[title type="h5"]Saturday, March 7, 2015.
First Breakfast. Last Supper.[/title]
On this chilly morning, Mary Ann says that she is busy, but that she will join me for breakfast if I can get moving early. Indeed I can. We are soon seated at Mattina Bella in an unusually sparse room. The flood of breakfasters that often prevents our getting an immediate table comes later. I have soft-scrambled eggs with green onions and a lot of pepper, with a side of bacon, two slices of Susan Spicer's multi-grain toast, and half of one of MA's three pancakes. These are the best pancakes in town, I continue to assert.
Our radio show doesn't go on the air until three-thirty today. (I call it ours, not mine, because when people mention it to me they always say how much they like Mary Ann's participation. For reasons I can't dope out, at the end of it she says did didn't think it was as good as last week's. I thought it was better.
For example, She invented a new feature called "Pockets Of Pleasure," in which we ask listeners to tell of little things they enjoy in life. It doesn't create a backlog of callers, but enough people address the concept to make it worthwhile. (In fact, I got a few emails from people who say they like the idea.)
Dinner at a very crowded DiCristina's. No surprise there. This is a restaurant with good basic Italian food served in enormous portions at low prices--the surest best in St. Tammany Parish. We have some fried oysters on angel hair, fried artichoke hearts with crawfish cream sauce, and fried chicken, which I have been touted on more than a few times. In the middle of the table is, of course, the big bowl of macaroni I and cheese in the style of Rocky & Carlo's.
I try to keep myself from my eating heavily, but also know that this will be my last meal for the next thirty-eight hours, as I prepare myself for The Procedure on Monday.
[title type="h5"]DiCristina's. Covington: 810 N Columbia. 985-875-0160. [/title][divider type=""]
[title type="h5"]Sunday, March 8, 2015.
The Day Without Food.
[/title]
I can remember all the times when I did not eat for a full day or more. The first time was when I had my tonsils and adenoids taken out, when I was about ten. My two younger sisters and I all trooped to Mercy Hospital, and we all had those somehow offending tissues removed, one after another. I'm not sure I went a whole day without eaten then, but I think I did. Unless you count the ice cream they let us have when we got home.
The longest I ever went without eating was during the four days after a complicated emergency appendectomy in 1993. I wasn't even allowed water until day five, when I was given clear liquids at the hospital. The orange Jell-O that was part of that first meal was, I believe, the most joyously delicious thing I ever ate.
Tomorrow, I will undergo an examination that is highly recommended for people over fifty. Today, I am limited to clear liquids again. I have coffee, cranberry juice, apple juice, and a big bowl of that beef consommé I picked up a few days ago from Tchoupstix. At five in the afternoon, I drink up a half-gallon of a solution that makes certain things happen. I am pleasantly surprised in that the stuff doesn't taste bad at all. At nine, I repeat the dose. The inevitable happens, and that is that.
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[title type="h5"]Monday, March 9, 2015.
No Problems.[/title]
At quarter after six, Mary Ann drives me to Ochsner. I am cleared for The Procedure by a very pleasant nurse (woman). While waiting, I hear another patient tell about how rough it is to spend time in China, and that he is a Jesuit graduate.
I am rolled to the operating room. The nurse (man) puts everything in position. The nurseman tells me my hand will now ache, but that wouldn't last long.
And the next thing I know I am having a dream about asking for a cup of coffee. Then a blank spot in my consciousness. And then the nurseman is handing me a big cup of coffee. How did he know I wanted coffee? He says that I asked for it a minute ago. What? Where am I? Oh, wait! I've been here before! You're all done, right? Indeed, they are finished, just waiting for me to come to, which I clearly have. No problems were found.
Someone is rolled into the carrel next door to mine. He starts babbling about how tough things are in China. He sounds a little deranged, but then so do I. "Euphoria is one of the side effects of the anesthetic," the nurseman says.
My neighbor mentions Jesuit. I start singing the Alma Mater. That caught him by surprise. The nurse pull back the curtain and we meet. He was at Jesuit two years before me. He remembers the Alma Mater, though. Ah, but does he remember the first two lines of the Odyssey in the Homeric Greek? I ask. I start in on it: "Andra moi ennepe, Mousa, ploutropon, hos molla polla plangtheis, epeis Troieis hieron ptoliethon epersen."
To which my neighbor begins spitting out the same two lines, at least as well I as did. Now the doctor who had just performed The Procedure on my neighbor pokes his head in and also starts rattling off the Greek words. What are the chances that three ancient Jesuit students would somehow be in the same recovery room at the same time?
It once again proves there are only 500 people living in the New Orleans area.
The nurseman came in and says that our euphoria (a Greek word that made it into English, by the way) might be disturbing the other patients.
After all this plays out, I ask the nurseman--who is becoming one of my favorite people--what I should do next. "I'd go to breakfast, if I were you." Really? Yes, I am clear to do anything other than drive or operate heavy machinery. Take the day off, he says. Have a nice breakfast.
I tell Mary Ann that it's doctor's orders that we should have breakfast now. She's up for that, and has a new idea as to where. The Abita Coffeehouse is not in Abita Springs, but in Madisonville, near where the new Friends restaurant is under construction. It's on what looks like a very old cottage. In fact, while the pieces of the place are indeed old, the building itself is of relatively recent construction.
They have a small kitchen and a small menu. You can get an omelette or scrambled eggs, but no fried or poached. The waffle iron isn't working. But we find plenty of good makings of a pleasant morning. Excellent coffee (they roast their own). Muffins and cinnamon rolls. MA and I split a ham and cheese omelette, which is fluffy and good.
At home, I get right to work. I wrote today's Menu Daily yesterday, but I left one big part out: today's 33 Best Seafood Restaurant countdown. So I finish it. I shower and take a nap, then get back to my desk. When radio show time rolls around, Mary Ann--who was going to host the show today--tells me that I seem to energetic that I may as well do it myself. Which I do.
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Broiled redfish.[/caption]
Dinner at DiMartino's. A reader tells me that the place has finally implemented full service in its dining room. When it opened and for years after, you placed your order in a Burger-King-style window, and sat down. The dining room staff brought the food. But why not also have them take the orders? The premises are very pleasant, and seem to cry out for full service. I have been telling the management this for some time. I don't write to give advice to restaurants. I see my job as almost entirely addressing the needs of customers. But every now and then a restaurant actually listens to my gripes and does something about them.
I have the broiled redfish with a side of steamed broccoli and a salad. The fish is not only excellent in its butter-and-herb sauce, but it is a very large fillet. Crusty and well seasoned across the top, it's as fine as one would find at twice the price in a bistro. We haven't been here in about a year, but I think I'll add it to our North Shore A-List. All they need now is a little more variety in the menu.
Mary Ann gets an enormous salad, riddled with the olives she loves. I finish dinner with a wedge of instantly recognizable Brocato's spumone.
Mary Ann drops me off at the site of tonight's NPAS rehearsal. I am not sure she will take kindly to having to pick me up tonight at nine-fifteen. Although I have done everything else in a normal day today, the doctor did tell me not to drive for twenty-four hours. But she kindly goes along. And my world is back to normal. With a very reassuring note about my health, to boot.
[title type="h5"]DiMartino's. Covington: 700 S Tyler St. 985-276-6460. [/title]
