Monday, May 9, 2016.
The Golden Years, In A Good Sense.
Now that Mother's Day is yesterday, we (the Marys and me) move cleanly today into the celebration of Mary Leigh's birthday. She is two dozen. A big bouquet of pink and white tulips arrives at the Cool Water Ranch from her fiancé Dave, who is involved with military maneuvers for the next few weeks. Five months from now, those two will be married. Options spread out from the here and now in all directions.
Mary Ann suggests that we celebrate the day with lunch at the Windsor Court--the default celebratory venue since MA and I tied the knot. MA loves the meat-and-three lunch menu there, and ML joins her in this enthusiasm. Both Marys get a big cube of short ribs, which they like well enough--except that, MA says, short ribs don't look the way they used to. I tell them that this is because the part of the roast that becomes short ribs is so large and irregular that no two cuts resemble one another.
[caption id="attachment_49890" align="alignnone" width="480"]
Meat and three at WIndsor Court's lunch.[/caption]
Gumbo for MA, corn chowder for ML. Grilled Brussels sprouts. Truffled mac 'n' cheese. I have the Windsor Court salad, one of the few Grill Room dishes that has been on the menu since the place opened in 1984. MA and I consumed one of those in our room after our own wedding. It was our first meal together as dweeb and wife. The Grill Room salad is a Cobb salad without the chicken. At the server's suggestion, I have it with the chicken, as if some completeness were accomplished thereby.
[caption id="attachment_37892" align="alignnone" width="400"]
Windsor Court Salad, before being tossed.[/caption]
The WC Salad--whoops! We'd better not use those initials, which have a different meaning in England, whose culture the Windsor Court has always reflected. The salad is a big, vertically layered glass bowl of greens, tomatoes, blue cheese, crumbled hard-boiled eggs, and sliced avocado. It's very handsome, but the classic presentation has the layered salad returned to the kitchen to be tossed with the dressing. They hold back on that move until I ask for it. Which was asking for it on my part. Once done, it is delicious, and twice the size I could finish.
[caption id="attachment_49889" align="alignnone" width="480"]
ML turns 24 in style.[/caption]
I say good-bye to the Marys after lunch, and walk the three blocks to the radio station with fifteen minutes to spare in assembling today's broadcast. We have a surprisingly busy show--at two moments, we have six callers on hold.
I leave immediately upon signing off, and drive fifty miles of unusually sparse highways all the way to Covington. The Northlake Performing Arts Society has just begun to warm up its vocal cords. I slide into my spot next to the better tenors and see that a few people are later than I am. We rehearse the concert that we'll sing first weekend in June.
Both the Marys are asleep when I get home at nine-thirty.
Windsor Court Grill Room. CBD: 300 Gravier. 504-522-1994.
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Tuesday, May 10, 2016.
Aging. And I'm Not Talking About Wine Or Cheese.
Mary Ann drops a hint that she will soon return to Los Angeles for another extended stay with Jude, Mrs. Jude, and Master Jackson. It raises my blood pressure a few points, as my imagination gets the better of me.
Coincidentally, the guest on my show is Brian Berrigan, managing director of the local chapter of the nationwide Alzheimer's Association. He is here to say a few words about an interesting fundraising food event next Thursday. A panel of local food writers, with me as the moderator, talk about their latest works, what was discovered during their book research, and as much amusement as I can drum up. We have the right kind of panel for this:
Ti Martin, one of the owners of Commander's Palace, who recently finished writing about her illustrious mother, Ella Brennan.
Chef John Folse, who just published the fourth of his weighty cookbooks covering every imaginable aspect of Louisiana cookery.
Cynthia LeJeune Nobles, author of a new cookbook of dishes related to the novel "Confederacy of Dunces."
Poppy Tooker, who just finished a cookbook of Tujague's food.
People who attend the event with a $200 ticket price get an autographed cookbook of their choosing. Standard tickets ($150) get a four-course lunch with wines and repartee. And, of course, the knowledge that they are helping research into Alzheimer's.
The event is next Thursday, May 19, at the executive quarters of the old American Can Company. Free valet parking. Tickets can be had at 504-613-6505.
Reading all the above surely has the same effect as talking about such an event on the radio. After we're done, the radio audience is attenuated. But the word must go out.
My idea for dinner is Primativo, Chef Adolfo Garcia's newish restaurant in Center City. Haven't been yet. But when I look over the menu, I see that it's tilted in the direction of large dishes designed to be split. Not the place for a solo repast. Anther time.
I was out in Metairie when I remember that numerous radio callers--including at least two people whose taste seems to be solid--have lately been raving about the Lee's Hamburger in Old Metairie, in the same strip malll as Byblos and Porter & Luke. All these reporters say that the menu is much larger than in the other Lee's, with poor boy sandwiches, a Philly cheese steak, and a few other items. The reports on the roast beef poor boy are exceptionally good.
That sandwich is about a foot long, well dressed, served on right-out-of-the-oven French bread. I ask for the gravy component to be limited, a request that is almost never satisfied in even the best roast beef vendors. But this one is perfect on that count. It's not a brilliant sandwich, but it is very good. I'll come back to try the Philly cheese steak.
I am home quite early. The Marys are still on their errands, which include a lot of investigation of wedding needs. While they are away, I spend the evening applying for Medicare. The very thought of it messes up my self-image. But the lady who handles such matters at the radio station tells me that if I miss the deadline for doing this, there may be penalties, and it may mess up my group insurance through the company.
Me on Medicare. I can't dope it out.
Lee's Hamburgers. Old Metairie: 1507 Metairie Rd. 504-837-8990.
Meat and three at WIndsor Court's lunch.[/caption]
Gumbo for MA, corn chowder for ML. Grilled Brussels sprouts. Truffled mac 'n' cheese. I have the Windsor Court salad, one of the few Grill Room dishes that has been on the menu since the place opened in 1984. MA and I consumed one of those in our room after our own wedding. It was our first meal together as dweeb and wife. The Grill Room salad is a Cobb salad without the chicken. At the server's suggestion, I have it with the chicken, as if some completeness were accomplished thereby.
[caption id="attachment_37892" align="alignnone" width="400"]
Windsor Court Salad, before being tossed.[/caption]
The WC Salad--whoops! We'd better not use those initials, which have a different meaning in England, whose culture the Windsor Court has always reflected. The salad is a big, vertically layered glass bowl of greens, tomatoes, blue cheese, crumbled hard-boiled eggs, and sliced avocado. It's very handsome, but the classic presentation has the layered salad returned to the kitchen to be tossed with the dressing. They hold back on that move until I ask for it. Which was asking for it on my part. Once done, it is delicious, and twice the size I could finish.
[caption id="attachment_49889" align="alignnone" width="480"]
ML turns 24 in style.[/caption]
I say good-bye to the Marys after lunch, and walk the three blocks to the radio station with fifteen minutes to spare in assembling today's broadcast. We have a surprisingly busy show--at two moments, we have six callers on hold.
I leave immediately upon signing off, and drive fifty miles of unusually sparse highways all the way to Covington. The Northlake Performing Arts Society has just begun to warm up its vocal cords. I slide into my spot next to the better tenors and see that a few people are later than I am. We rehearse the concert that we'll sing first weekend in June.
Both the Marys are asleep when I get home at nine-thirty.
