Sunday, March 13, 2016.
The Hottest Soup Around.
Although things are back to normal in my stomping grounds, lots of problems are left behind by the rain of the past week. Hundreds of people left their homes within a hundred miles of me, bridges have been washed out and roads are closed.
The good news is that the enormous apparatus of drainage in New Orleans proper seems to have kept up with the rain handily. I haven't heard a single report of flooding in the city.
I employ myself with my usual Sunday activities. I sing at Mass. I update my subscriber files. I take my ninety-minute walk, rerouted dramatically because so much of my usual route is still splashy. I don't want to wear white rubber boots.
As I walk around, I see that the crawfish living underground are very active. Their mud chimneys are big and numerous.
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Pad prik king, what I should have ordered at Thai Chili.[/caption]
My one serious meal of the day is at Thai Chili, a good-looking place about halfway between Mandeville and Covington. It is one of the oldest Thai places on this side of the lake, but every time I eat here it seems to be staffed by a different family than the one I remember from my previous visit. This is matched by differences in the goodness of the food, although the menu remains just about the same. This time around, it seems that the prices are higher than I remember. The makes the place a terrific bargain, in contrast with the insanely fine deal it had been.
Nevertheless, this changes my order. The tom kha soup is now being served in bowls only at nine dollars. Well worth every nickel, but too much soup in a meal that will have an entree. Instead, I get the Thai salad of many crisp vegetables with a medium-sharp dressing.
My entree decision is between pad prik king--an underrated dish heavy with green beans--and jungle curry. I veer to the latter. The waitress is alarmed. "That is too hot," she says. "Let me have it three-stars hot, then," I ask. She says that there is no sliding scale of hotness for this dish. I shrug and tell her that I can handle even the hottest dishes. She persists in her warning, and I keep saying I am up to the challenge. This is a dish I have had a few times before. But then, I don't remember a server so adamant about the pepper levels in jungle curry, which is so named because it contains lots of vegetables. It's also dominated by broth, which marks it as more of a Thai-native dish than most.
Well, I was wrong about my abilities to stand up to the hottest Thai food. One slurp of the soup and I feel the burn fill my mouth. I see the reason why: two bunches of little Szechuan peppercorns are evident. This kind of pepper is always accompanied by searing pepper heat.
But I will not wimp out. I attack the vegetables and the chicken, almost all of which I manage to put away. I usually love the broth in Thai dishes, but I ease off this one, which carries most of the heat. As it is, my head is sweating profusely, making me look as if I just got out of the pool.
I am pleased by this mixed pleasure. The fact that the chef here is making such aggressively flavored dishes tells me that he (or, probably, she) is not holding back to please American palates. That is laudable.
Also, my inability to just dive right into this means that I have reached (and exceeded) the limits of pleasure. That's something that has happened to me only a few times in my life, and for different reasons. I remember the way Chef Gerard Crozier used to push the limits of salt content in his food. His flavors were perfect, but even a pinch more salt would have pushed them over my tolerance. A Chinese beef dish I had some ten years ago at Café East was very different from today's adventures in pepper, but just as thrilling.
The whole time I am eating, the waitress keeps checking on me, making sure I have enough cold beer and water to keep the fires from scorching me silly. Another good sign. Thai Chili thus moves up a couple of notches in my list of the best Thai kitchens in the area.
It will be interesting to read comments attached to this report from guys who can take it more than I can. What is it about spicy food that makes a he-man out of a person? As for me, I get no kick from extremes.
Pepper levels do not intrigue Mary Ann. But she does push her limits. She is happy to be sleeping on the sofa in the Los Angeles home of Jude and his wife Suzanne, recalling what it was like to be the mother of a newborn. But our grandson Jackson is an extremely cute guy. I hope my palate lives long enough for him and me and Jude to test our relative mettles in a Thai restaurant. I hope they still make it this hot when and if that happens.
Thai Chili. Covington: 1102 N US 190. 985-809-0180.
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Monday, March 14, 2016.
Yujin, Agin.
I feel a great relief when I mail off a large check to the IRS this morning. At my age, you have to look in odd places for satisfaction.
When one ingests a dish with as much pepper in it as I did yesterday, I fear the consequences. I am happy to see that my alimentary canal is up to the job. No distress at all.
Lunch today is at Yujin, a small sushi bar run by a guy named Rigoberto--the only Hispanic sushi chef I know. Jude and I became acquainted with him some dozen years ago, when he was working the bar at Little Tokyo in Mandeville. When he opened his own place near the old courthouse in Covington, he not only kept his standards high, but also became innovative. I doubt he invented it, but Yujin is the first place I ever had ceviche made into sushi. It was a great idea waiting to happen.
[caption id="attachment_20745" align="alignnone" width="400"]
Burning Man roll at Yujin.[/caption]
"You're that guy on the radio!" Rigoberto says. It is the first time I've been there in at least a half-dozen years. "Is your little boy still eating chicken teriyaki all the time?" I shock him with a photo of all-grown-up Jude, baby Jackson and the same old me.
I have a cup of miso soup, a Burning Man roll, and an order of asparagus sushi. That's just what he made for me most of the time at his old job. Good as ever. Even though the courthouse has moved a few blocks away, Rigoberto says that in Yujin's eleven years they are still doing well.
We have a very busy day on the radio. People weigh in on the issue of pepper hotness in food, and swap their stories for mine.
Then it's the second-to-last rehearsal for NPAS's concert this weekend. I am surprised that our conductor Alissa Rowe is still auditioning for a few solo gigs. I would have tried out, but the three other people doing so are very good, and I wouldn't want to steal their thunder--if indeed I were good enough to do so. My chances at doing a solo in this concert really died when I went to visit Jude and family a few weeks ago.
I think it's wonderful that my life is full of choices between one good thing and another good thing.
Still, I could have knocked "Only You" out of the park.
When I get home, I see--not for the first time this year--twinkling lights in the upper canopy of the pine woods that surround the Cool Water Ranch. Lightning bugs. Their presence makes me wonder. I don't remember seeing their lights this early in the year. Nor do I recall seeing them way up at the 200-foot treetop level. None of the bugs are at ground level. Are they up there because the anti-mosquito spray trucks kill all the low-altitude lightning bugs? Am I the only one who has noticed this? Will I get a Nobel Prize for my discovery?
Yujin. Covington: 323 N New Hampshire. 985-809-3840.
Pad prik king, what I should have ordered at Thai Chili.[/caption]
My one serious meal of the day is at Thai Chili, a good-looking place about halfway between Mandeville and Covington. It is one of the oldest Thai places on this side of the lake, but every time I eat here it seems to be staffed by a different family than the one I remember from my previous visit. This is matched by differences in the goodness of the food, although the menu remains just about the same. This time around, it seems that the prices are higher than I remember. The makes the place a terrific bargain, in contrast with the insanely fine deal it had been.
Nevertheless, this changes my order. The tom kha soup is now being served in bowls only at nine dollars. Well worth every nickel, but too much soup in a meal that will have an entree. Instead, I get the Thai salad of many crisp vegetables with a medium-sharp dressing.
My entree decision is between pad prik king--an underrated dish heavy with green beans--and jungle curry. I veer to the latter. The waitress is alarmed. "That is too hot," she says. "Let me have it three-stars hot, then," I ask. She says that there is no sliding scale of hotness for this dish. I shrug and tell her that I can handle even the hottest dishes. She persists in her warning, and I keep saying I am up to the challenge. This is a dish I have had a few times before. But then, I don't remember a server so adamant about the pepper levels in jungle curry, which is so named because it contains lots of vegetables. It's also dominated by broth, which marks it as more of a Thai-native dish than most.
Well, I was wrong about my abilities to stand up to the hottest Thai food. One slurp of the soup and I feel the burn fill my mouth. I see the reason why: two bunches of little Szechuan peppercorns are evident. This kind of pepper is always accompanied by searing pepper heat.
But I will not wimp out. I attack the vegetables and the chicken, almost all of which I manage to put away. I usually love the broth in Thai dishes, but I ease off this one, which carries most of the heat. As it is, my head is sweating profusely, making me look as if I just got out of the pool.
I am pleased by this mixed pleasure. The fact that the chef here is making such aggressively flavored dishes tells me that he (or, probably, she) is not holding back to please American palates. That is laudable.
Also, my inability to just dive right into this means that I have reached (and exceeded) the limits of pleasure. That's something that has happened to me only a few times in my life, and for different reasons. I remember the way Chef Gerard Crozier used to push the limits of salt content in his food. His flavors were perfect, but even a pinch more salt would have pushed them over my tolerance. A Chinese beef dish I had some ten years ago at Café East was very different from today's adventures in pepper, but just as thrilling.
The whole time I am eating, the waitress keeps checking on me, making sure I have enough cold beer and water to keep the fires from scorching me silly. Another good sign. Thai Chili thus moves up a couple of notches in my list of the best Thai kitchens in the area.
It will be interesting to read comments attached to this report from guys who can take it more than I can. What is it about spicy food that makes a he-man out of a person? As for me, I get no kick from extremes.
Pepper levels do not intrigue Mary Ann. But she does push her limits. She is happy to be sleeping on the sofa in the Los Angeles home of Jude and his wife Suzanne, recalling what it was like to be the mother of a newborn. But our grandson Jackson is an extremely cute guy. I hope my palate lives long enough for him and me and Jude to test our relative mettles in a Thai restaurant. I hope they still make it this hot when and if that happens.
Burning Man roll at Yujin.[/caption]
"You're that guy on the radio!" Rigoberto says. It is the first time I've been there in at least a half-dozen years. "Is your little boy still eating chicken teriyaki all the time?" I shock him with a photo of all-grown-up Jude, baby Jackson and the same old me.
I have a cup of miso soup, a Burning Man roll, and an order of asparagus sushi. That's just what he made for me most of the time at his old job. Good as ever. Even though the courthouse has moved a few blocks away, Rigoberto says that in Yujin's eleven years they are still doing well.
We have a very busy day on the radio. People weigh in on the issue of pepper hotness in food, and swap their stories for mine.
Then it's the second-to-last rehearsal for NPAS's concert this weekend. I am surprised that our conductor Alissa Rowe is still auditioning for a few solo gigs. I would have tried out, but the three other people doing so are very good, and I wouldn't want to steal their thunder--if indeed I were good enough to do so. My chances at doing a solo in this concert really died when I went to visit Jude and family a few weeks ago.
I think it's wonderful that my life is full of choices between one good thing and another good thing.
Still, I could have knocked "Only You" out of the park.
When I get home, I see--not for the first time this year--twinkling lights in the upper canopy of the pine woods that surround the Cool Water Ranch. Lightning bugs. Their presence makes me wonder. I don't remember seeing their lights this early in the year. Nor do I recall seeing them way up at the 200-foot treetop level. None of the bugs are at ground level. Are they up there because the anti-mosquito spray trucks kill all the low-altitude lightning bugs? Am I the only one who has noticed this? Will I get a Nobel Prize for my discovery?
