Tuesday, March 16. Impastato's. Yesterday's was the first radio show of the year not hamstrung by my nighttime signal. Like most AM radio stations, 1350 must direct its signal away from other radio stations on the same frequency. Our station was engineered in the 1930s. Then, the North Shore and Gulf Coast audiences were insignificant. And, with far fewer radio stations, people would put up with static. Exurban sprawl and FM changed the game, and when the sun goes down we lose hundreds of thousands of potential listeners. Daylight Saving Time and longer days allow my entire program to transpire on the unfettered daytime signal. I will not have to complain about this again until October.
After the program, we went to the next restaurant on Jude's list: Impastato's. The restaurant was packed. We got a good table, right next to the one where Saints owner Tom Benson and his wife were having dinner. Benson is a fan of Joe Impastato's food, and a regular customer. It wasn't the first time I've had a conversation with him there, most of which has to do with how good the food is here.
"Thank you for the great ride!" Mary Ann said to Benson, who must be living a good life right now. I wonder how many people come to his table to tell him something like that.
As always happens when we come here, no matter how judiciously we order, we had too much food. This happens not at the end of the meal, but at the beginning. First comes that irresistible Italian bread, heated enough to burn fingers, giving off alluring aromas, ready to accept obscene amounts of melting butter en route to a an eating that seems to good for such a simple thing.
And there simply is no way for a regular customer to prevent a plate of seafood appetizers from coming out. Today, it was a three-way plate of crab claws, shrimp scampi, and the restaurants incomparable crabmeat cannelloni. The best we could do was to limit those to two plates instead of four.
And that was only because Billy, the long-time dining room manager, had a special offer for me. "We have tripe!" he said, in an apologetic tone, lest he offend those who wouldn't dream of touching the stuff. I told him I love tripe. "Then get an appetizer of it, because it's really good!" It was. This alleged appetizer was a large bowl of the thinly-sliced honeycombed meat, awash in Joe's good marinara. I didn't think I could finish it all, but it was too tasty to leave.
Next came the fettuccine and angel hair pasta combination for everybody except Mary Leigh, who wanted one of those for her entree. It was absurdly fine, as always. Why can't everyone cook pasta this well? Nobody comes close.
The Marys had salads and gave up eating after that. Jude and I moved ahead, he with chicken topped with artichokes and mushrooms and I with Italian-style oysters. I haven't been able to get over my hunger for this dish lately, but this may have done the trick. They made the herbed bread-crumb topping a little too dry, even though the oysters themselves were still plump. I didn't leave any.
We skipped over dessert and headed for home in the classic Fitzmorris style: four people, three cars. The kids have very complicated schedules. Mary Leigh is playing tennis after school, while Jude--who saw sailboats on the lake when he came in yesterday--is working on getting boat to sail from the Southern Yacht Club. He's working all his connections and fully expects to be afloat in a day or two.
Impastato's. Metairie: 3400 16th Street 504-455-1545. Italian.
