Tuesday, September 8, 2015.
What Day Is It? Wood Pizza.
Yesterday felt like a Sunday, which makes today feel like a Monday. I keep telling myself that it's really Tuesday, and yet the hallmarks of Monday linger. This is exacerbated by our having no Round Table guests on the radio show. Mary Ann books those appearances, but she's preoccupied with hanging out in Los Angeles and working her way through traffic there. Better her than me, but I wish she were here, for a number of reasons.
I pass a co-worker in the hallway at the radio station. He is eating a slice of pizza. "Pizza!" I say to him. He doesn't reply, which means that there are no pizzas in the conference room or kitchen, and that he bought a slice on his own somewhere.
But the seed is now planted, and by the end of my air shift I must have pizza. That makes this the perfect day to try out a new pizzeria in the nexus of the Warehouse District. Wood Pizza Bistro (what isn't a bistro these days?) opened early this year, and looked as if it were having a rough go of things at first. On days when it wasn't raining, it was unseasonably windy and cold. But most of their tables are outside, in a large patio topped by umbrellas, or on a porch facing it. Behind the porch is a small dining room and a large array of beer taps. And, back there somewhere, is a wood-fired pizza oven. Can't open a pizza joint these days without that.
[caption id="attachment_48805" align="alignnone" width="480"]
Small (!) Caesar salad @ Wood Pizza.[/caption]
The staff is smiling and helpful. I start with a Caesar salad that shows the usual deviation from the classic. I don't mean that as a criticism. As is true for gumbo, bread pudding and even for pizza, no single version can claim to be the only right way to make a Caesar salad anymore. This one comes out in a large bowl, even though it's the small order. It carries a medium-large price of eight dollars. It's well assembled, the dressing being a lemony vinaigrette with shredded romano cheese and feta. Grape tomatoes stud the bed of greens. They are cut in half, making them much easier to spear than the other little tomatoes I've fought with lately.
[caption id="attachment_48804" align="alignnone" width="480"]
Pizza with capicola and capers from Wood Pizza.[/caption]
Wood has a half-dozen or so house pizza combos, but I go down to the do-it-yourself category. The basic pizza is ten dollars, with each added ingredient costing one dollar. I ask for spicy capicola ham and capers. The waitress, who smiles a lot without faking it, adds a wrinkling of her nose to the smile and says, "I never heard of that, but it sounds good!"
And it is good. If I had made the pizza myself, I would have added exactly the amount of toppings that the kitchen did. But I would have made the dough a little fleshier and baked it about two minutes less. The crust is stiff, and each slice breaks away from the whole like a graham cracker would. The bottom shows signs of burning--a good thing, in moderation, but this was a little too much. None of this ruins the 'za, however, and I wind up eating exactly half of it. Which is a lot for me. The other half will still be in my refrigerator at home three days after I put it there.
On the road home, I listen to an audiobook version of
AWOL On The Appalachian Trail. It's the daily journal of a guy who quits his job in his forties and walks the entire 2000-mile-plus trail from Georgia to Maine. The thing he learns of most interest to readers is how many people show off their stamina and daring that way (lots and lots), and that a diary kept of the tiniest details (as in how bad his clothes smell and how many mosquitoes bite him) is actually interesting to read, even for people who would never dream of tackling a goal like that. But I've known that for years.
Mary Leigh is very late getting home this evening, as she wraps up the details of leaving her job as a pastry baker at Sucre. Tomorrow, her focus changes. On her way to her bed, she tells me that she'd like to have breakfast with me in the morning. I'm always pleased to do that.
Wood Pizza Bistro. Warehouse District & Center City: 404 Andrew Higgins St. 504-281-4893.
[divider type=""]
Wednesday, September 9, 2015.
A Familiar Place For An Unexpected Parting.
[caption id="attachment_48802" align="alignnone" width="480"]
Mattina Bella's avocado and bacon omelette. This is what an omelette should look like. [/caption]
Mary Leigh and I have omelettes for breakfast at Mattina Bella. She then goes to work making some new desserts at La Provence. When she finishes that, she will take an airplane to Phoenix, where she will meet up with The Boy. On Friday, he will graduate from a training program he owed the Army, whose ROTC program put him through Loyola University. Then the two of them will drive to Los Angeles to meet up with Mary Ann, Jude, and company. There will be a party for an occasion I am not permitted to discuss in public.
Then ML and The Boy will drive across America to the general vicinity of Washington, D.C., where he has a special assignment waiting for him. My daughter and The Boy will find a place to live, and begin living there.
And so my family passes a large milestone, as the full-time population of the Cool Water Ranch drops to two people, two German Shepherds, and two cats. An all-time low.
I knew this parting was imminent. I didn't know that it would occur as we finished breakfast this morning. How many thousands of words have I written in this journal about our daddy-daughter days together, always beginning with breakfast? Did she plan it this way? I can't imagine a more appropriate moment for her to take her next big step. I give her a hug, and she is on her way.
[divider type=""]
I give forth the radio show from home. Afterwards, I have dinner at New Orleans Food & Spirits, which has an exceptionally good special on Wednesday nights: panneed chicken a top angel hair pasta with both red and white sauces. It's a good thing that they only have it one day a week, or else I'd be scarfing that down in a deadly way.
[caption id="attachment_21871" align="alignnone" width="400"]
Chicken with two sauces and pasta. They now toss the pasta with the sauces.[/caption]
I remember how we discovered this dish. It was during Jude's chicken-devouring days. He went crazy over the combination. But back then it was always the four of us at NOF&S. And now here I am. But my heart I feels good about where in the labyrinth of living everyone is right now.
[title type="h5"]
New Orleans Food & Spirits. Covington: 208 Lee Lane. 985-875-0432. [/title]
But the seed is now planted, and by the end of my air shift I must have pizza. That makes this the perfect day to try out a new pizzeria in the nexus of the Warehouse District. Wood Pizza Bistro (what isn't a bistro these days?) opened early this year, and looked as if it were having a rough go of things at first. On days when it wasn't raining, it was unseasonably windy and cold. But most of their tables are outside, in a large patio topped by umbrellas, or on a porch facing it. Behind the porch is a small dining room and a large array of beer taps. And, back there somewhere, is a wood-fired pizza oven. Can't open a pizza joint these days without that.
[caption id="attachment_48805" align="alignnone" width="480"]
Small (!) Caesar salad @ Wood Pizza.[/caption]
The staff is smiling and helpful. I start with a Caesar salad that shows the usual deviation from the classic. I don't mean that as a criticism. As is true for gumbo, bread pudding and even for pizza, no single version can claim to be the only right way to make a Caesar salad anymore. This one comes out in a large bowl, even though it's the small order. It carries a medium-large price of eight dollars. It's well assembled, the dressing being a lemony vinaigrette with shredded romano cheese and feta. Grape tomatoes stud the bed of greens. They are cut in half, making them much easier to spear than the other little tomatoes I've fought with lately.
[caption id="attachment_48804" align="alignnone" width="480"]
Pizza with capicola and capers from Wood Pizza.[/caption]
Wood has a half-dozen or so house pizza combos, but I go down to the do-it-yourself category. The basic pizza is ten dollars, with each added ingredient costing one dollar. I ask for spicy capicola ham and capers. The waitress, who smiles a lot without faking it, adds a wrinkling of her nose to the smile and says, "I never heard of that, but it sounds good!"
And it is good. If I had made the pizza myself, I would have added exactly the amount of toppings that the kitchen did. But I would have made the dough a little fleshier and baked it about two minutes less. The crust is stiff, and each slice breaks away from the whole like a graham cracker would. The bottom shows signs of burning--a good thing, in moderation, but this was a little too much. None of this ruins the 'za, however, and I wind up eating exactly half of it. Which is a lot for me. The other half will still be in my refrigerator at home three days after I put it there.
On the road home, I listen to an audiobook version of AWOL On The Appalachian Trail. It's the daily journal of a guy who quits his job in his forties and walks the entire 2000-mile-plus trail from Georgia to Maine. The thing he learns of most interest to readers is how many people show off their stamina and daring that way (lots and lots), and that a diary kept of the tiniest details (as in how bad his clothes smell and how many mosquitoes bite him) is actually interesting to read, even for people who would never dream of tackling a goal like that. But I've known that for years.
Mary Leigh is very late getting home this evening, as she wraps up the details of leaving her job as a pastry baker at Sucre. Tomorrow, her focus changes. On her way to her bed, she tells me that she'd like to have breakfast with me in the morning. I'm always pleased to do that.
Mattina Bella's avocado and bacon omelette. This is what an omelette should look like. [/caption]
Mary Leigh and I have omelettes for breakfast at Mattina Bella. She then goes to work making some new desserts at La Provence. When she finishes that, she will take an airplane to Phoenix, where she will meet up with The Boy. On Friday, he will graduate from a training program he owed the Army, whose ROTC program put him through Loyola University. Then the two of them will drive to Los Angeles to meet up with Mary Ann, Jude, and company. There will be a party for an occasion I am not permitted to discuss in public.
Then ML and The Boy will drive across America to the general vicinity of Washington, D.C., where he has a special assignment waiting for him. My daughter and The Boy will find a place to live, and begin living there.
And so my family passes a large milestone, as the full-time population of the Cool Water Ranch drops to two people, two German Shepherds, and two cats. An all-time low.
I knew this parting was imminent. I didn't know that it would occur as we finished breakfast this morning. How many thousands of words have I written in this journal about our daddy-daughter days together, always beginning with breakfast? Did she plan it this way? I can't imagine a more appropriate moment for her to take her next big step. I give her a hug, and she is on her way.
[divider type=""]
I give forth the radio show from home. Afterwards, I have dinner at New Orleans Food & Spirits, which has an exceptionally good special on Wednesday nights: panneed chicken a top angel hair pasta with both red and white sauces. It's a good thing that they only have it one day a week, or else I'd be scarfing that down in a deadly way.
[caption id="attachment_21871" align="alignnone" width="400"]
Chicken with two sauces and pasta. They now toss the pasta with the sauces.[/caption]
I remember how we discovered this dish. It was during Jude's chicken-devouring days. He went crazy over the combination. But back then it was always the four of us at NOF&S. And now here I am. But my heart I feels good about where in the labyrinth of living everyone is right now.
[title type="h5"]