Saturday, December 11, 2010. Omelette And Good Liquids. Fat Hen, Again. Breakfast with Mary Ann at Mattina Bella. We would have brought Mary Leigh, but she just finished final exams yesterday and would sleep past noon.
Mattina Bella is a great breakfast place, down to the small details. Even the orange juice is excellent, and for me to say that is saying something. My default OJ is what I squeeze out of fresh oranges every morning. Mattina Bella's is poured from a gallon jug. It's an institutional product, not available on shelves as far as I know, but I'd recommend it if it were. The place also has excellent toast, bought at considerable expense from Wild Flour, Susan Spicer's line of artisan breads. Mattina Bella's owner Vincent Riccobono says that he thinks such things are more than worth the extra expense and effort. I wish every restaurateur felt that way.
The solid food was a Western omelette with the bell peppers and onions removed and green onions added. I ask to have it a little on the soft side--not runny, but creamy inside--and that's what I get.
Mary Ann ate nothing. Her diet is making her stern.
But not as stern as the Louisiana State policeman I met after breakfast. After I waited in line behind five other cars to get an inspection sticker, he stepped up to the inspector, pointed at me, and said, "This man cannot pass the inspection." I thought he was kidding. I tried to figure out where I might know this Smoky from. "You have a cracked windshield, sir. You can't get a brake tag until you have it replaced."
It had to happen sooner or later, I guess. That crack is six years old, and never prevented me from getting a brake tag. The highway patrol is cracking down, the garage man said. "Another shop got a $1100 fine last week," he said. That they would single me out as an example figures. I am the only person I've ever heard of who has received two citations for jaywalking, in two different cities, both times because I'd stepped off the curb. Just stepped off--not crossed. I get away with nothing.
I had no radio show today, but as soon as it would have ended I got in my car (what are the chances of being caught twice in one day?) to drive to the Harvey edition of Barnes & Noble. Although the West Bank might not seem the place to move a lot of books, this store has brought me better turnouts than I've had anywhere else. When my cookbook came out, I signed three hundred of them here in two hours, with a line of people clear across the store.
It wasn't quite that busy today. I autographed about a hundred books, and talked with a lot of people. One stood out--to me, and to everyone else who saw her. She was three years old, curly-haired, and adorably pretty. She kept up a nonstop chatter in a voice that sounded like something out of a movie, at a high pitch even for a little girl, adding to her cuteness. She took a liking to me, and talked right into my face. "See my baby? I love my baby. [It was a baby Grinch doll.] What's your favorite color? My favorite color is red. You have a red tie! I like pink, too. Pink and purple is my favorite color for clothes. Do you like pink and purple too? Did you see my baby? What does happy mean? Are you happy?" On and on, irresistibly.
Oh, how I loved being a daddy with little kids!
Mary Ann suggested that we have dinner with her brother Tim and his wife Desiree at the Fat Hen Grill in Upper Harahan. That gave me an excuse to cross the river by way of the Huey P. Long Bridge, which is undergoing a major reconstruction. Large parts of the new superstructure are up, but the narrow 1920s roadways remain, still the hairiest driving challenge of any major highway in the New Orleans area. To think that in 1966 I actually crossed this thing on a bicycle! That's among the craziest ideas I ever had.
The Fat Hen was much busier than last time, and I was hungrier. I was in the mood for a cocktail, but the place doesn't have a liquor license. It did have wine, however, and would serve a glass for free to diners who asked for it. Close enough: glass of house red. They did have some advanced soft beverages, though. The Marys liked the sound of blueberry lemonade, and the taste, too.
We know better than put plans on hold while waiting for the Tim Connells, so we ordered a couple of appetizers. I had to try the crabmeat guacamole. I've heard of serving shrimp with guac, but crabmeat? Well, it's a great idea, and we loved it.
Tim and Desi showed up in time to also call the dish a winner. Desi and I (but nobody else at the table) know by heart the music of the late 1960s. The Fat Hen's sound system was playing that (a bit too loudly) tonight. We played Name That Tune, sang along a little, and analyzed some of the songs. Example: were the duets by Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell the apex of the Motown Sound? I'd say they were. "Your Precious Love" sends a shiver down my spine every time I hear it. Tammi was so beautiful and Marvin sang with such emotion that it's no wonder Marvin's career went into a tailspin when Tammi died. [Here's a video of them performing together that makes this point.]
Tim looked and acted normal, which was amazing. He had heart surgery a few weeks ago. You'd never know it unless he coughed, the act of which made him wince. Also, he ordered a turkey burger.
Nobody else was eating with his heart in mind. The entree of the night was barbecue pork ribs. Mary Ann is my consultant on that dish, and she said these were spectacular. Desi also indulged and concurred. On the other hand, Mary Leigh was stuck with a nearly inedible sandwich of burnt brisket ends. These are revered in barbecue country, and they're exactly what they say they are. But these were fatty, chewy to the point of distraction, and didn't taste good.
I jammed a chickenless Cobb salad (just the way I wanted it) in the break before the entrees. Then came a Galatoire's-style drumfish meuniere, with a brown butter sauce and fried parsley garnishing it. This wasn't Galatoire's good, but I'd get it again.
The talk shifted to our daughters. Both are finishing their first semesters in college, and both are living away from home. Tim and Desi's daughter Hillary won't be home until next weekend. Mary Leigh's final day was today. How did she do in her exams? She had no idea, but she did register dissatisfaction with her next semester's schedule. None of her travails in school sound anything less than marvelous to me. I wish I were a college freshman again.
Fat Hen Grill. Elmwood: 1821 Hickory Ave. 504-305-1980.
