Friday, December 18, 2009. Radio Party Goes Awry. At long last, six consecutive days of rain ended. By late afternoon, the skies cleared, bringing with its blueness a chilly air. That must have been nice for all the people in the French Quarter who jam in for lunch at Galatoire's, Antoine's, Arnaud's and the Rib Room. It's one of the busiest lunches of the year for those restaurants, and people who show up at noon are very likely still to be there at four or five or later.
I haven't indulged in that free-for-all in some time. First, I'm averse to crowds. Second, I know how bad the food gets in all these otherwise wonderful restaurants when so many unruly people show up and start drinking with abandon. On the other hand, I wish I could be there again. It would require being married to someone else, and that would be a bad deal.
Our radio station party was at Bacco tonight. Mary Ann said she would join me. Her motivations had nothing to do with enjoying the evening. She feels it's her wifely duty to accompany me to such things. And now that she's sort of on the sales staff of the station, she should be there. But, as I knew they wouldn't, neither of these rationales was enough to make her want to leave home and kiddies and cross the lake. Can't say I blame her.
About forty people were there when I arrived. We were all in the unique, vaulted-ceiling room in the back of Bacco. A small buffet of pasta, fresh mozzarella, prosciutto, salad, and bread pudding was laid out along one wall, with an open bar at the other. Chris Claus, our top manager, was not happy with the setup. With good reason. We expected 125 people to show up, and the room was already about as full as it could be comfortably. "We booked the whole restaurant, but they have other people dining here and drinking at the bar!" he complained. When he addressed this problem to Bacco's manager, the guy claimed to know nothing about a buyout. But enough of a stink was raised that we did manage to spread out into an adjacent (but disconnected) dining room. But then another issue arose: the bar closed at nine, and torn down before our boss insisted that it was being paid for until ten, and must be reopened tout de suite.
Chris came after me at that point as asked me what I thought about Bacco. "It has its ups and down," I said, remembering the white truffle Eat Club dinner we had here only last week. "Well," Chris said, "this is definitely one of the downs!" I have a feeling that next year I may be involved in the catering negotiations for the radio Christmas party. I don't think that the Bacco catering managers would have done any of this if they'd known I would be there.
But nobody asked me for this one, I allowed myself to become mellow. The bartender recognized me, and read my mind. Which was thinking, "This is not much of a bar setup you have here."
"Is there some special drink you'd like, Mr. Fitzmorris?" he asked. How about a Sazerac? I said. "Sure. Just give me a minute to get it from the main bar," he said. He brought it. A woman I didn't know (with six stations of people who are constantly coming and going, and my working in the early evening, I don't know all my fellow employees) moved in and asked where I got the Sazerac in my hand. I'll get one for you, I said. While at it, I had them make a few more for some others, and one for me.
Two Sazeracs is too many. Certainly on an empty stomach. The food was unappealing, save for the prosciutto. And that was presented in a singularly unattractive way, with no easy was presented to serve oneself other than walking around with a sheet of the cured ham hanging from one's fingertips.
I hung out with the oldtimers: Pal Al Nassar, Diane Newman, Bob Frost, Bob DelGiorno, Jim McCutcheon. DelGiorno has been on the radio for fifty years as of a few months ago. McCutcheon and Pal Al have been around about as long as I have. My thirty-five-year anniversary on professional radio was back in November. I wonder what all the young guys who disk jockey on our FMs think about us fossils. I'd ask if I knew who they were.
I left the party about a quarter to ten. I was feeling a little tired, although the Sazerac buzz was wearing off. I detoured two blocks over to Café Giovanni, where encountered Chef Duke Locicero sitting at his bar. He had a big private party winding down in his main dining room: a good night. (Restaurants make more money with less effort from private parties than they do from walk-in business.) He offered me a drink. I asked for an espresso. I got Duke's special version: a quadruple shot. If I drank that, I'd be awake all night for days. I can't handle caffeine the way I once did. I shot the breeze with Duke for awhile, and realized this was another restaurant where I wanted to have dinner during the Christmas season, but didn't.
Bacco. French Quarter: 310 Chartres 504-522-2426. Italian.
