Wednesday, May 24, 2017.
Cavan Investigated.
My favorite kind of sky was on display today as I rode across the lake to downtown New Orleans. Most of the dome was blue, but puffy, white clouds were spaced about equidistant from one another from the horizon in every direction. This was a show I appreciated for the first time when I was en route to Big Bend country in West Texas, around 1976. US 385 is an isolated stretch between Fort Stockton and Marathon, with continuous mountains rolling around on both sides. The ground level is around 4000 feet, making the sky even bluer than usual as the white clouds marched around me. Magnificent, and not often seen in our part of the world. But here it is today, above Lake Pontchartrain.
Maybe that lifted my spirits. Our guests on the radio show were three women involved in the Big Gateau, the closing event of the New Orleans Wine & Food Experience. It's a competition among bakers, this year to build something magnificent out of chocolate and sugars. I've never been to the Gateau, but the Marys--who are tuned in to beautiful works in baking--loved it.
I entered the second hour of the program with the usual trepidation, which seemed to be fulfilled by the first caller, a guy who laughs at me for daring to build a radio show by appealing to potential listeners who cannot hear my pleas to them that they figure out how to tune in. He is followed by a crank who has called me a half-dozen times, always to say that the HD2 radio he bought drops out now and then. What doesn't?
But from that moment on, we receive a steady stream of callers about real food topics. At one point, I have three people on hold. Now we're getting somewhere.
When the show ends and I take a twenty-minute nap in my undersize desk chair, I call my little sister Lynn. The Marys are not available for dinner with me, but Lynn is, and I suspect it's her kind of place.
Cavan--you are free to roll the dice as to how to pronounce this name--opened around a year ago. It's on Magazine Street, across the side street from Harry's Ace Hardware. (A real landmark, that.) The restaurant occupies a large and fancy house that seems a bit tired out. That is something New Orleanians like in a restaurant. A conversation could always start with speculation as to whether the ceiling's decorations need repainting, or whether it's already perfect.
The menu is much less formal than I expected, with sandwiches, salads, and what seems to me an abbreviated selection of food. I would not be thinking that by the end of the meal, which was really enough for four people. We begin with a very light she-crab soup. Then a whole potato cut down to make ten very large but very good fries. Now a salad of barley, peas, pea greens, and a few other elements of a vegan offering.
I have mahi-mahi with a Jamaican jerk seasoning of pineapple juice. (Odd: it's two consecutive days for me with pineapple juice in a meaty dish.) Lynn orders a good-looking whole redfish. The waiter--who is a native of Lithuania and has only a slight accent--performs an expert filleting of the fish. We are happy with all of this, with the exception of the check, which with tip, etc. works its way past the $200 mark. The blame is mine: I have allowed four entrees (the whole fish is certainly enough for three or four in itself, and its price is $50.
Through the evening, the chef is busy with a private something going on upstairs in the restaurant, but I see him later. It's Nathan Richard, formerly of the Bombay Club and Kingfish. Well, that explains the polish in the cooking, which surpasses that of the physical plant.
Meanwhile, Lynn and I share our gripes about the insistent way that time has in making us both older every day.
The clouds that enthralled me earlier have a subtler act as I head for home. This is the time of year with the latest sunsets, and the maroon glow is indeed in the distance from the Causeway. This is a great improvement over what was supposed to happen today and tomorrow. I listen to classical music all the way home, and reflect on my enjoyment in remaining alive.
Cavan. Uptown: 3607 Magazine St. 504-509–7655.
