Saturday, August 26, 2017.
Hurricane Harvey (shouldn't we change the name that city on the West Bank, and perhaps the canal and tunnel, too?) is laying waste to southeastern Texas, doing its worst to Houston. It's a category four. If it can be even worse, I hope I won't know about it. The storm is not supposed to come to New Orleans, but every report projects its coming a little closer to our hometown. I can't take my mind off it.
I fight this gloom with my best weapon: I fold myself into my routines. First the usual tour to the supermarket for cat food, pick up dry cleaning. Then I stop at Home Depot to price a generator. $400. Think I'll pass. If I get it, I won't need it. Of course, if I don't get it, I'll kick myself later. Anyway the storm's not coming here, is it? I stop at the bank to pick up some cash. The banks's computer is very slow to deliver. That's strange. The same problem turned up at Home Depot and at the dry cleaners. I know it's not on my end. Checked all my accounts as usual this morning. The bank finally gives me the money that I will give to the cleaners, and away I go.
To work. I have three hours on the radio today. The storm hardly comes up at all with my listeners and callers, but the newscasts are full of the latest.
Being on the radio ought to be stressful. But I am always at easy when the mike is open and all I need to do is attract some callers. It worked as always today.
After the show, I take a nap. After about an hour, I hear footsteps and other noises in the kitchen. The cat, probably. But then the cat Satsuma appears, and I see the silhouette of a human appear in the door. It gives me a start.
It's Mary Leigh. What she doing here? Walking her dog, she says. She comes all the way to Abita Springs from downtown for that. I ask whether she's like to have lunch or dinner. No, she says. Maybe later, or tomorrow. The sun is beaming down and it's in the nineties. She can't leave her dog Bauer alone either in her car or with my dogs, who are very territorial.
She departs. I have the house to myself, and it will stay like that all day. I guess I'd better plan to go out to dinner, or I'll be stuck here at home with the reports on Harvey.
I go to Di Martino's, whose roast beef poor boy had turned out to be one of the best in the area. But the restaurant and parking lot are jammed with people. Half-hour wait. I drive around aimlessly and then have an inspiration. I haven't dined at Fazzio's--a long-running Italian restaurant in Mandeville--in years. I can't think of a reason why. Probably MA doesn't like the look of the place. But Fazzio's has undergone a serious renovation. Gone is the big, busy bar full of smokers. (It has been awhile.)
I find on the menu just what I feel like eating. It's called Veal Anne. It's pasta with medallions of veal in a very rich sauce with mushrooms and artichoke hearts. I love that combination. This version of it is too rich, really, but I eat most of it anyway. Along with a Caesar salad and a side of fettuccine Alfredo. Which is also too rich. I take a statin anyway. But statins depress one's mood, so I've heard. And I am in no mood to be further depressed.
Fazzio's. Mandeville: 1841 N Causeway Blvd. 504-624-9704.
Written by Tom Fitzmorris August 28, 2017 12:01 in
