Tuesday, January 13, 2009.
Winter. Chad's.
Mary Leigh got herself up and out in plenty of time to drive herself in to school. The nervousness she's felt about making the drive alone is gone. But then, so are the fog and the rain, which is what caused it. Understandable.
It's a nice day, not as cold as yesterday--but we will get a hard freeze tonight, the man says. I'm glad I covered the well pump over the weekend, so I won't have to lie awake wondering whether pipes are freezing. They're all wrapped, but I'm paranoid about this, ever since a surprise Christmas Eve freeze in 1980 burst my pipes wholesale.
Winter. Bah.
In recent months the number of reports from listeners about Chad's Bistro have increased a lot, and everybody seems to like it. It has a bit of the mystique of the Great Little Unknown Restaurant. Now one of the sales guys at the radio station wants to know if I'll do commercials for them. Last time I was there, I would characterize my meals as only pretty good--but that was two years ago. Tome for another look.
The place was empty. The waiter told me that this was unusual, and blamed it on the whistling cold winds outside. (He would be proven correct, as will be seen in the entry here for Thursday.)
I had a meal figured out before the waiter arrived, but the specials he had to tell about sounded so good that I just went with those. The starter was a ring of fried oysters, made in the style of Buffalo chicken wings, tossed with pepper butter. Blue cheese dressing on the side. Little salad in the middle. Very good, and enough that I could have called for the check right there and walked out full enough. But my investigations persisted through a piece of well-seasoned redfish, surrounded by shrimp cooked scampi-style, and the lemony, buttery sauce spooned across everything. That was good, too. 
I kept on trucking. And I about needed a truck for the dessert. Beignets didn't sound as if they could do too much damage. I wasn't expecting eight or ten of them, covered with powdered sugar and sliced strawberries. They were more like puff pastry than the standard beignet dough, but still no way was I going to eat more than two of these things. (Although I did get most of the strawberries.)
Chad's ambitions and delivery have indeed progressed a long way since my earlier visits. I also found out who Chad was. Chad Barcia was an accomplished young athlete who played football at De La Salle High School. Big guy: six-four, three hundred eight pounds. He made the All-District team. He wasn't quite eighteen when, while playing rugby, he suddenly died on the field. His jersey--number 66--hangs on the wall.
Chad's is in the expanded version of the restaurant that once was Crozier's. Unlike the two restaurants that came along after Gerard and Eveline Crozier sold the place, Chad's is a complete break with the past. Its menu is Suburban Creole all the way, with neighborhood-restaurant prices. It could be that what kept me away was the memory of Crozier's. Another example of my knowing too much for my own good.
When I called to make sure Mary Leigh was safely home, Mary Ann answered the phone. She managed to get herself on the non-stop from Los Angeles this morning, thereby getting around the terrible weather in Chicago her original ticket would have foisted upon her.
Chad's Bistro. Metairie: 3216 W. Esplanade Ave.. 504-838-9935. American.
