Sunday, February 26, 2017.
The Unweekend, Part 2.

The day begins conventionally with my regular Sunday singing gig. MA doesn’t want to have breakfast out, but she does prepare a new platter of sunny-side-up eggs–runny, the way I like them, which is also the way she hates them. Nice of her to do the eggs my way for a change. Black beans and closely-chopped brisket complete the repast.

A baseball game delays my Sunday WWL show until a quarter past three. But we manage to get the program off the ground by talking about pizza. I wonder what it means that not many people have strong opinions about pizza these days. Could it be that the bad pizza is now mostly extinct, and that most of the people who might find their ways to my show know what makes a good pizza, and know how to avoid the bad ones. But all I have is less than two hours today to explore these matters.

I take a brisk, long walk after I sign off. The weather is perfect, and looks primed for the main act of Mardi Gras, which began last night with Endymion and continues through Fat Tuesday itself.

Monday, February 27, 2017.
Lundi Gras. The Beginning Of Something Smaller.

Most of New Orleans takes off work the day before Mardi Gras. That causes consternation for businesses with interests here, because across America it’s as normal a day as can be imagined.

All right, I can’t avoid it, and I’ve managed to push it so far out of my mind that I had to look it up in this journal: on Lundi Gras six years ago, I had my infamous accident at the Windsor Court Hotel in which I had one tee many martoonies, passed out in the elevator, and broke my ankle on the way down. It was as shameful as it sounds. I missed my usual broadcast from Gallier Hall, and also my Farewell To Steak dinner at the Crescent City Steakhouse. And few things are as important to an old-school radio guy than to miss a scheduled broadcast.

But there was a good side to this massacree. I reduced my drinking to a max of one per day. Most days since, I haven’t imbibed at all. Exception: at wine dinners, formal or not, I have a tasting pour of each of the featured wines.

Because it was hard for me to get around for almost four months–I did the radio show from home all that time–I broke all my eating habits and–not entirely intentionally–reinvented them. I have a small breakfast of toast, juice, and cafĂ© au lait. I almost never eat lunch. Finally, because Mary Ann was my chef, I ate much smaller dinners. I ate so little that some days I was on the verge of passing out for lack of eats.

The result of all this is that I came down from my greatest weight ever (266 pounds) to my present weight. By some miracle, I’ve kept it down, and I’m still under 200. And I can walk again, for hours sometimes. I’d write a book about the diet if I had more to say than this paragraph.

Returning to real time: Even though only a few people are there, I go to the radio studio for my show. It is a very slow two hours, but it always is. Not just on Lundi Gras, but any other free Monday holiday. But I don’t feel it’s right for a guy like me to be absent from the scene during Carnival.

On my way home, I stop for dinner at the Acme Oyster House. Which has renovated its Covington location. Dozen oysters. Side of red beans. I don’t know where the Marys went, but I won’t see them until Mardi Gras is about over. And I have a very big involvement with Carnival tomorrow.

That report has already showed up in this department of the dining Diary.

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