Tapas With The Scotts. Steak 'n' Shake. Socks.

[title type="h5"]Friday, February 14, 2014. Tapas At Scotts' Coffee [/title] Mandeville is older than its current function as a distant New Orleans suburb suggests. Over two centuries have passed since Bernard de Marigny de Mandeville expanded his holdings from the lands just east of the French Quarter to a summer place on the North Shore. Sprinkled among the residences in the old part of town are buildings from another era. One of those is a two-story former bank, with all the solidity called for in financial institutions a hundred years ago. Mary Ann has been talking about this structure for years. Lately, some entrepreneurs went in to do something she likes. [caption id="attachment_41313" align="alignnone" width="480"] Scotts' rear dining room.[/caption] Scotts' Coffee Bar opened about a year and a half ago, serving the obvious beverage along with the makings of light to middling breakfasts. Then lunch came on the scene. Finally, some months ago, the chef announced that he would offer tapas on Friday and Saturday nights. He added that he would never cook up the same tapas twice. That caught the attention of all the young food writers--the ones who only go to restaurants that just opened, and who become bored by the time the places get good. It seems obvious to me that any restaurant that made a theme out of inventing the entire menu fron scratch every night would shortly be in a bind, running out of different kinds of raw materials even if they could keep up the flow of ideas. It was just a matter of time before repeat performances of brilliant dishes could not be avoided. Why would they not want to? Two guys named Scott (hence the offbeat but correct punctuation of the restaurant's name) are behind all this. Both are professionals in other fields who caught the restaurant bug. All they've done is expand since the place opened. We heard that The Scotts' attracts a crowd when the tapas is running. We showed up early to avoid this. Too early. The chef, whose operation is entirely in one of the three main dining rooms, told us we could come in and have a drink, but that the only entertainment on the food front was watching him readying the food for the official six o'clock opening. I whiled the time away with a sidecar cocktail. It was unlike any other I've had, with a curiously dark color. I'd say it was the most appealing example of the old drink in my experience. And a sidecar was the first cocktail I ever imbibed, back when I was eighteen. The pause also let us go over the menu carefully. I made a decision about it in less than a minute: we would have all eight of the items on it. A quick addition of the prices ended up with a number in a familiar range. If anything, it seemed too inexpensive. [caption id="attachment_41314" align="alignnone" width="480"] Devilled egg.[/caption] We started with deviled eggs with crabmeat and honey-mustard sauce. Tasty, but not as much as it would have been with a red remoulade--the ultimate sauce for deviled eggs. Mary Ann's first plate was a standard wedge salad with blue cheese and bacon. [caption id="attachment_41315" align="alignnone" width="480"] Tomato and mozzarella.[/caption] The next course was twice as fine. Two disks of fried mozzarella inside breadcrumby crusts leaned on three slices of tomato. And a pair of little crawfish cakes bore resemblances in Mary Ann's plate to mine. [caption id="attachment_41316" align="alignnone" width="480"] Crawfish cakes.[/caption] Next, a thin slice of seared tuna. It somehow managed to stay rare through the cooking, and came out with slices of avocado and ponzu sauce. Nice. Mary Ann now had a demi-fillet of redfish on top of browned gnocchi, all awash in a creamy caper sauce. [caption id="attachment_41317" align="alignnone" width="480"] Shrimp with sweet-heat sauce.[/caption] The last course had what looked like panneed shrimp for MA, with a sweet-heat sauce that we both loved. And a slice of beef tenderloin for me, with a creamy sauce with fettuccine. [caption id="attachment_41318" align="alignnone" width="480"] Redfish with capers and gnocchi.[/caption] [caption id="attachment_41319" align="alignnone" width="480"] Panna cotta at Scotts' Coffee Bar.[/caption] This delightful dinner--light, but with enough different things going on to amuse any bouche--ended with a little panna cotta with blueberries and strawberries. We got to talk with the chef all night, and Scott Discon came over to tell us the whole story of the enterprise. I don't think we have seen everything from this charming property. [title type="h5"]The Scotts' Coffee Bar. Mandeville: 201 Carroll St. 985-231-7632.[/title] [divider type=""] [title type="h5"]Saturday, February 15, 2014. Steak And Shook. New Suit. [/title] With no radio show today, I thought I'd replenish my wardrobe with a few new items. Socks, for one thing. Everybody who lives with me wears my socks. Mary Ann uses them in lieu of slippers. I'll bet I have a hundred or more scattered around the place. I made that trip around noon. Because of an article I read somewhere, I have had hamburgers on my mind. I can only eat one a month--if I can stand that many. I had not devoured the February burger yet. A former girlfriend of thirty-five years ago introduced me to Steak 'n' Shake. She was from Indiana, right in the middle of Steak 'n' Shake territory. Despite the name this is not a steak place, but a hamburger shop. Despite the look, it is not a fast-food operation. They cook the burgers to order, and it takes quite a while for them to emerge from the kitchen. The Steak 'n' Shake in Covington--the first we've ever had anywhere near New Orleans--is slower than others I've attended. A lot of the time is spent waiting for a table. I've never seen the place less than full, usually with a waiting list. Nor are these as good as the Steakburgers I remember in Indiana and St. Louis. Those were hot and crusty around the edges. These are flaccid and a bit greasy for me. I think I may have had my last Steak 'n' Shake burger today. I did the clothes shopping the man's way. I knew what I wanted, where it was, and all my sizes. Belk suits me perfectly, because I don't have the body to make buying expensive clothing look good. There's one funny thing about that store. Come to think of it, this was a problem in almost every clothing store I've shopped since I was a teenager. After accumulating an armload, I walk around the store trying to find a place where I can pay for it all. I guess the supermarket model of having all the checkouts at the front is too declasse for even a middle-market place like Belk. I went to six counters before finding one where a clerk was ready to transact, trying to avoid the ones in perfumes and ladies' undergarments. Which is where I always seem to wind up. [divider type=""]