[title type="h5"]Monday, November 24, 2014.
Tcheckup. Tchoupstix.[/title]
There's only one day a year when my radio show on 1350 AM is pre-empted by a sporting event, and I never know for sure until almost the last minute. (It involves a basketball playoff in which LSU is involved.) As it turns out, Spud wins the toss and his show is the one shot out of the schedule. Damn. I was hoping it would be mine, because I need to go to the doctor. So I did the first half, then left. Too late to dragoon Mary Ann or anyone else to fill in, so they just went to the sports network. I hate that idea, but I don't have a say.
The odd, light-headed effect that has disturbed me since last Wednesday is still there. My regular doctor is out of town, but a young MD with Indian roots pinch-hits. (What's with all these sports references? That's three of them in just two paragraphs.) He was more concerned about my blood pressure, which is running high, no doubt because of my alarm about the presenting problem. But he checked a few things, finding nothing. He calmed me down enough that he was able to get a good pressure reading. We agreed that my mind is creating the issue, and that there's nothing to worry about. I know that I am capable of making myself black out on demand--not a trick I've actually performed, but one I feel I could call upon if there were any rational use for it.
While waiting for my blood work to come back from the lab (it would show that everything is normal), the doctor finds out what I do for a living. We start talking about the restaurant scene, in which he is very interested. He thinks the North Shore is a bit short on restaurant variety. Of course, he is correct. But he seems to have been made happy by the likes of La Provence.
I leave the hospital in the same light daze I showed up with two hours ago. I just have to buck up my courage, I guess. I seem to be fully competent.
One good thing that came out of this visit is the reading I get from the doctor's scale. It shows that if I had stood on it in the altogether (sorry to bring up that image), I would weigh less than 200 pounds for the first time since 1987. Three years ago, I topped out on the same scale at 257.
I call Mary Ann for an early dinner. We go to Tchoupstix, a pan-Asian restaurant next door to the five-star Pardo's. Osman Rodas, the owner of that excellent Creole-American bistro, bought Tchoupstix recently. Mary Ann has wanted me to try it, but I think it's too soon. But now is the right place (just a few blocks from the hospital) and the right time, so we eat.
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Tchoupstix egg rolls with andouille.[/caption]
We start with the house soup, which comes almost as soon as you sit down, complimentary. Today it's a clear Japanese-style broth with more fresh mushrooms than one usually finds in such a thing. It tastes good to me, but I wish it had come out steaming hot instead of tepid. Especially since it is getting cold outside.
Next, an egg roll made unique by the addition of minced (or should I say "tchoupped"?) andouille sausage, along with the other usual ingredients for a fried roll. MA loves this. I think it's pretty good, too.
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VIP roll, with soy wrapper.[/caption]
My entree is the "Tchoupsitx VIP Roll." It is beautiful and colorful in a way that almost makes it look like something other than food. The soy wrapper and its colorful droplets of many sauces gives the visual. It is very good in the eating, too, with spicy (very) tuna, avocado and cucumbers. Its flavors are as fresh as they sound. It's also so large that it makes a filling entree, with enough flavors going on to keep it interesting.
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Seared salmon at Tchoupstix.[/caption]
Mary Ann gets a straightforward, very large and fresh slice of salmon. The more she eats, the better she likes. I concur.
I goof around with the waitress, who goofs around with me right back. Mary Ann just sits there shaking her head in disapproval.
We go home, I nap, and at seven I head to the chorus rehearsal. We do run-thoughs of all the Christmas carols we'll sing at what will be my first public performance with NPAS this Sunday. It's an hour's worth of singing straight through, but with stops for polishing rough spots it takes two hours.
Then I rehearse my solo. I am surprised that nobody knows the song. It's not just because of its obscure title "The Christmas Waltz." Not a glimmer of recognition do I see as I begin, "Frosted window panes, candles gleaming inside, painted candy canes on a tree." The other singers seem delighted by it, though, and if I had to pass an audition for the gig, I think I just did.
[title type="h5"]Tchoupstix. Covington: 69305 LA Hwy 21 . 985-892-0852. [/title]
Written by Tom Fitzmorris December 02, 2014 13:01 in
