Thursday, August 23, 2012.
Salt Shakers Disappearing? Impastato's. The Boy.
This morning at about four, Mary Ann woke up to the sound of something outside the bedroom window. She turned on the light and saw a raccoon gazing in. She ran down the stairs screaming. At least the thing is outside, unlike the baby coon I found a few weeks ago in the closet. 
After she calmed down, I went to sleep and had a dream in which the raccoon in the window smiled at me. But in a friendly way.
At the end of the afternoon's radio show, Shana Rose--news anchor and reporter on WWL Radio, who does her work on the other side of a pane of glass from my studio--wanted to interview me. She heard a report that salt shakers were being removed from restaurant tables around the country. Not by souvenir-gathering kleptomaniacs (that would be nothing new), but by order of health officials. And by chefs, who didn't want customers fiddling with their masterpieces.
Any evidence of this around New Orleans? asked Shana. I've seen a few chefs try it, but it's such a limited phenomenon that I couldn't think of any current examples. I have read about this in other cities. But New Orleanians have some of the saltiest palates in the country. It's one of our dirty secrets: one of the reasons our food tastes so good is that we push not only pepper to the limits but also salt and fat. (Sshh!)
I said the removal of salt shakers was something I personally would welcome. In my twilight years, with a hypertension problem, I find a lot of food overly salty. Mary Ann, whose pressure usually runs a little below normal and uses salt freely, tells me when something really is oversalted.
That delayed me a few minutes. Mary Leigh called me just as I pulling into the parking lot at Impastato's, where an historic event was about to take place. The first young man that could be called a boyfriend was joining us for dinner. She met him at Tulane last year. She seems to like him, and vice-versa. Neither Mary Ann nor I had met him, though. The fact that ML was actually eager for us to meet him said a lot. Until now, it would have been fine with Mary Leigh if we never brought up the subject of male friends.
A typical dinner at Impastato's. The Boy is not a seafood eater. (Neither is Mary Leigh.) This would not be a problem anywhere else, but if Mr. Joe is your friend, you cannot order chicken parmigiana and expect to leave with also devouring barbecue shrimp, shrimp au gratin, sauteed crab claws, a romaine salad and fettuccine Alfredo as part of the dinner. Abbondanza! All great, as usual.
The tide of food washed in on our side of the table. Mary Ann cannot leave great big shrimp like these alone. Nor crab claws. We ate all we could (the BBQ shrimp in particular were fantastic) and packed the rest.
ML didn't seem to be bothered that I was my usual embarrassing, jokey self. But I had as much luck getting a laugh out of The Boy as I do getting one from the Marys. I think this may be a generational phenomenon. I thought I could trigger a chuckle by calling him weird for having a beard (something I have worn since I was his age). "I have to cut it off tomorrow," he said. He's in Army ROTC.
"Are you nervous? Mary Leigh asked him. No, he said, and I don't think he was lying. He's just a low-key kind of guy. Which is also a good description of our daughter. I can see that they would be kindred spirits.
I had two nice soft-shell crabs with crabmeat and shrimp. Mary Ann did some grilled redfish with artichokes and mushrooms. Mary Leigh ate half a brick of lasagna. The Boy, who is an athlete (hockey! ML's favorite spectator sport!), almost finished the chicken parm. Mr. Joe really feeds you.
Impastato's. Metairie: 3400 16th St. 504-455-1545.
It's over three years since a day was missed in the Dining Diary. To browse through all of the entries since 2008, go here.
