Wednesday, April 28. Paperwork Replaces A Meal. Galvez. Ron Sciortino called me a few weeks ago. He's the president of Sno-Wizard Corporation, the maker of the sno-ball machines found universally around New Orleans and elsewhere. Before Ron took over Sno-Wizard from his family's earlier generation, he was a chef, and he remains a serious gourmet. He and some friends have a monthly dinner, and he invited me to join them. I couldn't make the first one that came up, but I was all set for this month's, planned for Le Foret, the terrific new place on Camp and Common.
But Mary Leigh's plan to go to Tulane checked that. She and Jude both suddenly had a complex bunch of financial forms (some twenty pages worth each) that I must prepare. Unless I am willing to pay the full tuitions, which between the two of them may go into six figures. That is not in my hand of cards. I canceled the dinner, which I knew would have finished me for the night. I got home early (and sober) enough to work on the documents for about three hours.
I had to have supper, though, not having had lunch. I knew we were going to have a nearly-full moon tonight, and the thought of having a Spanish dinner while looking at the moon rise over the river seemed calming enough.
Galvez took over the stunning restaurant that was Bella Luna before the storm. It is not as well furnished as that restaurant was, but the view tops the list. View is not something many restaurants have--a function of our living on flat land. All we have is water to look at. But few New Orleans restaurants have that, either, and no other one has a view of the river. Someone should do something about that.
Galvez is a Spanish restaurant. That cuisine is catching on, but not wildly popular yet--and probably not the best idea in a heavy-tourism location. I was happy to see that the dining room much busier than last time. All the window tables except two were taken. I grabbed one, of course. Light was still in the cloudless sky, and the panorama of the Father Of Waters was everything I'd hoped for.
I started with a soup of asparagus and crabmeat. Reasonably good, stopping short of memorable. Then a salad of beets and greens with blue cheese, fresh and nice. The fish special was sheepshead--a fish I always order in any restaurant with the fortitude to serve it. It's a great fish that more people eat without knowing it than those who do. It can pass (and does) for trout or redfish.
This sample, however, could have passed for tilapia. It had a soft texture I never like to find in a fish, and a vapid flavor to match. The dish was saved by what I thought was a brilliant garnish of chunky avocados, tomatoes, and carrots, all made into a salsa. I could have left the fish alone and just eaten the shrimp that were also on the plate and had plenty enough.
By now it was dark. I heard the sound of a locomotive. The railroad tracks between the restaurant and the river are on one of the two transcontinental rail routes through New Orleans, and they stay busy. A single New Orleans Public Belt unit trudged by with a short consist, all painted by some graffiti masters. And then I saw the moon, coppery, coming up over the West Bank.
Dessert was the flan of the day, garnished beautifully and juicily with figs and strawberries. Nice ending. If it weren't for the paperwork waiting for me at home, I would have lingered to watch the moon move upward. But this variety of Daddy Duty (it's always changing) forced me to eat it and beat it.
Galvez. French Quarter: 912 N Peters. 504-585-1400. Spanish.
