Monday, October 11. Isabella's. Mary Ann was gone all day, making calls on the South Shore. I remained home all day, performing my version of putting my nose to the grindstone. The only meal in the day was at Isabella's Pizzeria. It's a small local chain--two or three locations at peak--owned by Fikret Kazan. He's a native of Istanbul, and operated of a number of other restaurants over the years. One of them was a great Turkish place that was ahead of its time in the 1990s. He flipped that into the Santa Fe-style Mescaleros, also very good, but also no long-term. He abandoned unusual specialty food and gave Northshorinians what they want: basic pizza and pasta.
I haven't been to an Isabella's since two or three locations ago. I was not up for pizza--three of those have come my way in the past week. I was thinking more along the lines of lasagna. The waitress said she thought it was good, but without conviction. I asked her what she did like, and she said I should get the seafood pasta. Or the grilled panino on focaccia bread, stuffed with ham, smoked turkey, and cheese. This was a variation on a Cuban sandwich, basically, with meats of good quality but sliced very thick. It came with a salad. What I had here was the lunch of someone eating on the run, with only one restaurant at his disposal. The most ordinary lunch imaginable. The kind of thing you'd eat on an airplane.
This put a hole in my soul. Interesting food is a major prop for my well-being. I'm lucky enough to be able to have it almost every day. When I don't get it, neither my day nor my mood is sunk, but they do absorb a hit. As personal problems go, this isn't much of one. At least it's real instead of imagined.
I will now have to come here again and get the pizza. It could only be better. I hope that on that day the music is different. What they play in there now is hard to take.
Isabella's Pizzeria. Covington: 1331 N Highway 190. 985-809-1900.
