Saturday, August 28. Inverted Trough. Michael's And Mackie. An all-encompassing rain began last night and poured down without a break all day. My weather information sources said that we were in the middle of an "inverted trough." I looked it up. A standard trough is a line of low pressure running more or less north to south, between two high-pressure systems. The pressure gets lower as you head north in the trough, and it triggers clouds and rain. An inverted trough is the same thing, except that the pressure decreases as you go south. This phenomenon is also known as a tropical wave--often the precursor of those cursed tropical storms and hurricanes. They almost always form over tropical water. They can carry as much rain as a hurricane, but not much in the way of winds. This one was sure doing that.
But this is the fourth tropical wave this year to form more or less on top of New Orleans! I guess it's a lot better than a hurricane--especially the one we fled from on this date five years ago. But it's still gloomy.
To lift the gloom (and the loneliness; Mary Ann is in Washington and Mary Leigh is fully engaged in her social whirl at Tulane), I went to dinner at Michael's in Slidell. I haven't been there since chef-owner Michael Frederic restored his full, pre-K menu some months ago, but not because it wasn't on my mind. (The Marys were never up for it.)
It was still light when I headed over there, so I took LA 36 to Slidell instead of I-12. LA 36 is a two-lane blacktop through almost uninterrupted tree farms and wetlands. For eleven miles, it's arrow-straight--not even a hint of a curve. I went this way because, five years ago today, this was how we left Abita Springs to escape Katrina. The strategy--which proved sound--was to avoid a lot of traffic on the Interstate.
This was the first leg of a fateful journey for our family--as it was for just about everybody in New Orleans. It would change our lives fantastically--mostly for the better, especially in Jude's case. He had just begun his sophomore year at Jesuit. We would not have guessed that he had already attended his last class there. Or that he would spend the last three years of high school at Georgetown Prep in Washington, D.C., and create a new life for himself.
I've never seen Michael's so busy. But I had a reservation, and they had a deuce table next to the windows in the back--the perfect place to hide a single. A waiter with an Irish accent took charge of my table. He was delightful, his personality and professionalism blended as well as the Bourbon and vermouth in my Manhattan. Which he brought quickly. A very generous drink, that, and most welcome. It was early, but I wanted to make an evening of this.
The evening started with bad news: no oysters. Oyster dishes are a strong part of the menu here. But this happens so often in restaurants these days that I always have a backup in mind. In this case it was crabmeat imperial--a dish I've not had in many years, largely because hardly anyone serves it anymore. Michael's version could have passed of crabmeat au gratin in both appearance and flavor, but I couldn't possibly complain: this stuff was everything a rich lump crabmeat dish should be. Irresistible.
After the good house salad came one of the specials: lemonfish, with brown meuniere sauce and more lump crabmeat. More lemonfish is turning up on local menus, and it's very welcome as far as I'm concerned. My every taste of it makes me like it more. This simple, seared version met all my standards, with the possible exception of a fleeting suspicion that they may be using pasteurized crabmeat. The number of restaurants using the fresh stuff is getting smaller by the day. Chef Michael says, however, that it's fresh Lake Pontchartrain crabmeat.
By this time Hank Mackie had my attention. He's a long-time professional musician of great repute among other musicians. Someone told me that a very large percentage of the city's guitar players took lessons from Hank. I can see why. He may be--no, wait. That's not strong enough. He is the most listenable musician playing in any restaurant in New Orleans. At least for those with my musical tastes.
He started off with a Gershwin tune, "S'Wonderful." I began writing down everything he played from there, and with the exception of one I had to think about for a minute but was interrupted in that by having to talk with the waiter, I knew every song he played. How's this for a great playlist:
The Nearness Of You
A Kiss To Build A Dream On
Body And Soul
It Had To Be You
Misty
Wave
Where Or When
Walking My Baby Back Home
Embraceable You
All The Things You Are
This Masquerade
Making Whoopie
The Thought Of You
Happy Birthday (it was somebody's)
Girl From Ipanema
At Last
Moonglow
I Will Wait For You
Tenderly
They Can't Take That Away From Me
Someone To Watch Over Me
Blue Velvet
Lover, Where Can You Be?
You Are The Sunshine Of My Life
The Day In The Life Of A Fool
He played all this without looking at sheet music, or taking a break. I can't imagine a string of songs I'd more enjoy listening to. Or hearing played in a more satisfying way. Loud enough to follow, soft enough not to dominate the scene.
After I finished dinner, I stopped to say hello to Hank. He was still playing. He introduced me to his wife, at the closest table to him. I asked her if I could join her for a few minutes, and pointed at an empty chair. Hank played another fifteen or twenty songs, until closing time at ten. She clearly liked his music as much as I do. That's a wonderful thing. The least I could do was pick up her check for dinner.
I have a fantasy of recording a CD of the songs I most like to sing. I wonder if I could persuade Hank to lead me on through that. One can dream, can't one?
Michael's. Slidell: 4820 Pontchartrain Dr. 985-649-8055. Contemporary Creole.
