Friday, August 12, 2016.
Baco Bar, Ever More Confusing.
Mary Ann is packing for another trip to Los Angeles, she to get a respite of peace and quiet. She will bask in the aura of our eight-month-old grandson, Jackson, the happiest little boy any of us have ever seen. Not only that, but Jackson's parents Jude and Suzanne have actually managed to equal Mary Ann's standards for parental responsibility. (She can get away with this because she herself was the ultimate in mothers.) No wonder she likes to hang out with the Los Angeles branch of our family.
[caption id="attachment_51722" align="alignright" width="320"]
Dining room at Baco Bar[/caption]
She and I have a farewell-for-now lunch at Baco Bar, in the big new shopping area of Covington off I-12. She liked Baco Bar at first, but with each new visit--today's is number four for me, and over six for her) our thoughts converge on this thought: what kind of restaurant is this, anyway? We find Chinese, island, Mexican, and Japanese influences, but when everything converges into a meal, we find little for our appetites to grab hold.
[caption id="attachment_51719" align="alignnone" width="480"]
Baco Bar's fries.[/caption]
My lunch, for example, is a pair of those puffy white Chinese steam buns, with some herbs and cabbage inside and a couple of finger-size bits of fried catfish. I don't like those buns--they have no detectable flavor, and the dryness of their texture takes over you mouth in what I find an unpleasant way. MA, who disagrees with me about nearly everything, feels the same. And it totals out to, "What exactly are we supposed to get out of this?"
I get a side dish of Mexican street-style corn. I'd had this before and liked it both times, even though the portion is so large (to make up for the catfish?) that I can finish only half of it. That may be partly due to our having an order of fries earlier. Meanwhile, MA has sone grilled shrimp that she sends back to be cooked a bit more. (Not an uncommon thing for her.)
I finish off with a dessert about which the waiter is almost too enthusiastic. It's parfait with a sort of chicory-coffee panna cotta, and some whipped cream and a little cocoa and (I think) cinnamon across the top. It is very rich and very sweet.
When our analysis of the purpose of this menu peters out, the rain that greeted us when we arrived increases. We didn't know it at the time, but this was the slow-moving, waterlogged system that would bring disastrous flooding from the Tangipahoa River through Baton Rouge and beyond tothe west.
Fortunately for MA, this doesn't affect her afternoon flight out. I watch the progress of this system on radar. It gives me something else to be anxious about. The radar makes the storm look like a hurricane. It has circular motion, an identifiable eye, and less power on the east side than on the west side--all hallmarks of a hurricane depicted by radar. The only difference is that there is almost no wind at all. But thank God for that.
I can't work up the enthusiasm to go out to dinner. So I have another bowl of Lazone's turtle soup.
Baco Bar.. Covington: 70437 LA21. 985-893-2450.
Dining room at Baco Bar[/caption]
She and I have a farewell-for-now lunch at Baco Bar, in the big new shopping area of Covington off I-12. She liked Baco Bar at first, but with each new visit--today's is number four for me, and over six for her) our thoughts converge on this thought: what kind of restaurant is this, anyway? We find Chinese, island, Mexican, and Japanese influences, but when everything converges into a meal, we find little for our appetites to grab hold.
[caption id="attachment_51719" align="alignnone" width="480"]
Baco Bar's fries.[/caption]
My lunch, for example, is a pair of those puffy white Chinese steam buns, with some herbs and cabbage inside and a couple of finger-size bits of fried catfish. I don't like those buns--they have no detectable flavor, and the dryness of their texture takes over you mouth in what I find an unpleasant way. MA, who disagrees with me about nearly everything, feels the same. And it totals out to, "What exactly are we supposed to get out of this?"
I get a side dish of Mexican street-style corn. I'd had this before and liked it both times, even though the portion is so large (to make up for the catfish?) that I can finish only half of it. That may be partly due to our having an order of fries earlier. Meanwhile, MA has sone grilled shrimp that she sends back to be cooked a bit more. (Not an uncommon thing for her.)
I finish off with a dessert about which the waiter is almost too enthusiastic. It's parfait with a sort of chicory-coffee panna cotta, and some whipped cream and a little cocoa and (I think) cinnamon across the top. It is very rich and very sweet.
When our analysis of the purpose of this menu peters out, the rain that greeted us when we arrived increases. We didn't know it at the time, but this was the slow-moving, waterlogged system that would bring disastrous flooding from the Tangipahoa River through Baton Rouge and beyond tothe west.
Fortunately for MA, this doesn't affect her afternoon flight out. I watch the progress of this system on radar. It gives me something else to be anxious about. The radar makes the storm look like a hurricane. It has circular motion, an identifiable eye, and less power on the east side than on the west side--all hallmarks of a hurricane depicted by radar. The only difference is that there is almost no wind at all. But thank God for that.
I can't work up the enthusiasm to go out to dinner. So I have another bowl of Lazone's turtle soup.
