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Friday, September 4, 2015.
Why Haven't We Been To Nuvolari's Lately?[/title]
Labor Day weekend begins, and I can't think of a reason I should commute today. Mary Leigh, the only other person in the house, finishes up her pastry-making work at Sucre, and is home when my radio show ends. We will dine together, of course. For once, we agree on a venue right off: Nuvolari's. We both like the place, but Mary Ann is not a fan. But MA isn't here, so we reach unanimity easily.
We are greeted with unusual warmth by Wally Simmons, the long-haired, long-time manager and bartender of Nuvolari's. Is it so long since we've darkened the door that we get a reception like this? When we're seated, the answer to that question is clear: the premises look different to me. ML doesn't think so, which means that this is yet another place that seems vaguely unfamiliar to me from disuse.
I am able to escape one of the explanations of that when I look over the menu. It is very different from the mostly-Italian card that was here five years ago--let alone when it first opened in the middle 1980s, when it was decidedly Italian, with lots of red sauces. Now there is very little of that. Given that I was thinking about fettuccine Alfredo, this derails my order somewhat.
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Pasta with pesto, Nuvolari's way.[/caption]
Mary Leigh recalls the lunch we had in Genoa back in May, when we had what we all agreed was the finest pesto-sauce pasta of our lives. She had that on her mind, and saw that one of the dishes comes with a pesto. The dish is even named for Genoa. I ask if we could have the pasta part of this dish, enough of it to make two appetizers. Mary Leigh used to freak out when I'd ask for special dishes, but she appears to be past it now.
The pasta is very different from the one in Genoa, but we decide that it is every bit as good, and that Nuvolari's ought to add it to the menu.
[caption id="attachment_48779" align="alignnone" width="480"]
Grilled pompano with vegetables, Nuvolari's.[/caption]
We move on to the tomato-basil bisque for me, and a wedge salad for ML. The salad keeps her busy through my eating of grilled pompano with an assortment of vegetables and at least three different colors of whole cherry tomatoes. I am reminded of the house salad served throughout my train trip. What brings that to mind is the difficulty of eating a whole cherry tomato with any known utensil. You need three hands. Anyway, the fish is good.
The first wine I order is no longer available. The server returns with the news that a different Italian wine took its place, and that it is somewhat similar to the one I asked for. This is false, but I was happy about the outcome anyway, because it involves Salice Salantino, a big red wine from the bootheel of Italy. Wines in that part of the country were, at a time within memory, so terrible that they were distilled for alcohol that would be used in manufacturing batteries. But modern winemaking practices have turned even these poor vintages into eminently drinkable wines. As this one was. Rustic and good. Should have had a steak with it, but I've done my steak for this week.
Dessert is creme brulee. I don't like the current trend in which creme brulee is made in wider, shallower dishes than the classic. It's visually grabbing, but the dessert winds up with too much sugar.
Prices at Nuvolari's continue to be lower than I expect, and we get out of of here for around $80 inclusive.
[title type="h5"]Nuvolari's. Mandeville: 246 Girod St. 985-626-5619.
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Saturday, September 5, 2015.
Strobe-Light Sky. Panang Curry.[/title]
Mary Ann updates me on the progress of her visit to Los Angeles. The crew renovating Jude's house keeps forgetting to make the house accessible for house guests, and MA is forced to spend several nights in--who could believe it, in such a large city--the only acceptable hotel in L.A. That's the Langham in Pasadena. I ask her whether her regular room there is available, and she says it is. On the other hand, the corned short ribs of beef--her favorite breakfast dish--is gone from the menu. I tell her I will pray for her.
[caption id="attachment_41717" align="alignnone" width="480"]
A welcome to regular customers at the Langham Hotel in Pasadena.[/caption]
MA was to visit for a week with an old friend who lives in Fresno. But the whole Fresno area is besieged by the same wildfires that plagued me on the trains last week. It's even worse in Fresno because the flames are closer to civilization, and are burning houses down. MA's friend has decamped to New Orleans, of all places. That gets me to thinking. . . but I stop before I can get myself in trouble.
Mary Leigh has a long work day in her two pastry shops, and then she goes out to dine with one of her fellow bakers, a girl who has become a new friend. That leaves me to dine solo. I go to the Thai Pepper in Mandeville. As usual, it's nearly empty, but doing a good business with take-out orders. I will never understand why anyone would take home a dish that gets most of its deliciousness from having been cooked very rapidly over high heat, then served immediately, when the flavors are at peak.
[caption id="attachment_43446" align="alignnone" width="480"]
Panang curry at Thai Pepper.[/caption]
The weather looked good when I went in there to start with tom yum soup, a darker-than-usual version with big shrimp and savory vegetables. Spicy and good, it gets me ready for the panang curry with chicken. This is also a soup more or less, but that doesn't bother me. I forget to tell them how hot I wanted the peppers, but they get it right anyway.
I said the weather looked good when I arrived. I don't know why I didn't notice that halfway through the Panang curry, a tremendous thunderstorm exploded from nowhere. It is just starting to rain when I run out to my car, but in the twelve miles home, a tremendous torrent falls. The kind that makes you think that it's got to slacken off any minute now, but that only gets more rambunctious. It is accompanied by the kind of continuous lightning from all directions. It creates a strobe effect with the windshield wipers.
I also learn that the stripes on Causeway Boulevard become almost impossible to see in this kind of storm, making it tough to stay in lane. Or to avoid hitting deep puddles and blowing wings of water in both directions.
It slowed down by the time I got to Claiborne Hill. Past there, the evidence was everywhere that a huge dump of precip had fallen. Leaves and stems and branches and boughs are all over the roads. I hope that dead pine tree I have to pass every day fell, away from the road and into the woods. But it didn't.
ML comes home not long after I do. She went through the storm, too. We compare notes, and learn that we were each worried about the other. My darling daughter!
[title type="h5"]Thai Pepper. Mandeville: 1625 US 190. 985-624-3057. [/title]
