Saturday, February 20, 2010. The Old Rituals. Hello Again To Steak At Keith Young's. For the first time in months, today ran the way every Saturday did for many years. The Marys are both gone--Mary Ann in Atlanta, Mary Leigh spending the night with friends on the South Shore. And, with even the rerun of the review of the review of the post-postgame show for the Saints season played out, I have been invited to return to my Saturday afternoon radio slot on WWL.
I began with breakfast at the Courtyard Café. It was not as it was. I recognized nobody on the staff. And instead of serving the usual buffet, the management has decided to cook everything to order. The new chef didn't know the way I like an omelette, and sent it out crispy instead of creamy. Who was it that said that when eras end, they often become a parody of themselves as they die?
I ran around to the bank (the branch we always went to is no longer open on Saturdays, but the one that is has free cookies), the dry cleaners (I began using a new one a few months ago, so that is different, too), and Walgreens (where, to keep the theme of change going, I noted a new shape for my hypertension pills). I arrived home with only a little time to spare before going on the air for three hours.
It was my first Saturday radio show since September. I like doing it, if only to satisfy my soul. The struggle I have Monday through Friday to keep callers calling simply does not exist when I'm on WWL. It's by far the easiest show I do all week. They don't even ask me hard questions. Unless I count the questions that are difficult to answer without giving offense. This one is recurring:
"I love the [dish] at [restaurant.] I've been trying to find a recipe for it so I can make it at home, but I can't. Do you have it?"
"No, I'm sorry, I don't know that one. But I know someone who does. Have you asked [restaurant] how they make it?"
"No, I haven't."
"Try that." For some reason, it is widely believed that all restaurant recipes are undiscoverable secrets. Which they are not.
Mary Leigh arrived home at some point during the show. As soon as I was off, she let me know her plans for dinner: I would take her to Keith Young's Steak House. Why not?
Well, one reason why not was that the place was packed. But the maitre d' didn't tell me (or, I suppose, any other regular customers) that when I called for a reservation. No problem. We were in the bar for about a half-hour. While there, we ran into Ricky and Kathleen Wendel. Ten years ago, when all our kids were still going to Our Lady of the Lake School, Ricky was a big part of our lives. He co-owned an immense barbecue pit that we used at the school festival to smoke 500 pounds or more of brisket. Ricky's also a contractor; he came in to build out the second floor of our house, giving us a price that should have me buying dinner for him every time I run into him. His parents had already taken care of that, but I did buy the Wendels a round of drinks while we caught up.
At the table, I started with Keith's great new oysters Bienville, the recipe for which he says is based on the one in my cookbook. I'm pleased to say that I couldn't have done it better myself, if that well. But they come six to the order, on enormous shells. This is really enough for two or maybe even four people.
After the salad Mary Leigh had the filet mignon she's been thinking about, with potatoes au gratin on the side. I defaulted to the sirloin strip. I'm not doing too well with my farewell-to-meat Lenten vow, made just five days ago with my Mardi Gras steak at the Crescent City. But the steak was certainly good. Even so, both of us brought half of the beef home. Mary Leigh's amazing control of her eating explained her moderation. It was the six oysters Bienville that filled me up.
On our way out we ran into Sonny and Nel Lauga, two long-time Eat Clubbers before the storm who became more scarce after they moved to Carriere, Mississippi. They were looking as hale and hearty in their retirement as ever.
Keith Young’s Steak House. Madisonville: 165 LA. 21 985-845-9940. Steak.
