Saturday, April 2, 2011.
Out To A Party, Then To Dinner.
Yesterday, I thought I'd try going the entire day without the pain pills the doctor prescribed after last Friday's surgery. I was taking them every four or five hours since disconnecting myself from an anesthetic Sunday. I probably could have survived last night without it, but I took one to keep from being awakened by the ache. Today, I went off the stuff completely. That happened sooner than I thought, given the pain I felt on Monday.
Mary Leigh came over to spend the weekend. She has news: she's all but decided to add a second major in English to her art curriculum. She has impressed her current English professor, who is encouraging her to sell a paper she did in his class to a literary magazine.
I would like to have discussed all this, but she slept too late this morning to go out to breakfast, and we have a busy evening. My big sister's husband Walter Howat turned seventy-five, and there was a party for him in Metairie. I was curious as to whether I'd be able to maneuver into the house, but a flat concrete path from the driveway to the back yard made it easy.
The yard was filled with little to very little kids, two generations behind me. If they noticed me at all, I'll bet they think of me as being as old as the hills.
After I escaped without being hit by a flying croquet ball, we met Mary Leigh at Ristorante Carmelo for dinner. I suggested we sit outside, to make it easier for me to get to and from the table, and because I am underdressed by my standards. I'm wearing one of my growing pairs of pants whose lower left leg have been slit up the seams to I can pull them over the splint. Not to mention the fact that I'm essentially barefoot on one side.
We were served by Carmelo's daughter Lucia. She usually works in the kitchen cooking, but for some reason she was a server, as two of her three sisters are. I like her attitude. She informed us that Carmelo had a whole red snapper he'd be happy to grill, then disassemble for us at the table. "If he hasn't sold it yet," she added. He hadn't.
"I got it from the Restaurant Depot," he said. That's a new wholesale store that appears to be competing with Sam's in selling food and everything else restaurants need. "They had a fisherman from Houma who brought this in," he said, showing us the fish, about a four-pounder.
While waiting for that, I had some cioppino--squid, fish, shrimp, mussels, clams, all in a cup of fish broth. It was a little oily but not disturbingly so, and all the seafood was firm and vividly flavorful.
The red snapper showed up, carried from the kitchen by Carmelo, who was working behind the line tonight. He set about taking the fish apart for us. Lucia made an exaggerated sign of relief. "I'm glad I didn't have to do that for you," she told me. I'm sure it would have been perfect, I told her.
Mary Ann, whose idea this fish was, was unhappy with the lack of crustiness. Even when it's grilled, a whole fish rarely picks up any stripes of char. I thought it had a great fresh fish flavor, which was all I was after. I splashed a mixture of olive oil, lemon juice, and herbs over it, and enjoyed it completely.
No cocktail. . . no wine. I am afraid of drug interactions. I'm also gun-shy about what happened to me last time I had a drink. Someday I will have another, but frankly I'm not looking forward to it.
Mary Leigh, meanwhile, went after a bowl of spaghetti bolognese. "It's always different," she says. Yes, but she always orders it, so something must be working here.
No dessert. I'm trying to rub out my urge to eat something sweet at the end of every meal. I ate more today than on any day since the accident. But grilled fish and vegetables is pretty harmless. A tiramisu would not be. I don't want to walk around on a healing ankle with the kind of weight I brought into this mess.
Ristorante Carmelo. Mandeville: 1901 US Hwy 190. 985-624-4844.
