Thursday, November 11. What I Always Wanted. Second Tier. Mondo. A memo went out from Diane Newman to all the departments at the radio station announcing that, starting the Monday before Thanksgiving, my show will move one hour earlier. Three until six is the ideal time for my program, the one I always wanted. I've held it briefly a couple of times, but other forces at the station kept bumping me back to four, or jamming it up to midday. I'm hoping that the case I made will leave it at three permanently. That way most of the show gets on before the signal heads south (literally) at sunset. But I'm also thinking that I get get out to dinner earlier, and have a cocktail hour with Eat Club folks before our dinners. And a bunch of other reasons.
Did I say permanently? How long can this radio gig last? It's already the longest-running talk show in New Orleans radio. (Same station, host, and theme.) Two and a half years from now, the show will be twenty-five. To have the longest-running talk show in the history of New Orleans radio would require me to stay on the air until 2018. The current champ is the Nut and Jeff show, which was on WSMB for two weeks shy of thirty years. (Their last day, in July 1988, was the Friday before the Monday when my show began, on the same station.) Other records: currently, Bob Mitchell has been on New Orleans radio pretty much continuously since 1970. And Bob Del Giorno celebrated fifty years on the air earlier this year--although most of that was in other cities.
But all this talk about longevity! What about quality? That's my inner motivational speaker talking.
Tulane's Art Department mounted an exhibit of student works today. Mary Leigh entered four of her ceramic sculptures. All four of them were admitted into the show, and the collection won Second Tier (academic art jargon for second place) in the Ceramics division. There was a cash prize of $70. That has to cheer her up, but she looked a little embarrassed that we were making a fuss about her work in public. As parents, we can't even say good things to her anymore. And people her own age are less than likely to dole out praise.
This is one of the great truths of living well that I find hard to practice. A guy I used to work with at the Time Saver when I was in my teens, listening to me bemoan my bad luck in impressing girls, said these sage words: "You and most guys your age can't stop thinking about yourselves long enough to even think of an honest compliment, let alone give one to a girl."
As we left the gallery, Mary Ann and I complimented one another on raising such a talented daughter. Our secret: let them do what they want to do. And then we went out to dinner. Mary Ann wanted to return to Mondo, and I was up for that, too.
Susan Spicer's new neighborhood restaurant in Lakeview is past its packed-every-night novelty period, but it was still nearly full. We were in the main area, across from the wood-burning pizza over. Mary Ann said something to me. Her body language told me it was not a good thing, but I couldn't make out the words.
"I said it's too loud in here!" she said. I've heard worse acoustics in restaurants, but she's right.
Perusing the cocktail menu, I saw to my delight that Mondo features the Negroni. One of my favorites, the Negroni is usually unknown to bartenders, even thought it's a classic. I almost never see it featured. I got one with an order of fries. They have fresh-cut fries here, and that's a great cocktail partner.
The first course was a sort of a wedge salad (made with butter lettuce instead of iceberg) with blue cheese and a stuffed artichoke. The price alone tipped us off that the latter would not be the enormous, bulbous, whole artichoke crammed with garlicky, oily bread crumbs that New Orleans people (and Mary Ann in particular) love. This was even more austere than we imagined, though. A quarter of an artichoke, roasted in the wood-burning oven, sprinkled with bread crumbs and shaved Pecorino Romano cheese. Sort of deconstructed. None of the lustiness of that dish in its traditional form. Much too polite. Also more than a little tough.
Mary Ann was eating for a change, and tucked into a rounded piece of pork shoulder, nice and tender and with a reduced sauce. Mexican touches: black beans and pico de gallo. Looked great. Problem: very, very salty. Inedibly so, she thought, and that's saying something. MA has no blood pressure issues, so really loads the salt into her cooking.
On my side of the table was a bowl of mussels with chorizo. I like this idea. I don't know who invented it; I first encountered it from the hand of Kevin Vizard, about four of his restaurants ago. Adolfo Garcia does a Spanish version at Rio Mar. In this case, the chorizo was light on heat and heavy on bulk, getting in the way of the delicacy of the mussels.
Things like this don't happen at Bayona, where Susan Spicer's fine palate has always resulted in marvelous food. Who is tasting this stuff before it goes out? It wasn't her tonight, that's for sure.
I think we're seeing a restaurant that hasn't found itself yet. I'm sure it will, but we have come too soon.
One more thing: can a restaurant where the check before tip is over $80 be considered a neighborhood café? At $80, I want a tablecloth and some bread.
Mondo. Lakeview: 900 Harrison Ave. 504-224-2633.
