Assunta's. Mileage.

[title type="h5"]Wednesday, February 26, 2014.[/title] It is well known that men have better mental maps than women do. It's one of the few ways in which the male of the species is better equipped than the female. Most guys can turn a map ninety degrees without losing our bearings. (A female comedian once said that only a man could understand the concept, "1 inch=1 mile.) Mary Ann does not recognize my superior abilities in this regard, even though they're enhanced by my interest in maps since I was a little boy. No, we had to navigate from home to Assunta's her way. She was at the wheel, as usual (she says that when she's in the passenger seat with me driving, it makes her sick), and she would not believe that it would be faster to take I-12 to North shore Blvd. Then double back a few blocks on US 190. Instead, we jumped over from I-12 to Lacombe, then east on US 190--a two-lane blacktop, something she hates, especially in the dark. I am proud of her admitting that I was right about this after ten minutes on that lonely road. I didn't check the facts on this until just now, to make sure I'm not setting myself up to look like more the fool than I already do. (And I certainly have learned not to bring this sort of thing up while we're on the road.) But the male map-reading gene was on my side, operating in the background. My way: 23.6 miles. Her way: 23.8 miles. The estimated travel time was even more convincing: 29 to 38 minutes in my favor. Huh! Not many people were at Assunta's. Mary Ann gets worked up about that, because Assunta's is one of her advertising clients. But we can put the blame on the drippy, cold weather, which literally dampens spirits. [caption id="attachment_41475" align="alignnone" width="480"] Assunta's appetizer combo.
[/caption] We had a light supper that started with an appetizer sampler of artichoke hearts, stuffed mushrooms, green tomatoes and potato croquettes with cheese and salami in the middle (I think). All of this was fried, and made a good nibble plate for four people having cocktails or wine aperitif. House salads came with the entrees, after which we enjoyed what we came here for: the excellent red sauce for which Assunta (whose daughters and granddaughters are now running the place) is celebrated. MA went all the way to the ground: spaghetti and meatballs. For me it was eggplant parmigiana, with a layer of cheese and cream between the eggplant and the thick red sauce. Hearty eating, perfect for the weather. [caption id="attachment_41477" align="alignnone" width="480"] Tiramisu at Assunta's.[/caption] A very good tiramisu--the fluffy kind, not too sweet or gooey--finished dinner. Then we were back on the road, heading home. Guess by which route? You got it. What do facts matter in a variance of opinion between a man and a woman? [title type="h5"]Assunta's. Slidell: 2631 Covington Hwy (US 190). 985-649-9768. [/title] [divider type=""] [title type="h5"]Thursday, February 27, 2013. Ribbon Cutting. Night Clubbing At Sapphire. [/title] Our daughter's career continues to branch out. She is now working in a shop that makes custom furniture, hoping to learn how to do that herself. She puts in a few days a week as a baker in a pastry shop. And she has a short lease on a commercial space in the arts district of Covington. It's half of a shotgun double--not livable at the moment, but a good place for a gallery or a sculptor's workshop. (She does vases and such.) When she applied for her license to operate there, she had no idea that it would bring the attention of the local government. A few weeks ago, City Hall called her to say that the council and the mayor would be happy to come by and perform a ribbon cutting. Although this would be without doubt be the smallest such event in Covington history, she went along with it, bringing all her various jobs to bear. She baked one of her towering cakes that appear to be made out of marble (until you taste the chocolate panache inside). And she built a few fine-looking tables from disassembled wooden pallets--to display a couple dozen of her ceramic works, including her most recent one, so large that she's having a hard time finding a place where it can be fired. The mayor was called away, but several members of the city council did indeed show up, along with several others from the Covington polity. The cake was cut, the ribbon was cut, and smiles were all around. It was a beautiful, sunny morning. The Marys dispersed to their other projects. I stayed at home for the radio show--the ribbon-cutting had taken up enough time to make it impossible to get all my work done and hightail it into NOLA. At dinnertime, nobody was home but me, the cats and the dogs. Perfect opportunity to return to Slidell for another taste of Sapphire. That will give me enough data for a review in CityBusiness. For those who just came in: Sapphire is a new Creole steakhouse in Olde Towne Slidell, in the spot where once was the White Kitchen--the most famous restaurant, long gone, in the history of the city. One of the partners is the son of Lloyd and Joel English, whose Restaurant Mandich was "the Galatoire's of the Ninth Ward," as my colleague Gene Bourg once called it. It really was as good as that makes it sound. After Katrina, the Englishes decided it was the perfect time to retire, and they did, despite the entreaties of their many loyal customers. [caption id="attachment_41479" align="alignleft" width="320"] High hat filet mignon at Sapphire.[/caption]Lloyd and Joel came back to work to help Erin English to get that great old Mandich flavor rolling again. Which indeed they have done. Half the menu encompasses the entire range of Prime beef steaks in all the classic cuts. I would find out tonight that these are good enough to make Young's look to its laurels. The filet mignon goes under the old Mandich name, "high-hat filet." It was tall, well-trimmed, seared darkly (as I requested), and came out sizzling in butter. Classic New Orleans-style steak. Big enough that I brought half of it home, which doesn't often occur with filets these days. The meal began with a little meatball in brown gravy. I wished my father had been there. He always loved that combination, one that my mother would never prepare for him. Next, a very ample bowl (billed as a cup) of crab bisque. The recipe was between old and new: a roux with just a little tomato. Very good, with floating islands of crabmeat. Then a well-made house salad with remoulade sauce. The side with the steak was potatoes a gratin, which would please anyone except a guy like me, who knows how to make it better (or more to my taste, anyway). The potatoes were overcooked. Far from terrible, though. [caption id="attachment_41480" align="alignnone" width="480"] Bread pudding, as good as it gets.
[/caption] What made me happiest in this dinner was a bread pudding made in a style we don't often see these days. In addition to the standard ingredients, this one had fruit cocktail. I don't think it was from a can, although the kind of fruit cocktail packed in water instead of heavy syrup was possible. None of this really matters, because whatever went into this recipe, it created a bread pudding that I hereby class in the upper http://nomenu.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/02/DiningDiarySquare7-200x200.pngthree to five in the city. And given the number of bread puddings around town, and my love for that dessert, that's saying something. Sapphire looks more like a nightclub than a restaurant. Perhaps that's because on some nights it has live music. The Yat Pack will be performing there soon, I saw, along with other local bands. If Mandich was the Galatoire's of the Ninth Ward, then Sapphire is the Blue Room of Slidell. [title type="h5"]Sapphire. Slidell: 2306 Front St. (985) 288-4166. [/title]