Saturday, January 16. Gallagher's Grill, Sans Gallagher. Looking Away From Home. It kept on raining. That kept me indoors all day, chipping away at my endless tasks. I discovered something interesting this morning: a way to make design changes in every single recipe or review on the web site without having to do so one by one. This is what passes for excitement in my increasingly nerdy, workaholic life.
The Saints playoff game began in mid-afternoon. The AT&T television service I ordered last weekend won't be installed for another two weeks. The Marys went out to watch the action at VooDoo BBQ, then moved to Zea for the second half because they said the seats were too hard at VooDoo. They probably weren't designed for people to settle into for three and a half hours.
Before she left, Mary Ann delivered her dinner orders: we should go to Gallagher's Grill, she said. We had a spectacular dinner last time we were there. And I need to work up a formal review of the place, now that it's been open six months or so.
We went over at about six-thirty. The place was half empty. The Saints could be blamed for the lack of customers, here and all across town. Even though the game was over (I think the Saints won, but I'm not sure), most people were probably still in front of the televisions that displayed the game. The fact that Pat Gallagher wasn't in the house (he's down with the flu or something) probably contributed to the low-key atmosphere. That desultory mood, fortunately, didn't extend to our server, a tall, striking young woman with a great attitude and the full information you like to find from a server--including about the wines. Mary Ann said she waited on us last time. Really? How could I forget her?
Even though this dinner was her idea, Mary Ann claimed she wasn't really hungry. But that changed as soon as the waitress mentioned, as one of the daily specials, a cowboy rib-eye. That's something MA has dreams about, to hear her talk. Diet be damned. As for me, I hadn't eaten anything significant all day, and had my fork and knife in hand, napkin tucked into my shirt, raring to go.
We started with barbecue shrimp. They were peeled, and with the peels goes a lot of the flavor. The sauce was peppery enough to save the day. Next came a salad of sliced tomatoes and onions, shuffled and fanned out over baby greens. A flow of hyper-rich, gritty blue cheese dressing flooded all of this. It was all too much. Big enough to serve four, dressing enough for eight. I thought the onion component was beyond optimal. Still, by treating it as a dish on a buffet one could get a fine salad out of it.
The cowboy steak was done the way Mary Ann says she likes it--medium well--but she found it overcooked. I keep telling her that what she really likes is medium, but what do I know? I'm also forever warning her away from fish and chips, and she keeps ordering and hating that, too.
Another of the night's specials had my name on it: grilled pompano with crabmeat and lemon butter. I should have knocked off the crabmeat--I usually do--but forgot. It was good fresh fish, but it came out tepid. I almost sent it back for a warmup, but a bad turn in the conversation stole my attention.
I asked Mary Ann how she would like to live in Santa Fe. This is chapter 35678305 of our exploration of what to do after both our children have relocated to Los Angeles, as Jude has already done and Mary Leigh plans to do in September. Mary Ann says she does not want to spend the rest of her life in New Orleans. Her plan is to build up the website into a major national force, sell it for many millions of dollars, then relocate to and retire to California. Our major sticking points concern whether this is realistic, and my stubborn insistence that I like what I do for a living.
"I will live in Los Angeles," she decreed.
I don't know where to take the conversation from there. Los Angeles is not my kind of place. It's certainly not a city where I could do what I do here in New Orleans. Hard for a guy in his late fifties who has a highly specialized job to find that job anywhere else. The matter darkened what could have been a lovely evening. It would depress me for days, as it has before.
On the bright side, the wine--La Linda unoaked Chardonnay from Argentina, recommended by our waitress--was delicious, especially with the fish. And the creme brulee had a sunny countenance, and wasn't too sweet.
Gallagher's Grill. Covington: 509 S Tyler 985-892-9992. Seafood.
