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Monday, September 29, 2014.
Sup For Your Singer.[/title]
[dropcap1]A[/dropcap1]bout two-thirds of my life since I was eight years old, I have been in choral singing groups. After a few years of refraining* from that hobby, I lately feel the call again. I said as much in this space a few weeks ago. A reader suggested I join NPAS, the Northlake Performing Arts Society. I know about the group through friends who sing, but had the impression that what they sang was beyond my proficiency. I understand the basics after three college courses in music theory. But I'm not a fluent sight reader, a problem that sometimes leads to my learning wrong notes here and there.
But I thought I'd check out NPAS anyway. The first surprise: at least four other singing groups go by that name, ranging from Skokie, Illinois to Aukland, New Zealand, all on the north shore of some lake or other.
The local NPAS indeed presented itself as choosy about its members. You fill out a resume then prepare a song for an audition. I couldn't find the sheet music for my favorite song, "Where Or When," but while looking for it my hand landed on a book of music by Cy Coleman, whose work I have always loved. "I Walk A Little Faster" sounded good when I ran though it a few times in the shower. (No room for a piano in there, unforch.)
One aspect of NPAS had immediate appeal to me. It's in the middle of Covington, a shorter drive to any a singing gig in my last forty years. What's more, several of our regular restaurants are between here and there. That may not be a good thing. Eating before singing (or before talking at length) is not a good idea. It goobers up the vocal cords and pushes down on the diaphragm.
We go to dinner anyway. Red beans and rice with andouille, New Orleans Food And Spirits. The chef cooked an extraordinarily fine job with this Monday's batch, and after I asked for a small pile he sent me the biggest one I've seen. I couldn't stop eating the stuff.
However, I am a good boy when it comes to dessert, and skip the great bread pudding. Sugar and dairy are really bad for the voice.
I arrive at the church where the rehearsals take place a bit early. I meet some of the other guys, some of whom I've sung with in the past. They and everyone else I met--including the director--are thoroughly welcoming. I'm happy to learn that I showed up at the right time: the tenor section needs another voice or two. And I'm glad to be out of the bass section, to which I have been assigned like as not. They must be listening to my radio voice which, because of the sound characteristics of AM radio, make me sound deeper than I really do. I'm more comfortable as a second tenor.
NPAS is working on a host of madrigal numbers that will turn up in holiday performances. I was handed a stack of sheet music, and after some warm-up exercises that showed off my lack of physical coordination, we began singing in four parts. Then the lyrics went into solid French. I can handle French pronunciations if they're about food, but this tune was about young people madly in love, in a somewhat earthy way yet.
I struggle through the evening. The director--Dr. Alissa Rowe, who teaches at Southeastern and clearly is in command of the art--could not possibly have been impressed, if she could hear me at all. I was in the front row, right in front of her, but I wasn't putting out a lot of sound.
I salved myself with the knowledge that even the steepest learning curve can be surmounted. The brain figures it all out in its off hours. I found this especially true when I was trying to learn violin in my thirties, and when I struggle with computer programming. I will learn a lot here, if they allow me to stay.
At the moment, I think I'm in. I was not asked to give an audition, whatever that means. I think I will know for sure if they ask me to pay dues.
(*pun intended)
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[title type="h5"]Tuesday, September 30, 2014.
About Gretna Fest, And Da Rabbit. Flaming Torch Is Back. [/title]
The problem with food trucks is that they are so limited in what they can do that it's almost impossible to cook and serve food equal to what a standing restaurant can do. And that's saying nothing about the way the food is served, with all the disposables.
But it can be done, as the Rollin' Fatties persuade me. The two young men who operate that truck came to tell me about it on the Radio Round Table Show. They represent a new section of this weekend's Gretna Fest, which has decided to invite a half-dozen food trucks to set up shop on the grounds.
If there's a place where food trucks fit in perfectly, it's a festival like this. It goes on all weekend at the scenic, antique riverfront neighborhood of Old Gretna. Several dozen bands, lots of food and drink, family-friendly.
The Rollin' Fatties (who aren't particularly fat) have a menu centered on burritos and related Latin American favorites. They bring with them a torta--the sandwich often called a Mexican poor boy. But this one you need a knife and fork to eat. The pork and beef spilling out of it at every fissure make that clear. It is also distinctively delicious.
Two other restaurateurs boost the event. We are joined by the owner of Thanh Thanh, the excellent Vietnamese restaurant next to the Gretna levee, and its associate pizzeria. (Vietnamese people can cook anything. At breakfast, Thanh Thanh serves pancakes and omelettes.) Also here is one of the most famous names in Gretna cookery: Da Wabbit. It owner brings a shrimp salad and chicken andouille gumbo for us to taste, with the promise of much more at the Gretna Fest.
Also with us today is the new owner of the Ugly Dog BBQ and Saloon. Although the name of the place sounds perfect for a West Bank food festival vendor, the Ugly Dog is more or less surrounded by the World War II Museum. It predates the museum by quite a bit. Originally opened by the former doorman of the Windsor Court Hotel, it was on the cutting edge of local barbecue. It was there even before Corky's and the first wave of real, smoked barbecue came along. Always good, particularly for its famous cole slaw. The new guys promise no major changes, just a lot of tweaks in the menu.
A few days ago, a note came in from Zohreh Khaleghi. Her husband Hassan passed away about a month ago. The two of them operated the Flaming Torch French restaurant on Magazine Street for the past decade or so. Zohreh, who has always been part of the restaurant's operation, decided after a few days of bereavement that what Hassan would do is get the restaurant open again as soon as possible. Which she did, in less than a week.
She asked if I could help get the word out. I went there for supper to talk about that. It was an odd repetition of a dinner I had with Hassan about two months ago. At the time, Hassan said that the health problems that kept him away from the restaurant were on the mend. (Indeed, he was working that night.) But a couple of weeks later he took a downturn and soon afterwards died, at just 57.
Zohreh and I decided that the thing to do was to have an Eat Club dinner. That should put across the message pretty well. She said she'd make up a menu and let me know. She also said that some of the special menus Hassan had started up recently--most notably the lobster Thermidor on Thursdays--were doing very well.
[caption id="attachment_44151" align="alignnone" width="480"]
Warm leek and potato soup at Flaming Torch.[/caption]
For my own supper tonight, I started with a hot potato and leek soup, followed by a fillet of flounder with chimichurri sauce. The preparation was adapted from a scallop special, but it worked perfectly with the flounder.
[caption id="attachment_44150" align="alignnone" width="480"]
Flounder with chimichurri sauce.[/caption]
Zohreh may have doubted my ability to help when I managed to make myself look like a buffoon. A couple from an adjacent table came over to introduce themselves as regular listeners, as well as regular Flaming Torch customers. I stood up, but to assist myself I put my hand down at the perfect spot on the table to make it tilt over, sending a full glass of red wine topple to the floor.
After the server cleaned up the mess, she brought me another glass of wine. It held less wine than the first. But I can hardly blame her.
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Flaming Torch. Uptown 3: Napoleon To Audubon: 737 Octavia. 504-895-0900. [/title]
Written by Tom Fitzmorris October 07, 2014 12:01 in
