Saturday, September 17, 2011.
No Bacon? Ducking At Michael's.
It's the time of year when my Saturday radio show is squeezed on the air--if it's squeezed at all--between football games. Today's show commenced at three in the afternoon, running until six. That gave me time to run a few errands. Mary Ann wasn't awake when I set out, and I didn't wait for her, partially to test whether this business of never wanting to eat breakfast was true or a pose.
I went to the Marriott Courtyard Hotel, where Jude and Mary Leigh and I ate breakfast every Saturday for over a decade, until they got tired of either it or me. (Probably both.) That ending transformed me from a regular at the Courtyard into a where-have-you-been? I feel a little bad about that. It's like leaving a friend behind, but without real remorse. But then, the waitress Faith and the chef Gloria do give me special attention. Gloria makes the best scrambled eggs I know of anywhere. Smooth, moist (too moist for MA) and peppery.
This crisis may have ended today. Somebody in the hotel's management has decided that bacon will no longer be on the buffet on Saturday and Sunday. What? "They say that on weekends too many kids in athletic teams come in for breakfast, and they take too much bacon," I was told.
Wait a minute. A breakfast buffet without bacon is like Ruth's Chris without steaks. The price of the buffet is $11. The bacon is good enough but nothing special, cut thin enough that you can almost read through it. The fact that this is a buffet already means that the hotel takes a loss on it. It's there to attract hotel customers, as indeed it does. When I travel without the Marys (who accept nothing less than four-star hotels), I usually stay in Marriott Courtyards, largely because their breakfast buffet is by far the best of hotels in that category.
It doesn't take long to think of other ways to handle the undeniable bacon-wasting ways of kids. (I know all about that. When the kids and I were in here every week, I didn't take any bacon at all, because I knew they'd overload, and I'd finish it off.)
Let me compose a sign to solve this problem: "Limit Four Slices Bacon Per Trip To Buffet." Or how about this: wrap three slices of bacon with another one. Or offer the bacon by request only.
But no bacon at all? Not even for customers who have been coming in since the hotel opened sixteen years ago (like me)? That's a bonehead policy, worthy of a boycott. They won't see me again until this is straightened out.
On the other hand, they may not care. And I don't need to eat bacon, anyway.
En route home, I bought the makings of dinner tonight. I am doing my part to support Mary Ann's resolve not to eat out on weekends. As she did last week, she wavered. I had to pick the restaurant, though, so the blame for this backsliding would fall on me. Blame assignment is important to Mary Ann.
She agreed that Michael's would be nice. Off to Slidell we went, with her at the wheel. The restaurant was busier than I've seen it in awhile. Having a reservation probably helped our position in the room: one table away from guitar virtuoso Hank Mackie. As usual, he played all night without a break. His choice of music is the most tasteful of any musician playing in any dining room in the New Orleans area. I know that's purely a personal taste, and I can only speak for myself. I'd come here to list to Hank if the restaurant were out of food.
With Mary Ann driving, I could take advantage of the fact that it's time for my quarterly martini. The last one was on Father's Day. This is the right place for a martini: Michael's was one of the restaurants where I indulged in the cocktail in the post-Katrina months, when I had just taken up that taste. It hit the spot.
We began with panneed artichokes on a double sauce: marinara at the bottom olive oil and herbs on top. This looked better than it tasted, frankly, but it was good enough. But not as good as the crabmeat Imperial, a nearly extinct, very rich dish. Chef-owner Michael Frederic's version is a hybrid of imperial and gratin, but more than a little delicious.
Salads came and went. Then Mary Ann tucked into a shrimp, artichoke, and mushroom pasta dish, but without the pasta. Nice big shrimp. For me, a long-running specialty of the house: roast duck (a half, not a breast or a confit leg), served with a black cherry sauce. That's a classic, but not often seen anymore. I like it better than duck a l'orange, and I love all things flavored orange.
The music played. MA didn't get into any heated discussions. The only current issue is whether Mary Leigh should drop one of her courses. Mary Ann says that as long as she graduates in four years, it's all right with her.
Courtyard Cafe. Covington: 101 Northpark Blvd. 504-871-0244.
Michael's. Slidell: 4820 Pontchartrain Dr. 985-649-8055.
It has been over three years since a day was missed in the Dining Diary. To browse through all of the entries since 2008, go here.
