What people who live outside this city don’t realize is just how entrenched the Monday- is-a-special-day rule is, and it goes well beyond eating red beans and rice. Everything is closed. Jude, who hasn’t lived here for half his life now, approaches New Orleans as an outsider. He also forgot everything is closed. Everything. Not only restaurants he might like to visit, but activities. This annoyance that natives accept wreaked havoc with potential plans. And that is how we came to make the north shore day of our staycation Monday. Continuing the closures theme, it was difficult to find a place open there as well. We got all excited to try the new Middendorf’s in Slidell until we remembered they too are closed on Monday. After a round of protestations, our daughter-in-law came to accept the unfortunate reality that she would wind up at the Chimes. I kept reminding them that kids need goats and roosters, and that ordinary food was inevitable anyway, so we might as well do two things at once. Her reluctant acceptance of this was complete when she ordered buffalo chicken wings as an appetizer. That was so out of her world as a California kale eater, we had to take a picture. If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em, right?
As usual, we went crazy ordering, and the spin dip and cheese fries landed before we even fully comprehended what we had done. We were all still reeling from the chicken wing order that Jude’s wife placed, so she had to regroup and order salmon and veggies. I heard myself asking for a shrimp po-boy. There were two salads coming, and a soup. This was double the food any group needed, so I finally got the attention of the waitress and asked if it was too late to cancel my po-boy. When she said yes, I thought it was because we had already been waiting twenty minutes and delivery to our table was imminent. But when another twenty minutes went by I became annoyed that it wasn’t canceled.
The younger family was becoming really impatient with this situation, which had gone on way longer than it should have. The rooster had lost its appeal to the kids, and the goats were too hot to bother to eat the grass. So there was nothing more to see. The situation was rapidly deteriorating. Then the salads came and one was wrong. It went back and returned with a most unappealing development. I will spare the details. I told the waitress I would be wanting to see the manager on duty before she delivered the bill.
I met with her at the front reception desk. When I detailed the situation and specifically told her what I wanted for her to satisfy me. It wasn’t a demand, just a beginning negotiating point. I acknowledged that we are such regulars that even if she did nothing we would return, but that I wished she would do something about removing the offending salad from the bill, of course, but also the shrimp po-boy I asked to cancel. I ate the shrimp (I have an animal thing I’m embarrassed to explain in this or any other space.) And I asked for the removal of the salmon, which took long enough for them to have fished it. (I didn’t say that.)
Such a thing as this is always an interesting test for a manager. What is the price of good will? She did the right thing. Knowing I would return either way, she did all that I asked. And I left happy. Well, not exactly. The meal was stressful and took up valuable play time, and the food was not good even for Chimes. But the manager made me feel better about all this, and for that I am grateful.
We left to play at the park and returned to the Cool Water Ranch for more playing. The Cool Water Ranch is a great kid place. We should have just barbecued here, but that’s not what Fitzmorrises do. Our daughter-in-law laughs at the food talk that goes on for the next meal while the current one is underway. I explain that it’s not just us. It’s N’awlins, dahlin.
We got back to the hotel in time to have a snack at the buffet in the Club. There was truffle mac’n’cheese and andouille gougeres, and mini burritos with black beans and chicken, and charcuterie and fruit, plus three salads.
The little ones were soon whisked away for bed, and so was Tom. ML and I went outside on the balcony where Tom and I sat as newlyweds so many years ago, watching the lights dance off the river. I am mesmerized day or night watching the little ferry fight the currents on the river with each crossing. We had a glass of wine and stayed there long after the doors closed, reflecting on a wonderful family visit.
