Lacombe

It doesn't matter much who you are. It's going to be tough getting a table at Sal and Judy's on moment's notice. That's even if you know Sal. ¶ Everybody knows Sal. Sal is one of the nicest guys in the restaurant business. He comes across as an Italian immigrant who hasn't quite figured things out, letting his customers fill him in. In reality, Sal is one of the most savvy restaurateurs around. Nobody except Paul Prudhomme or Emeril can match his success in marketing his sauces, salad dressings, seasonings, and olive oil, which are everywhere in New Orleans supermarkets. (They're successful largely because they really duplicate the flavors served in the restaurant.) ¶ Meanwhile, the food in house is worth a trip across the lake and the trouble of making a reservation well in advance.

Marigny

The seller's market for sushi seems to have peaked. With seventy-three sushi bars around town, I think I detect a few net sushi bar closings, and a much smaller, less ambitious menu in most of the new places. While I've never seen a big crowd at either Wasabi, the food has always been excellent, and the place seems solid.

Lakeview

I vividly remember a dinner I had there a few years ago. Mr. Tony came to the table with the hug he's famous for. Dale, the dining room manager, came out too. "You want some tripe? We have some pasta puttanesca tonight. No, wait--pasta Milanese. Too bad you didn't come in last week, because we had the last of the home-grown cucuzzas." On and on. This is Tony Angello's. And then comes the food. Pasta in a shape I'd never seen before (like little horns), with chunks of beef and a spicy sauce of tomatoes and cream. Oysters Bienville, always good here. The artichoke soup. Last time I ate this was in early 1977, while working up a review. It tasted tonight exactly as it did then.