Sunday, July 10, 2016.
The Bride Comes In To Make Further Arrangements.
Mary Leigh flew in from Washington, D.C. this noon. She didn't have an easy time of it. One of those all-encompassing summer thunderstorms, with a lot of lightning and rain, shut the airport down for almost an hour. I would have been a basket case, wimp that I am, had I been aboard that jet. But Mary Leigh is cool. Her first question is inevitable: "What are we doing for lunch?"
The classic answer is the Acme Oyster House in Covington, but MA is opposed. We have a tough time finding a restaurant open in mid-afternoon on a Sunday. MA finally comes up with a winner: Marcello's new, second location in Metairie. We are all fans of the Lafayette-based local chain. They remain open all afternoon, but they weren't very busy. Maybe it's the rain, which hasn't quit just yet.
[caption id="attachment_52185" align="alignnone" width="480"]
Wine Central at Marcello's in Metairie. [/caption]
Although Marcello's (no connection with Carlos Marcello, who pronounced the name differently) has a rather normal-looking menu, I've found that it varies so much from one visit to the next that you can't quite figure a logical meal. Mine, for example, starts with a bowl of "yesterday's soup" (har de har har). It's true identity is a transparent broth with four meatballs. Sticks of fennel move around in the brother. No sign of tomato sauce for the meatballs is offered. I like it anyway.
[caption id="attachment_52184" align="alignnone" width="480"]
Fennel at meatball soup @ Marcello's in Metairie[/caption]
[caption id="attachment_52182" align="alignnone" width="480"]
Prosciutto, burrata, arugula.[/caption]
My second course is twice the size I expect. It's a salumi board covered with prosciutto, which is in turn loaded up with arugula. A knot of runny burrata is the peak of the pile. I roll the ham slices and arugula leaves around some of the cheese, and make an eminently satisfying meal. But I can't remember ever constructing anything like it.
[caption id="attachment_52181" align="alignnone" width="480"]
Tiramisu.[/caption]
Mary Ann has a Caesar salad with grilled artichokes. They are not the kind of artichokes that the old Houston's used to serve, which is what she was expecting. But they're good enough. Also comes a dish of brussels sprouts, which she would eat at every meal if she could. ML eats a half-bowl of fettuccine alfredo, with a more herbal and peppery sauce than we're accustomed to finding when that formula is invoked. Hard to explain what they're up to at Marcello's, but Mary Ann says that she thinks it's equaled in sophistication only by Del Porto. That's a plausible statement. Although Marcello's makes a big statement about its Sicilian roots, seems to me that they have well-turned out versions of dishes from all over Italy.
The server is something of a kick, with a quip about everything I make up my own quips about. I always liked that in a waitress. During our supper, a guy who seemed to be a manager entered the dining room with what loke a milk anger. Then all the servers in the room got to work polishing the glassware on the tables, to remove any water stains from the dishwasher. He acts with an urgency that suggested that the restaurant is on high alert due to a restaurant critic's having been spotted in the building.
Marcello's. Metairie 3: Houma Blvd To Kenner Line: 4860 Veterans Blvd. 504-301-3848.
[divider type=""]
Monday, July 11, 2016.
A Day Without Much Food.
I drive into town--something I rarely do on Mondays--and take care of some production at the radio station. On my way out the door, I make a sandwich of low-sodium turkey by Columbus, a San Francisco-based deli meat producer. Somebody called me a few days ago to say that this was good. It will not tear me away from my standard meat snack of Chisesi's ham, but it's better than most deli turkey I've found.
I only bring this up to notice that this is almost all I eat all day. I have my morning orange, slice of whole-grain toast, and café au lait. Then this sandwich. Followed by a few small snacks at a birthday party for little (threes and fours and fives) kids. Who are a joy to watch.
And yet I go home only slightly hungry. I don't eat anything more before bedtime.[divider type=""]
Wine Central at Marcello's in Metairie. [/caption]
Although Marcello's (no connection with Carlos Marcello, who pronounced the name differently) has a rather normal-looking menu, I've found that it varies so much from one visit to the next that you can't quite figure a logical meal. Mine, for example, starts with a bowl of "yesterday's soup" (har de har har). It's true identity is a transparent broth with four meatballs. Sticks of fennel move around in the brother. No sign of tomato sauce for the meatballs is offered. I like it anyway.
[caption id="attachment_52184" align="alignnone" width="480"]
Fennel at meatball soup @ Marcello's in Metairie[/caption]
[caption id="attachment_52182" align="alignnone" width="480"]
Prosciutto, burrata, arugula.[/caption]
My second course is twice the size I expect. It's a salumi board covered with prosciutto, which is in turn loaded up with arugula. A knot of runny burrata is the peak of the pile. I roll the ham slices and arugula leaves around some of the cheese, and make an eminently satisfying meal. But I can't remember ever constructing anything like it.
[caption id="attachment_52181" align="alignnone" width="480"]
Tiramisu.[/caption]
Mary Ann has a Caesar salad with grilled artichokes. They are not the kind of artichokes that the old Houston's used to serve, which is what she was expecting. But they're good enough. Also comes a dish of brussels sprouts, which she would eat at every meal if she could. ML eats a half-bowl of fettuccine alfredo, with a more herbal and peppery sauce than we're accustomed to finding when that formula is invoked. Hard to explain what they're up to at Marcello's, but Mary Ann says that she thinks it's equaled in sophistication only by Del Porto. That's a plausible statement. Although Marcello's makes a big statement about its Sicilian roots, seems to me that they have well-turned out versions of dishes from all over Italy.
The server is something of a kick, with a quip about everything I make up my own quips about. I always liked that in a waitress. During our supper, a guy who seemed to be a manager entered the dining room with what loke a milk anger. Then all the servers in the room got to work polishing the glassware on the tables, to remove any water stains from the dishwasher. He acts with an urgency that suggested that the restaurant is on high alert due to a restaurant critic's having been spotted in the building.
