Monday, June 20, 2016.
I Will Live On, If Often Alone.
I can always tell when Mary Ann will soon leave the Cool Water Ranch for an extended visit to one or another of our far-flung children. This morning, she is rushing to finish three blankets she has sewn for our L.A. grandson Jackson. Now she must puzzle over the baggage rules of Spirit Airlines, whose policy is to charge a la carte for almost every imaginable service. In exchange, the fares are very low. Perfect for young, footloose people who take off with nothing more than their wallets in their back pockets. But MA is famous for her overloaded bags.
Before I take her to the airport, I have my annual checkup with my primary-care doctor. This morning, I get a two-for-one deal: a fourth-year resident physician will, with my permission, conduct his own examination before my regular medic does. He's a young man who looks Indian, although he is a native of California. He shows himself to be friendly and knowledgeable as I pepper him with my more speculative questions, many of which have to do with the three medications I take to control blood pressure. He is up to speed not only on those pills, but all the other possible options. Then I show him the middle toe I accidentally kicked into a chair leg day before yesterday. It's turning purple and red and hurts. He feels the toe all around and says that it is not broken. "You will see every color of the rainbow there before it's healed, but it will heal," he says.
My regular doctor takes over. He agrees with the toe prognosis. We look over the meds and decide to swap out a pill that can cause light-headedness. That's not a big problem for me, but when I get even a brief (and normal) such feeling, my paranoid brain causes its own invented troubles.
Then my doctor looks over my numbers. He congratulates me for keeping my weight down. It's three pounds higher than a year ago, after I had lost 63 pounds. My blood pressure is thirty points lower than it was in this chair in 2015. He all but high-fives me on the cholesterol and lipids numbers, which he says are perfect. No issues with the liver. I am happy to learn that my thyroid numbers are fine. When I was a baby, I had a large, strawberry-shaped birthmark that was treated with radium. This approach caused many big problems for others of my generation. But after all these years I'm still clean.
With all this good news I return home for Mary Ann and we drive to the airport for a four-thirty flight to Los Angeles, Jude, and Jackson. She is ecstatic. I leave her there with her happiness and head into town for the radio show.
En route, I see that the engine of Mary Ann's car is overheating. I use tricks from my long-ago cars to keep the water temperature low, but at times it approaches the red zone. After the radio show, I drive straight home, with my eye on that needle all the way. For supper, I eat the rest of the tuna stack I couldn't finish yesterday at Zea. I'd cut the grass if it hadn't had another soaking this afternoon.
I think about the overheating car, and the strategy for getting it fixed. Mary Ann says that she's nearly ready for a new car. She certainly is: her odometer is approaching 300,000 miles. But she has in her mind that the next car will be a Range Rover. I hope we can keep her Honda going until after the bills are paid for Mary Leigh's wedding.
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Tuesday, June 21, 2016.
A Thick Steak.
I have a radio guest waiting for me: Kim Lawson, who used to work for the station during the earliest years of the Food Show. When last I spoke with her, Mary Ann and I weren't yet married. She has kids now, too. And she's marketing manager for Aunt Sally's Pralines. Now there's a business that won't be migrating to Southeast Asia.
She is here to mark National Praline Day, which I believe is this Friday. Everybody who stops by either of Aunt Sally's two shops (on St. Charles Avenue near Julia Street, or in the French Market next door to the Café Du Monde) will get a mini-praline on the house.
In more exciting news, Aunt Sally has rolled out a couple of new flavors. I always liked the praline-flavored pralines best, but it's hard not to enjoy the new Bananas Foster version, or the triple-chocolate option. Sadly, still no action on the garlic-sardine flavored pralines that some chefs around town are experimenting with. (Or am I thinking of something else?)
Kim gives me a basket of praline samples. I don't bring any home because 1) I will eat them all, quickly and b) nobody but me is at home right now. But if I walk around the radio station offices passing pralines out to the staff--especially the hard-working ladies in the back offices--everybody learns how nice a guy I am to know.
In light of the excellent numbers the doctor gave me yesterday--especially the cholesterol stats--I feel entitled to eat a big steak sizzling in butter. I have been thinking about going to the Crescent City Steak House for a month or two.
I'm surprised that a slow Tuesday evening nevertheless drew a nearly-full dining room. People from two other tables come over to mine to say that if I hadn't made such a big fuss years ago about the Crescent City, they would never have penetrated this neighborhood to dine there. I love to hear things like that.
More interesting, however is a note in fine type ("Finklestein Fine-Line" is the name of the font, I believe) that says "Extra-cut steaks available." This grabs me immediately. The Crescent City, because of its age, has always cut its single-serve steaks a bit smaller than most steak kitchens do. It's only in recent decades that steaks have become as large as they are. But the tradeoff is eminently fair, another blast from the past: the CC's menu prices are much lower than those of other USDA Prime houses.
The waiter tells me that they can upsize the normal twelve-ounce strip steak to sixteen for a $15 upcharge. Perfect! That gives it the added thickness that so much helps a strip to cook properly. What comes to my table is a slab of beef the size of the big side of a porterhouse for three. I can't finish it at one sitting, of course, but it's a better steak. Indeed, in a league with any other steak in New Orleans. I may have to move the Crescent City from the economy top-dozen list to the upscale steak list.
[caption id="attachment_51944" align="alignnone" width="480"]
Upsize strip steak at the Crescent City Steak House on North Broad Street. [/caption]
One of the many hallmarks of the Crescent City is the ancient--but strangely modern-looking--juke box. There's something wrong with the machine tonight. I think a new needle may be necessary. But in the meantime, they ought to unplug it to keep it from screeching. Either that, or accept the status quo as another lovable eccentricity of this fine old house of carnivory, New Orleans style.
Crescent City Steak House. Mid-City: 1001 N Broad. 504-821-3271.
I'm surprised that a slow Tuesday evening nevertheless drew a nearly-full dining room. People from two other tables come over to mine to say that if I hadn't made such a big fuss years ago about the Crescent City, they would never have penetrated this neighborhood to dine there. I love to hear things like that.
More interesting, however is a note in fine type ("Finklestein Fine-Line" is the name of the font, I believe) that says "Extra-cut steaks available." This grabs me immediately. The Crescent City, because of its age, has always cut its single-serve steaks a bit smaller than most steak kitchens do. It's only in recent decades that steaks have become as large as they are. But the tradeoff is eminently fair, another blast from the past: the CC's menu prices are much lower than those of other USDA Prime houses.
The waiter tells me that they can upsize the normal twelve-ounce strip steak to sixteen for a $15 upcharge. Perfect! That gives it the added thickness that so much helps a strip to cook properly. What comes to my table is a slab of beef the size of the big side of a porterhouse for three. I can't finish it at one sitting, of course, but it's a better steak. Indeed, in a league with any other steak in New Orleans. I may have to move the Crescent City from the economy top-dozen list to the upscale steak list.
[caption id="attachment_51944" align="alignnone" width="480"]
Upsize strip steak at the Crescent City Steak House on North Broad Street. [/caption]
One of the many hallmarks of the Crescent City is the ancient--but strangely modern-looking--juke box. There's something wrong with the machine tonight. I think a new needle may be necessary. But in the meantime, they ought to unplug it to keep it from screeching. Either that, or accept the status quo as another lovable eccentricity of this fine old house of carnivory, New Orleans style.
