Monday, February 8, 2016.
Homebody.
My old refrigerator (Color: Avocado; Vintage: 1979; Frost-Free: No.) has gone so long since I last defrosted it that the freezer door is frozen shut. I let it sit there, power off, for two days, before it cuts loose its ice--enough to make an igloo for a a small dog.
Mary Ann reacts as if she had just unearthed a cache of fossils. Dozens of sausages, several chickens, many parcels of unidentifiable meats, and more. She is especially pleased with the sausages, and grills a bunch of them for snacking. I wish I knew where the Italian hot sausage came from. It will be wonderful with a pot of red beans. Also good was some excellent sourdough bread from Susan Spicer's Wildflour Bakery, which we make into grilled cheese sandwiches with a nice, sharp New York cheddar in between.
The radio show originated from the Ranch. I got to work on the annual Seafood Countdown, which begins on Ash Wednesday and runs through Good Friday. The theme this year will be about unique seafood dishes from the restaurants.
When I go to bed, it occurs to me that the only time I left the house was to put the garbage out. It is windy and cold, but still--that's quite homebound for me. Maybe I'm subconsciously remembering what happened on Lundi Gras four years ago, resulting in a broken ankle.
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Fat Tuesday, Mardi Gras, February 9, 2016.
Live From Gallier Hall with Angela Hill. Farewell To Beef At The Crescent City Steak House.
Except for the Year Of The Broken Ankle, I have broadcast from Gallier Hall on WWL Radio every year since 1993. The darkest moment of that enjoyable broadcast was when I realized, six years ago, that Rex was a younger man than I. That happened four more times since then. Bad trend. But when I open the newspaper to study up on today's Rex, I am delighted to see that he's a full ten years older, the way Rex always should be.
Angela Hill retired from her WWL radio show a few months ago, but she apparently wanted to remain in the game, and is on the Gallier Hall steps with me, as she has been for the last three years. Angela's longevity and connections from her forty years on television, and her personal appeal, bring in many guests that we would not otherwise have attracted to our microphones.
We always talk with the mayor, but this is the first time we've had the Archbishop of New Orleans, Gregory Aymond. While he's on with us, we clarify the perennial Lenten question: is it all right to eat turtle soup on an abstinance day in Lent? Yes, says the Archbishop. Turtle is considered a fish, as are alligators and frogs.
My least favorite part of the Carnival broadcast is crossing St. Charles Avenue to get to the broadcast site. The passageway is well guarded, and they only let people through when the parade is not rolling at that point. It took only a few minutes to cross during Zulu, which with its 116 units has many gaps. The much better organized Rex almost never has a break of any length. It takes me forty-five minutes to get to the river side.
I then get caught behind a contingent of floats heading back to their dens. When I get to the Crescent City Steak House, the parking lot is full. I park about two blocks away. The neighbors must have thought it funny to see an old guy in a tuxedo pass through their sidewalk parties.
The restaurant was jammed, but they did save me a table for ten. We fill it with Clark, the Gourmet Truck Driver and his wife. A single lady heard me invite anyone who gets to the Crescent City soon enough to join us, and she does. A couple who lives in Los Angeles, in town for the long Mardi Gras experience, also takes a seat. Maria Delaune--formerly the owner of the now-closed Redemption restaurant--is here with two young employees from her seafood wholesale business. And Mary Ann, who almost never joins me for my final-steak ritual, is with me for a change.
I began coming to the Crescent City for my last steak before the privations of Lent some thirty years ago. In those days, I was the only one in the place. I started talking about the appropriateness of the repast soon after, and a few others started showing up. Then I began doing it as an Eat Club event. And after the restaurant came back from Katrina, the Farewell To Beef really took off. It's been a madhouse ever since.
Krasna Vojkovich--the owner of the Crescent City--brings her usual tidbits to our table. We have fried cauliflower, some cheese from Croatia, and the best batch of beef tripe stew she has ever made. I have a hard time persuading my guests to try the tripe, but I make up for that by devouring a whole cup of it myself. Maria, who is hispanic and very familiar with the meat, also enjoys a generous share.
Our table is laden down with two porterhouses for two, and one strip sirloin for Mrs. & Mrs. Gourmet Truck Driver. The four steaks are enough for the ten people to dine well. Indeed, these are the best porterhouses I've had here or anywhere else in quite some time.
The dining room, the vestibule, and the parking lot remain fully occupied. The staff seems to keep up with things well enough, helped by the understanding among all waitees that service will not be rapid. Who cares? Most people are in costume and still celebrate Mardi Gras.
It took me about fifteen minutes to make my way from the table to outside. A dozen people want me to have my picture taken with them. One of them says, "You're getting as much attention here as Peyton Manning did at the end of the game two days ago!"
