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Sunday, July 12, 2015.
A New Culinarian In Our Home. Bean Soup. Try To Keep Singing.
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Mary Leigh auditioned for an opening in the pastry shop at La Provence, and they hired her. They also said that if she wants to work more shifts, she could fill gaps in the pastry departments of John Besh's other restaurants. It's all part-time, and she's keeping her gig at Sucre, too. This is a solid beginning of what could become a great career for her. She loves doing it.
The Marys meet up for their customary mid-afternoon Sunday dinner at La Carreta. I think I shamed MA a few weeks ago when I caught them meeting furtively for this meal without asking me to join them, or even telling me what they were up to. Today, they call me when they get there, and I drive right over.
I think we prove today that there is no amount of heat that will make Mary Ann go inside to dine if there are outdoor tables available. We are the only ones out there. The temperature is 96. There is no breeze. The Hispanic waiters must think we're nuts. And maybe we are. Nobody can say that I don't let my wife have her way.
I must have mentioned this before, but the bean soup they make at La Carreta is gobble-it-up delicious. I had an entire bowl, even on this sizzling day.
A message from the director of the Northlake Performing Arts Society says that in a few weeks all the singers in the organization will be auditioned to determine where we all fit best into the chorus. We are also told to learn an old Scottish song, in which a young man appears to be stalking a tender young lass. All this makes me nervous, because quite a few members of NPAS are very well trained musicians. My whole musical skill set consists of two semesters of music theory at UNO forty-five years ago, plus an adult lifetime of singing in choruses. I don't think they'll cast me out, but I hope I don't get moved from the tenors to the basses. I can sing bass easily enough, but I don't enjoy it as much as hitting the high notes (assuming that I do). Besides, the tenors are the butts of many music jokes. Example: "There are three kinds of people who like to sing: women, men, and tenors." I find that being a member of a group that is often ridiculed makes it easier to tell one's own jokes.
A few weeks ago Mary Ann and Paige Seleun, the co-owner with her husband chef Jacques of Chateau Du Lac, were talking about having me at their new restaurant in the Warehouse District to croon my standard repertoire. I'd love to do it, and I don't think I'd embarrass myself. But it will take many hours to assemble the music and backgrounds, and I don't have minutes.
The matter is now moot. The Seleuns have closed the Warehouse District place. A great deal of construction in the neighborhood kept customers away, as did a lack of promotion. (The new place had been La Boca, and Taqueria Corona before that.) They remain with their brilliant French bistro food at their longtime spot on Metairie Road. And I miss another alternate career opportunity.
At the risk of making this sound like a blog about singing, one more item. A lot of the choir members at St. Jane's were on vacation this morning. The choir consisted only of the Wagners (she plays the organ, he leads the congregation) and me. It was almost a full Mass of my solos. Nobody said one thing or the other about how well I handled that. At least two of the songs were unknown to me, and I'm no great shakes at sight reading. So it couldn't have been that good.
I have saved the most troublesome project of the day until last. I changed out the flush apparatus and the pipes leading to the ceramic facility in the Cool Water Ranch's master bathroom suite. It took three hours. Uses less water. Eliminates a small leak that rotted out a patch of the floor. We need to do this whole room over sometime soon.
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[title type="h5"]Monday, July 13, 2015.
Oysters And Red Beans.[/title]
It's another extraordinarily hot, dry day, continuing the warmest spell of the year so far. MA says that it's the worst we ever had, but I remind her of the summer of 1998. For a week our whole family was in a Scout day camp near Bush. The following week, Jude and I spent a few more days at Boy Scout resident camp outside of Clinton. Through all of this the temperatures were in the 100s, with no air conditioned spaces anywhere. I will never forget anything about those happy, happy days for our foursome.
Ruminating over this, I find an arresting statistic. The average age of my family members then was 26. Now we are collectively 44. Somehow, that seems to tell all.
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Oyster poor boy.[/caption]
MA joins me for supper after the radio show. Nothing special, just the excellent red beans and rice at New Orleans Food and Spirits, and equally fine fried oysters. I eat the latter not with tartar sauce but remoulade sauce. I am trying to push the former aside, because the latter is so much better. I will know I have won when Larousse Gastronomique--the bible of classic French cooking--stops calling remoulade a mere variant of tartar sauce.
[title type="h5"]New Orleans Food & Spirits. || West End & Bucktown: 210 Hammond Hwy. 504-828-2220. || Harvey: 2330 Lapalco Blvd. 504-362-0800. || Covington: 208 Lee Lane. 985-875-0432. [/title]
