were climbing the Huey P. Long Bridge. The train cruised easily into the wye that takes it three quarters around the Times-Picayune building. Then in backs into the station, and the trip is over. It was over a half-hour early.
Mary Leigh collected us at the station. As we drove home, Topic A among the Marys was how glad they are that they will never feel the needed to ride a train again.
Unless, Mary Ann noted, it's the Orient Express.
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[title type="h5"]Monday, March 24, 2014.
Back To Red Beans.[/title]
Back to the routine. Vacation is emphatically over. It's ironic that one of the projects in need of my immediate attention is getting ready for the next vacation, which will commence three weeks from now.
I radioed from home, of course. Too much on my plate to throw away three hours on the commute.
Also on my plate is a large pile of red beans and rice with smoked sausage, at New Orleans Food and Spirits. That always-good, three-restaurant local chain has lately embarked on an overdue expansion of its menu, starting with the addition of an oyster bar and grill. I imagine that this enhancement is particularly urgent in Covington, where The Chimes has no doubt pulled away more than a few customers from NOF&S. It's all about looks: the food at NOF&S is better.
When we return from vacations, I re-establish my localism by having red beans and rice as soon as possible. Often, the meal occurs on the way home from the airport. But we didn't get in until late last night--a Sunday, yet.
But that makes today Monday, and you know what that means. So there we were, the Marys eating their salads and me with my beans. This batch was the way my mother made them: rather juicy, with firm beans. That style has given way in most restaurants to a much thicker, mashier texture, with the beans at Popeyes and Copeland being the most extreme examples.
The Marys were attracted enough by these steaming beans that they ate some of my large portion. And they agreed with my feeling that this loose old style was better. I don't know what they think about the sausage, but every time I have beans here I ask them to consider adding hot sausage to the possible options. But the smoked-sausage version satisfied my Creole soul well enough. I am convinced that I am back home.
[title type="h5"]New Orleans Food & Spirits. Covington: 208 Lee Lane. 985-875-0432. ||Harvey: 2330 Lapalco Blvd. 504-362-0800. ||Bucktown: 210 Hammond Hwy. 504-828-2220. [/title]
[title type="h6"] Yesterday || Tomorrow[/title]
Written by Tom Fitzmorris April 02, 2014 12:01 in
