Saturday, December 10, 2016.
Rare Christmas Shopping.
It's been many years since my Christmas shopping amounted to anything more than a dozen or so worthless trinkets. Mary Ann tells me that I need no buy her anything, because she has already bought it for herself, and because if that job were left to me, I'd do it completely wrong. That also goes for her birthday, a couple of weeks before Christmas. All I know is that a lot of the gift budget goes to a few special charities. Nothing political: she is sensitive enough to spare me.
But I have a lot of free time today, and I thought it might be fun to do a little shopping, most of it for myself--although it's as a result of criticism from the Marys that my clothing all seems to resemble garbage bags in their billowing looseness, now that I've lost around 65 pounds.
I strode into Belk, and within five minutes I had three pairs of chinos for the price of one, a windbreaker for $36, and a first-in-my-life corduroy jacket for $33. How do these guys sell clothing so cheap?
I also make stops at the hardware store, Aquistipace's, Rouse's, the dry cleaners, and Abita Roasters. At the latter, I have a new breakfast item on their menu: huevos rancheros, with the restaurant's interesting corn pancakes, chorizo sausage, poached eggs with hollandaise, and squirts of sour cream here and there. Too much food, and good eating too--that's how it always is at the Roaster--and a mammoth coffee cub filled with café au lait. I tell the waiter to pass along my continuing request for chicory coffee for the au lait.
The Marys stayed at ML's new apartment after last night's performance by the LPO and the 610 Stompers. I went home. I have no radio show to do, so I install the Cool Water Ranch's Christmas tree in the stand. I am about to tell the story--not for the first time--of how my father hated that job, because it was impossible to satisfy my mother's insistence that the tree be perfectly straight. But MA cuts me off and asks me to refrain from telling the tale. Actually, MA has always been very lenient with me as I mount the tree, which is never even close to plumb. Nothing like my dad's ordeal. Part of this has to do with the Marys' love of flagrantly imperfect trees, which they feel sorry for.
ML heads home, and MA and I discuss dinner. We decide on Forks And Corks. We sit in the bar, as usual. Owner Osman Rodas just happened to be there, and he hangs with us to update his operations. He will spend the evening at his flagship restaurant Pardo's.
[caption id="attachment_49142" align="alignnone" width="480"]
Turtle soup at Forks & Corks[/caption]
MA and I both have soup. I get to talking with the server on the subject of the turtle soup in front of me. "Nobody ever complains about it," she says. "People are always saying that it's the perfect turtle soup." I offer a possibility for improvement: I think the broth is a little too thick, and always has been. Just about ten percent more stock, and it's ideal. But don't listen to me. That's only how I'd like it.
Mary Ann has a unique potage: pork, kale, and sweet potatoes. She loves it. She follows that with an entree of chicken-andouille gumbo, which she says is the best in town. Maybe it is.
The main for me is seared drumfish with a brown butter. Hold the crabmeat, I say. "Give it to me instead," says MA.
The server tells me of a new bread pudding at Forks and Corks. She is right in saying that it's excellent.
Abita Roasters. Covington: 1011 Village Walk. 985-246-3345.
Forks & Corks. Covington: 141 TerraBella Blvd. 985-273-3663.
Sunday, December 11, 2016.
The New Car Arrives. Too Much Mexican Food.
When I climb the winding staircase to the choir loft at ten this morning, I am taken aback to see about two dozen men wearing white shirts, and filling all the chairs. What's going in? Where is the little choir I sing with?
"Are you a Knight?" I am asked by the guy closest to me. Knights of Columbus, he means. No, I'm not. "If you join, you get to stay," he says, in jest. There's no room for another person. I guess I didn't get the memo about this.
The church is also full to bursting. I'll have to come back later.
Mary Ann has gone elsewhere. The weather is very cold. I set my computer to play WBUX, an internet station which this time of years plays only Christmas songs from fifty years back or more. It helps put me in the holiday mood.
I meet the Marys at La Carreta in Mandeville, and we eat the usual too much but very good Mexican lunch. I could have gotten along fine with just a bowl of the bean soup. Why did I order the cheese and steak burrito? I don't have to appetite to even taste it.
Mary Ann's new car arrives, having been transported by truck with a bunch of other used cars from Los Angeles. It's a three-year-old BMW. It's Jude's old car. We get no break on the price. I like it because it will at least delay MA's plan to get a Range Rover someday.
There's a snag with the delivery. The owner of the service insists on cash--$700, to be exact. No checks. But where can you get $700 cash on a Sunday? He says he is spending the night in Covington, and will collect the cash tomorrow. Everything always works out all right for Mary Ann.
