Friday, February 11, 2011.
Anniversary At Brennan's. . . In Houston.
It's the twenty-second anniversary of our wedding. It's always nice to remember that day. It was chilly, crisp, and sunny. St. Mary's Assumption Church, built by Germans in the Irish Channel in the 1800s--a magnificent edifice. The organist was terrible, but that's the only thing that went wrong. Our reception was at the home of my friends Kit and Billy Wohl, with the catering by Chef Andrea and two pounds of Louisiana caviar. My favorite quote from a guest was uttered by Al Shea: "Tom, this isn't a New Orleans party! This is Hollywood!"
Then we adjourned to our bed in the Windsor Court Hotel--but not for the traditional reason. We were both pooped, and needed a nap. Especially Mary Ann, who'd sewn all the dresses for all the bridesmaids and the little girls, plus her own wedding dress. (She was still at it that morning.) We had room service in our ridiculously large suite for supper, and enjoyed two days there before flying to Belgium for our honeymoon.
Today, we are off on a jaunt Mary Ann dreamed up a few days ago. A fuzzy plan involving dinner at Brennan's in Houston and driving around Texas is on her mind. As usual, I am along for the ride as she directs the program.
We hit the road at a bit after seven, and didn't stop until Welsh, Louisiana--about halfway to Houston. A billboard for a seafood restaurant called Cajun Tales promised breakfast, which had been on my mind for miles. I didn't mention it until MA said she was hungry. I didn't want to slow her down for my petty needs.
Cajun Tales is the kind of place one finds often in that part of the state. It has touches of Cajun local color--a mural with an alligator in it, for example. The menu included a crawfish omelette and grits. Aside from that, it could have been any roadside café anywhere in America. The food was just okay and the place well-used. Mary Ann couldn't wait to get out of there. Our only stop after that was for gas.
Mary Ann's hobby is collecting hotel experiences. She doesn't hesitate to go to the very top. At least she shops them a bit. We scored a room at the St. Regis Hotel in the swell River Oaks section of Houston's west side for $229 a night. By the time we added in the parking, breakfasts, drinks and internet access, it touched a grand for the two nights. But that's my problem. My wife was delighted by the property and the excellence of its service, and that's mainly what she came here for.
There was a moment when our bill almost shot past two thou. For years, I've done my radio shows from remote places by using the radio station's long-distance calling card. Before I head out, I always check to make sure it's still functioning. But I'd just used it a month ago, and I didn't bother to check again.
Need I finish this story? A couple of weeks ago, the company providing the service was merged out of existence, and the calling card was dead. The only way I could get the show on the air with studio quality was to go through the room phone and pay the hotel rate. I'm very glad I asked what that was. I couldn't believe it, so I asked again. Six dollars a minute? I am on the air for three hours. That's $1080. I do all I can to give my listeners good audio, but I know I'll never get that expense reimbursed. I wound up doing the entire show on my cell phone.
The show went better than expected, however, and I was calm enough after it was over to take a nap. (The gin and tonic I made from the mini-bar during the final half-hour helped.) The magic altering of space and time that a nap delivers worked its magic in just twenty minutes, and then we were ready for dinner.
Our anniversary is three days before Valentine's Day, and Brennan's was predictably busy. We know some people there. Carl Walker, formerly the chef, is now the general manager. Current chef Danny Trace, was at Café Adelaide here for awhile, then at the now-extinct Commander's Palace in Destin. A few of the waiters had moved here after Katrina.
We scored a great table in the corner of the main dining room, where the furnishings are utterly unique. Yellow wing-back chairs twice normal size give the feeling that your table is in a room of its own.
I ordered a bottle of Brouilly, and mentioned in passing that it was the only Beaujolais on the wine list. This caught the attention of the sommelier, who showed up to say that he had a number of others that weren't on the list. Well, that's service. Quite a wine list here to begin with, one that could withstand the scrutiny of the highest rollers.
We began with an amuse-bouche of a crabmeat mousse topped with Louisiana caviar. Then a consomme-like broth of wild mushrooms for me. It required my full attention to pick out the subtlety. Mary Ann had a chopped salad that was perfectly plain enough for her.
Our strategy of having only two courses was defeated by the weight of the entrees. For her, a pork osso buco (top photo of the two just above) that she found extraordinarily fine. Looked good, too. My plate held a black iron skillet-seared sirloin strip steak. And it happened again: I started eating it at the wrong end. Although it was too big for me to finished, the flavor improved with every bite. Some day I will write down that it's the narrow end that the better. (No, wait. Is it the big end? Here we go again.)
The Brouilly (which I ordered after all) was rather disappointing--not nearly enough fruit. But we couldn't be bothered by this. MA was right where she wanted to be, and I was basking in the rare warmth of her satisfaction.
For dessert, I threw the waiter for a second by asking for the bread pudding they use to make the bread pudding soufflee, instead of the chocolate kind they serve for non-soufflee bread pudding. They got it right, and then some, with "Happy Anniversary" written around the edge of the plate. They also sent our a pretty chocolate mousse in dark and white layers for Mary Ann. She doesn't often eat dessert, but she liked this one.
Back at the hotel we snuggled up like newlyweds and fell quickly asleep, just as we had on our equally overplanned wedding day. I kept waking her up throughout the night. With my snoring, I mean.
Brennan's. Houston: 3300 Smith St. (713) 522-9711.
