Wednesday, May 25, 2016.
Joining New Friends For Dinner.
Mary Ann is interested in playing the investments game, and in so doing she met up with a guy who specializes in the kind of thing she's interested in. The four of us (including his date) have been trying to get together for a non-business dinner. The date was set for tonight, and the venue by MA. She thought that Kingfish would be a good place. We haven't dined there in many months. Long enough, for us not to have sampled the cooking of the chef who took Greg Sonnier's spot late last year.
[caption id="attachment_51595" align="alignnone" width="480"]
The bar at Kingfish.[/caption]
I am the first to arrive, and have a newly-developed cocktail called the Amelia Earhart. It's a variation on the Aviator, starting with gin, maraschino liqueur (or another interesting Italian mixer), and creme de violette. Kingfish adds a fresh basil leaf to all that. It's a good drink, appealing to the same tastes I have for martinis and Negronis.
MA is upset that a certain parking space right across the street from the restaurant was grabbed by someone else. This forced her to park in the old D.H. Holmes garage, a disgrace to the Parking Witch.
Then our new friends show up. Everyone has met everyone else before, I am told, but the data has not sunk into my consciousness. It's moments like this that my ability to start conversations with total strangers--an essential skill for hosting a radio talk show--comes in handy.
On the other hand, what stops me cold is most conversations about politics. Especially if MA is running free. So I just listen for most of the evening. Nothing is said about economics, investing, or anything else serious. This goes on for about a half-hour, as the waiter keeps a patient watch over our table, in case any of us actually wants to eat something.
[caption id="attachment_51594" align="alignnone" width="480"]
Chicken livers--the offal of the hour--on crostini at Kingfish.[/caption]
We finally get to that. I order fried chicken livers (the offal of the hour, says the menu) with a tangy sauce over crostini. Mary Ann has a gratin of artichokes and crawfish. A shrimp and corn bisque with a lot of cream circulates. A half-dozen boudin balls are about the most beautiful I've ever seen.
[caption id="attachment_51596" align="alignnone" width="480"]
Boudin balls.[/caption]
The entrees are a sixteen-ounce ribeye steak for our investor friend. His lady gets a gigantic bowl of hard-to-eat nachos with pulled pork, cracklings, jalapenos and (of all things) creme fraiche. MA picks away at the appetizers in lieu of an entree. I have a piece of fish identified as "sea snapper." What that? It is just okay, and set on the plate carelessly.
[caption id="attachment_51598" align="alignnone" width="480"]
"Sea snapper," whatever that is.[/caption]
[caption id="attachment_51597" align="alignnone" width="480"]
Cracklings and pulled-pork nachos.[/caption]
The political talk continues. Then it ends. Our new friends drive us from their parking garage to MA's, and MA takes me to my parking garage. A three-garage meal! Wow.
Kingfish. French Quarter: 337 Chartres St. 504-598-5005.
The bar at Kingfish.[/caption]
I am the first to arrive, and have a newly-developed cocktail called the Amelia Earhart. It's a variation on the Aviator, starting with gin, maraschino liqueur (or another interesting Italian mixer), and creme de violette. Kingfish adds a fresh basil leaf to all that. It's a good drink, appealing to the same tastes I have for martinis and Negronis.
MA is upset that a certain parking space right across the street from the restaurant was grabbed by someone else. This forced her to park in the old D.H. Holmes garage, a disgrace to the Parking Witch.
Then our new friends show up. Everyone has met everyone else before, I am told, but the data has not sunk into my consciousness. It's moments like this that my ability to start conversations with total strangers--an essential skill for hosting a radio talk show--comes in handy.
On the other hand, what stops me cold is most conversations about politics. Especially if MA is running free. So I just listen for most of the evening. Nothing is said about economics, investing, or anything else serious. This goes on for about a half-hour, as the waiter keeps a patient watch over our table, in case any of us actually wants to eat something.
[caption id="attachment_51594" align="alignnone" width="480"]
Chicken livers--the offal of the hour--on crostini at Kingfish.[/caption]
We finally get to that. I order fried chicken livers (the offal of the hour, says the menu) with a tangy sauce over crostini. Mary Ann has a gratin of artichokes and crawfish. A shrimp and corn bisque with a lot of cream circulates. A half-dozen boudin balls are about the most beautiful I've ever seen.
[caption id="attachment_51596" align="alignnone" width="480"]
Boudin balls.[/caption]
The entrees are a sixteen-ounce ribeye steak for our investor friend. His lady gets a gigantic bowl of hard-to-eat nachos with pulled pork, cracklings, jalapenos and (of all things) creme fraiche. MA picks away at the appetizers in lieu of an entree. I have a piece of fish identified as "sea snapper." What that? It is just okay, and set on the plate carelessly.
[caption id="attachment_51598" align="alignnone" width="480"]
"Sea snapper," whatever that is.[/caption]
[caption id="attachment_51597" align="alignnone" width="480"]
Cracklings and pulled-pork nachos.[/caption]
The political talk continues. Then it ends. Our new friends drive us from their parking garage to MA's, and MA takes me to my parking garage. A three-garage meal! Wow.
