Monday, February 1, 2016.
Birthday Competes With Mardi Gras.
Mary Ann seems to be perturbed that I am asking her not to make a big deal over my birthday this Saturday. It's not that I object to the idea, but its coincidence with the main revelry of Mardi Gras (Endymion is on my birthday) makes for tremendous impact on the restaurants I typically would attend. (Antoine's, Galatoire's, Arnaud's, Delmonico, Tomas Bistro, Mr. B's, to name a few.) I am always telling people not to go to such places in the shank of Carnival, because they're overwhelmed with not just people from the streets, but enormous parties for the krewes themselves. My regular waiter at Antoine's, Charles Carter, point-blank told me not to show up that weekend. I have always trusted his advice.
Mondays remain work-at-home days for me. Every time I connect the gizmo that lets me send live, better-than-FM-quality audio to the radio station, I'm glad I made the rather large investment in it. It has paid for itself a hundred times.
I wish there were some way to tighten up travel time from the Cool Water Ranch to the restaurants on the North Shore. Today, for example, we make the thirty-mile round trip to Crabby's Seafood Shack. There we meet up with our friend Chuck Billeaud for lunch. Who, when I tell him that oysters on the half shell are six dollars a dozen at the Shack on Mondays, immediately orders a tray full. As do I. The specimens are enormous and cleanly shucked. But the many inches of rain that have fallen in oyster country in the past few weeks has reduced the salinity of the water, and the oysters that live in that water. These oysters need to be salted at the table. But at this price, it's hard to complain.
I have a plate of red beans and rice, and ask for hot sausage instead of smoked. The waitress tells me there is an extra charge for this. No problem. Then she comes back again to say that the smoked sausage is pretty hot as it is, and talks me out of the hot sausage. I will not allow that to happen again.
Chuck is knocking pounds off, so he has a bowl of seafood gumbo, sans rice. Mary Ann eats most of an order of fried artichoke hearts. In a way, this is a victory, because we usually order both the fried onion rings and the artichoke hearts. Both are terrific at Crabby's.
At the choral rehearsal, we run through "Who Wrote The Book Of Love?", "The Great Pretender," "Graduation Day" (in the style of the Four Freshmen, not Stark Whiteman), "Duke of Earl," and a few other doo-wop classics. Many of us tenors are doing solo parts, and I was to audition for mine tonight. I have my doubts about "I Only Have Eyes For You." I seem to have a hitch in my voice at exactly the high note of the song. But I have been going over this so much in the shower and in the car that I seem to have scraped that away. Our director Alissa Rowe says she likes it. Now all we need are a few people to fill in the "she-bop-she-bops" in the background.
Crabby's Seafood Shack. Madisonville: 305 Covington. 985-845-2348.
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Tuesday, February 2, 2016.
Tracy Is In Town. Muffuletta King Cake.
The day begins in dense fog. Then comes the advance wave of a windy cold front, which blows away the fog while bringing in a storm system powerful enough to trigger tornados in Mississippi. I manage to sneak into town right after the Causeway picked up its fog cones, but before the rain.
The main line of thunderstorms is just east of Lafayette when I finish the radio show. This gives me time to join Eric Tracy for a drink.
Tracy--he was a one-name celebrity during his years on New Orleans radio--is in town with his wife for a few pre-Mardi Gras days. He invited anyone who wanted to hang out with him for a few hours in the lounge of the St. Ann/Marie Antoinette Hotel on Toulouse and Dauphine.
I haven't encountered Tracy in decades. He has been in Los Angeles for many years, doing sports-related radio before spinning himself off into his own business of organizing golf tournaments for charity events. During his New Orleans period, he did afternoon drive on WWL Radio. I was an occasional guest on his show, and in 1976 he let me guest-host his entire four-hour program. That was my first attempt at doing serious talk radio on a major station. It was so bad that I'm almost glad I lost the tapes in Katrina. (I do wish I still had the recording of the hour with Richard Collin, the Underground Gourmet, who was by far the leading restaurant critic in New Orleans in those days.)
The weather and the uncertainty of Mardi Gras inconveniences (actually, there was no Carnival activity at all tonight) cut down attendance--but not laughter--at the party. Everybody who showed up (except for Tracy's current wife) was present during Tracy's time in New Orleans. It was an hour of remembering all the whoosats from the past. I was relieved that with the possible exception of Stu Barash--who was in the middle of everything in those days, and with us tonight--I was able to recall more characters of the era than anyone else.
Tracy is a little older than I am. I remember looking up to him as a radio trailblazer. He certainly ran a much slicker show than I ever did. But we were all in our twenties in the epoch being recalled. He seems to be holding up well. He was always a fitness buff, and. . . well, he lives in Los Angeles. There's still the air of sho-biz in his personality and style.
Were it not for the severity of the weather and my need to cross the Causeway, I would have hung on longer, and perhaps had some food from the hotel's Vacherie restaurant. But I cut out at about eight.
So I had no dinner. That caused me no pain, because not one but two king cakes showed up in the radio station's kitchen during the afternoon. An hour apart, yet, so I had slices from both. I have consumed more king cake this year than in many years previous. Thank God Carnival is about over.
[caption id="attachment_50501" align="alignnone" width="480"]
Muffuletta king cake a la Mary Ann.[/caption]
And the king cake has spread its aegis this year. Over the weekend, Mary Ann baked from scratch a muffuletta king cake. No sweet stuff in it. Cheese and salami in the center, mozzarella and olive salad on top. It is better than it sounds, and quite good, at that.
Mary Ann was still not home when I pulled in. I know she is having dinner with somebody at Ristorante Del Porto in Covington. Some men would wonder about their wives, and ask to themselves, "Who is he?" But I know MA's passions (even if she doesn't think I do), and this meeting is certainly about nothing more than politics in the Donald Trump era. And I am very happy not to be part of that panel.
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I have a plate of red beans and rice, and ask for hot sausage instead of smoked. The waitress tells me there is an extra charge for this. No problem. Then she comes back again to say that the smoked sausage is pretty hot as it is, and talks me out of the hot sausage. I will not allow that to happen again.
Chuck is knocking pounds off, so he has a bowl of seafood gumbo, sans rice. Mary Ann eats most of an order of fried artichoke hearts. In a way, this is a victory, because we usually order both the fried onion rings and the artichoke hearts. Both are terrific at Crabby's.
At the choral rehearsal, we run through "Who Wrote The Book Of Love?", "The Great Pretender," "Graduation Day" (in the style of the Four Freshmen, not Stark Whiteman), "Duke of Earl," and a few other doo-wop classics. Many of us tenors are doing solo parts, and I was to audition for mine tonight. I have my doubts about "I Only Have Eyes For You." I seem to have a hitch in my voice at exactly the high note of the song. But I have been going over this so much in the shower and in the car that I seem to have scraped that away. Our director Alissa Rowe says she likes it. Now all we need are a few people to fill in the "she-bop-she-bops" in the background.
Tracy--he was a one-name celebrity during his years on New Orleans radio--is in town with his wife for a few pre-Mardi Gras days. He invited anyone who wanted to hang out with him for a few hours in the lounge of the St. Ann/Marie Antoinette Hotel on Toulouse and Dauphine.
I haven't encountered Tracy in decades. He has been in Los Angeles for many years, doing sports-related radio before spinning himself off into his own business of organizing golf tournaments for charity events. During his New Orleans period, he did afternoon drive on WWL Radio. I was an occasional guest on his show, and in 1976 he let me guest-host his entire four-hour program. That was my first attempt at doing serious talk radio on a major station. It was so bad that I'm almost glad I lost the tapes in Katrina. (I do wish I still had the recording of the hour with Richard Collin, the Underground Gourmet, who was by far the leading restaurant critic in New Orleans in those days.)
The weather and the uncertainty of Mardi Gras inconveniences (actually, there was no Carnival activity at all tonight) cut down attendance--but not laughter--at the party. Everybody who showed up (except for Tracy's current wife) was present during Tracy's time in New Orleans. It was an hour of remembering all the whoosats from the past. I was relieved that with the possible exception of Stu Barash--who was in the middle of everything in those days, and with us tonight--I was able to recall more characters of the era than anyone else.
Tracy is a little older than I am. I remember looking up to him as a radio trailblazer. He certainly ran a much slicker show than I ever did. But we were all in our twenties in the epoch being recalled. He seems to be holding up well. He was always a fitness buff, and. . . well, he lives in Los Angeles. There's still the air of sho-biz in his personality and style.
Were it not for the severity of the weather and my need to cross the Causeway, I would have hung on longer, and perhaps had some food from the hotel's Vacherie restaurant. But I cut out at about eight.
So I had no dinner. That caused me no pain, because not one but two king cakes showed up in the radio station's kitchen during the afternoon. An hour apart, yet, so I had slices from both. I have consumed more king cake this year than in many years previous. Thank God Carnival is about over.
[caption id="attachment_50501" align="alignnone" width="480"]
Muffuletta king cake a la Mary Ann.[/caption]
And the king cake has spread its aegis this year. Over the weekend, Mary Ann baked from scratch a muffuletta king cake. No sweet stuff in it. Cheese and salami in the center, mozzarella and olive salad on top. It is better than it sounds, and quite good, at that.
Mary Ann was still not home when I pulled in. I know she is having dinner with somebody at Ristorante Del Porto in Covington. Some men would wonder about their wives, and ask to themselves, "Who is he?" But I know MA's passions (even if she doesn't think I do), and this meeting is certainly about nothing more than politics in the Donald Trump era. And I am very happy not to be part of that panel.
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