Diary 10|2|2014: Taste Of A Different Carreta.

[title type="h5"]Thursday, October 2, 2014. A Taste Of A Different Carreta. [/title] The long-running routine for the Cool Water Ranch's dog contingent (now in its fifth generation) was rudely--but understandably--interrupted today. The pooches are used to freely running the length of our little country road and into the woods that flank it on both sides. This is common in our exurban area. But the number of our neighbors has doubled in the past decade. And a lady down our road who walks with her leashed dogs up and down the road has a keen dislike for our dog Steel, a largish German Shepherd. He is a friendly dog, but like most dogs, if he picks up a scent of fear--especially if the person expresses it by shouting or running--there may be what is perceived as trouble. And, since there's officially a leash law here, Steel is the one whose needs must be adjusted. The law is the law. Fair enough. We fenced off an area the size of a tennis court for the dogs. But somehow today the route from the fenced area to the larger world opened, and Steel was off his usual stroll with the dog Suzie. But our neighbor was out there, too, and there was the usual problem. The next thing we knew, a St. Tammany Police cruiser was in our driveway. The officer was calm and understanding and polite, but he told Mary Ann that if any canine resident of the Cool Water Ranch is seen running around uncontrolled, the officer was required (having now given us a warning) that the person currently presiding at our address would be arrested and thrown into the pound. Mary Ann wrings her hands over this possibility. But all I can think is that it would be my luck to be the only one home on the day when someone left the wrong door open, and I would be the arrestee. Which would almost certainly have me on the front page of the newspaper, between that day's murderers and indicted public officials. The crisis is already solved. The dogs have failed to find a way through the fence after many months of trying. For them to get out, we have to let them out. But MA says that a tennis court isn't enough room for our freedom-loving animals. She wants to fence in a full acre, at least, preferably one with trees, a running stream, and a place where they can watch the passing parade on the road. I give her my standard verdict: "I agree. Take care of that for us, will you?" I head into town, taking my mind off the massacree with my current audiobook, "The Goldfinch," which is proving to be superb. At the station, my radio show takes on a life of its own (as I wish it did every day). I get a good nap in my office afterwards, then catch up on a lot of web-page whittling. To dinner at Carreta's Grill. This is one of two (the other one is La Carreta) small Louisiana Mexican restaurant chains, both with locations in the New Orleans metro area. Both are headquartered in Hammond. The many menu similarities seem to indicate that there is a common ancestor somewhere. But both outfits say that they have no connection at all with the other. Because my daughter Mary Leigh is wild about the food there, we eat at La Carreta all the time. There is a Carreta's Grill on our side of the puddle, too. But it's been a long time since we last tried it. The Carreta's Grill on Veterans Blvd. in Metairie is the latest in a long parade of restaurants that have stood at that location. (River side of Vets, about midway between Causeway Blvd. and Bonnabel.) I remember particularly Ichabod's Galley in the 1970s and Jalapeno's in the 1990s. Apparently the location is hard-wired into the mental maps of Metaterraneans (isn't that what you call a Metairie resident?), because the Carreta's Grill restaurant was on a waiting list, with many people standing around in the parking lot or sitting on the benches. I get a table faster than I expect. Looking over the menu, I see a familiar collection of dishes. Many bear the same offbeat names used for similar (but not identical) dishes at La Carreta. Who used them first I wouldn't guess. [caption id="attachment_44335" align="alignnone" width="480"] Choriqueso, a.k.a. queso fundido.[/caption] I began with a large vat of "choriqueso," the restaurant's name for chili con queso with chorizo sausage stirred in. (This is known as "queso fundido" in other places.) It is good, but there's too much of it. It could have served a table of four. Overeating a particular dish is an easy way to lower one's esteem for that dish. [caption id="attachment_44336" align="alignnone" width="480"] Carreta's Grill's very large tamales with ranchero sauce. [/caption] The entree is interesting, and not something I recall from the other place. It consisted of two very large tamales inside of corn husks, stuffed with shredded beef with a ranchero sauce. It looked like an oversize rendering of a Manuel's tamale, eight and two-thirds times as large. I thought this was very good, with a rustic Mexican flavor. [caption id="attachment_44334" align="alignnone" width="480"] Cheese enchilada and rice at Carreta's Grill.[/caption] But that was only half of the dish. On a separate plate is a single cheese enchilada with an acidic, greenish sauce--like enchiladas Suezas, with tomatillos. It shares its plate with a pile of the usual forgettable Mexican yellow rice. I would not have missed the contents of this platter if they had been left out altogether. The tamales were the money part of the dish. So, a better dinner than I expect. When I get home, Mary Leigh has the kitchen counters piled high with the detritus of another of her magnificent cakes. Recently, I heard her say that someone paid $700 for one of her wedding cakes. Even though creating a cake like that takes days, this is proving to be a better gig than even those of us who love her and all her works would have hoped for. [title type="h5"]Carreta's Grill. Metairie: 2320 Veterans Blvd. 504-837-6696.[/title]