[title type="h5"]Thursday-Sunday, November 20-23, 2014
Paranoia. Wheellessness. Manresa. Po-Boy Festival.[/title]
A funny thing happened to me yesterday on my way in to the radio station. Descending the Causeway drawbridge, I turned my head to the right to look at something I thought I saw. When I turned my gaze back forward, I had the strange sensation that someone had changed the channel to the same scene, but somehow subtly different. For some reason, I was bothered by this. The feeling that something was slightly off stayed with me as I began the show. At first, I wasn't sure I could do it, but I did, with no problems. After the show, I strutted at a brisk pace the dozen blocks from the station to Brennan's, where I met with Ralph Brennan and toured the restaurant for over an hour. Then I walked at a rapid clip back to the station. I wrote a few commercials and recorded them. If there were something wrong with me physically or mentally, I think it would have come to the fore. It didn't. But I still feel funny.
That was yesterday. The feeling stays with me through today, as I write and publish the Menu Daily then do the three hours of radio. I called the auto dealer to see whether the new wheel I've been told I need had arrived. Nix: it's on back order. So how long would it take to be found? Nobody knew. I remain carless.
I take a nap then pack my suitcases. Jude and I load our luggage into Mary Leigh's car. I ask him to drive. We stop at the Racetrac gas station, where I get a cup of pumpkin-spice coffee--something that has become another of my hundreds of traditions as a preamble to a weekend at Manresa Retreat House. It's my thirtieth time, and Jude's second. We both need it. I because of this crazy panic that has taken over my mind. He because he is getting married in three weeks.
Changes at Manresa are either subtle or seldom. That's one of the things its devotees love about it. I've written about it in this space for the last ten years, and the entries are more or less interchangeable. I will back away from the routine this year, and note only three matters.
1. Since last year, the building that houses the dining room has been renovated. It got a new, larger kitchen in the deal, allowing the cooks to fry chicken for the first time in years. Otherwise, the home-style food is good as always: meatballs and spaghetti Thursday night, fried catfish for lunch Friday, then seafood gumbo for dinner. Saturday, the red beans are even better than usual at midday--and I already think they're the best beans I eat all year. The roasted pork loin at dinner is also at peak. And the fried chicken dinner right before we leave on Sunday is worth waiting for.
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Well along the levee at Manresa.[/caption]
2. My favorite part of my Manresa time is a five-mile walk I take down the river on the levee. This year, because I'm still uneasy, I ask Jude to join me--but to keep his distance, so as not to break the Manresa rule of meditative silence. When I reach my stopping point across from a vast sugar plantation, he sits with me for awhile. We have a brief chat about light matters before heading back. I cover the ground faster than I ever had (and I started this habit in my twenties). I am not tired at all when we return, even though I walked another two miles earlier in the day. I think I can scratch off "heart attack" from my list of reasons for paranoia.
3. At the last breakfast, one of the Jesuit priests tells us something amazing. For years, they have asked us for support in a tremendous program of renovations to the old buildings, most of which predate the Civil War. This year he says, "All the work on all the buildings is finished. All of it is paid for." Those are words that, to my knowledge, have never before been said here.
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Po-Boy Festival.[/caption]When we departed, Jude had a possibility of getting on a flight back to Los Angeles tonight instead of tomorrow morning. So we take the short way back to town. The new flight plans fall through, so we just keep going all the way to the Po-Boy Festival on Oak Street. That extraordinarily popular event almost always conflicts with Manresa on the back end. But we find that after you've hung out at the Po-Boy Festival for two hours, you have exhausted most eating and drinking possibilities, if only because you can't eat any more.
The Marys and The Boy join us on Oak Street. How we find one another is a mystery, but we do. Even though the festival has extended another couple of blocks since last year, the streets are as jammed as ever. In spots, the population is as dense as Bourbon Street on Mardi Gras. I can't say which were the most delicious poor boys or other dishes, but I liked all the six or seven items I tasted.
Written by Tom Fitzmorris December 01, 2014 13:01 in
