Thursday, March 17, 2017.
A Grueling Rehearsal Of Doo-Wop.
Most of the bad restaurants in New Orleans are not worth reviewing. I estimate that about a third of local restaurants are unacceptable to palates who are looking for enjoyment. That's about five hundred restaurants. I seldom write about such places unless they are prominent and generate a fair amount of discussion. I particularly avoid restaurants that clearly don't know what they're about, and who are likely to be very small businesses operating on a thread. There's something cruel about smashing such eateries.
I wound up eating lunch today in a little sandwich shop I've had my eye on for years. It took me that long because I never seem to go there when the place is open. Today I was going that way, the OPEN sign was on, a few cars were in the parking lot, and about half the tables were occupied.
In I went. I ordered a roast beef my usual way: dressed, easy on the gravy, heavy on the pickles, and if they could toast the bread that would be appreciated. They did all that, but the mayonnaise content was over the top.
On the other hand, the place was smelly. It was reasonably (if not scrupulously) clean, but in something less than perfect repair. (Which, for a sandwich shop, is not uncommon, even among the better joints.)
I ate about two-thirds of the sandwich. It wasn't terrible, but it was unpleasant. I wondered all day whether I would get sick. I didn't.
That's all I have to say about this spot, to which I bear no ill will. I'm not going to specify it by name--at least not until well after it closes. In the process of growing up, I lost my sense of schaden-freude. The vogue for writing scathing reviews of local restaurants--Richard Collin was the most flagrant practitioner, back in the 1970s--is and ought to be over.
On the other hand, I'm miffed that the only meal I'll have today is that stinky sandwich.
Dress rehearsal tonight for the big NPAS Doo-Wop Concert Friday night and Sunday afternoon. I am there very early, when a few subset groups of the main chorus ran through a few of their songs. The Choristers--the best of our singers--have developed an excellent sound that reminds me of Sergio Mendes and Brasil '66--although I'm sure that wasn't their target.
We went through the whole show, which was a lot longer than I thought it would be. The women in the group (who outnumber the men two to one) have their own repertoire, none of which I heard until tonight. I liked their close-harmony, quartet reading of "Mr. Sandman," which qualifies as both a barbershop number and doo-wop.
The rehearsal went until almost ten o'clock, most of it spent on the risers at attention. I was beat by the end of it, and slept well for five hours afterwards. It took me an hour and a half to get back to sleep, however, because I kept running the songs through my brain. I learn almost every skill in my sleep. Which may explain my level of incompetence.
Shameless plug: tickets for the concert and other details are at www.npas.info. The shows are Friday night, March 18 (tonight) and Sunday afternoon at 3 p.m. I'm the guy deep in the back, left. NPAS is non-profit.
I wound up eating lunch today in a little sandwich shop I've had my eye on for years. It took me that long because I never seem to go there when the place is open. Today I was going that way, the OPEN sign was on, a few cars were in the parking lot, and about half the tables were occupied.
In I went. I ordered a roast beef my usual way: dressed, easy on the gravy, heavy on the pickles, and if they could toast the bread that would be appreciated. They did all that, but the mayonnaise content was over the top.
On the other hand, the place was smelly. It was reasonably (if not scrupulously) clean, but in something less than perfect repair. (Which, for a sandwich shop, is not uncommon, even among the better joints.)
I ate about two-thirds of the sandwich. It wasn't terrible, but it was unpleasant. I wondered all day whether I would get sick. I didn't.
That's all I have to say about this spot, to which I bear no ill will. I'm not going to specify it by name--at least not until well after it closes. In the process of growing up, I lost my sense of schaden-freude. The vogue for writing scathing reviews of local restaurants--Richard Collin was the most flagrant practitioner, back in the 1970s--is and ought to be over.
On the other hand, I'm miffed that the only meal I'll have today is that stinky sandwich.
Dress rehearsal tonight for the big NPAS Doo-Wop Concert Friday night and Sunday afternoon. I am there very early, when a few subset groups of the main chorus ran through a few of their songs. The Choristers--the best of our singers--have developed an excellent sound that reminds me of Sergio Mendes and Brasil '66--although I'm sure that wasn't their target.
We went through the whole show, which was a lot longer than I thought it would be. The women in the group (who outnumber the men two to one) have their own repertoire, none of which I heard until tonight. I liked their close-harmony, quartet reading of "Mr. Sandman," which qualifies as both a barbershop number and doo-wop.
The rehearsal went until almost ten o'clock, most of it spent on the risers at attention. I was beat by the end of it, and slept well for five hours afterwards. It took me an hour and a half to get back to sleep, however, because I kept running the songs through my brain. I learn almost every skill in my sleep. Which may explain my level of incompetence.
Shameless plug: tickets for the concert and other details are at www.npas.info. The shows are Friday night, March 18 (tonight) and Sunday afternoon at 3 p.m. I'm the guy deep in the back, left. NPAS is non-profit.
