Wednesday, April 6, 2011.
A Few Hops (On Right Foot Only) Forward. Lunch At Erik's.
Into town for a post-op visit with Dr. Jones. Before I saw him, however, they cut off the splint on my foot, X-rayed the area, removed eleven stitches, and cleaned up the mess. It was the first time I've had a good look at my foot in almost two weeks. It looked a little funny. Was the anklebone in that position before? Neither I nor Mary Ann could remember exactly.
Dr. Jones had the hard facts. The X-rays showed that the bones are all where they're supposed to be, and everything is healing beautifully. I saw for the first time what had been done in the surgery: a sort of flange pushed the broken parts of the fibula back together, something that would not have happened on its own. The flange was screwed into the big end of the tibia. I was proud of myself. Looking at something like this a decade ago would have made me feel faint. Now it doesn't faze me at all, save for some reservations I have about how some readers of these words might respond.
They fitted me with a moon boot, which did everything the splint did, but with a quarter of the weight and four times the comfort. They said I could take it off at night or to take a shower--hallelujah! Still no weight allowed on the foot for another six weeks, although Dr. Jones said I could exercise it in all dimensions to my heart's content.
It took two and a half hours for all this--time well spent. Things are much farther along than I thought, and the news put me in a great mood. I autographed cookbooks for Dr. Jones and for Mellanie Morgan. She has been my main connection with the medical staff through the whole process. Marvelous people, as everyone at Ochsner has been.
Mary Ann was hungry. She let me pick the lunch venue for a change. I've heard nothing but good things since Timphony's on West Esplanade evolved into Erik's. That would almost have to be an improvement; although the Timphony family has operated restaurants around town for almost forty years, this one wasn't much.
I pushed myself up the handicap ramp and we fell into a table in the back of the dining room. The waitresses were all bubbly with New Orleans-style friendliness. (I hesitate to introduce the word Yat here, even though I am one of those myself deep down. But there was a hint of that.)
The waitresses raved about the seafood-stuffed mirliton. Indeed, a couple of customers who were obviously regulars went for that. And we were also touted on the red sauce and the trout amandine. Good enough: chicken parmigiana and that trout. The lunch price: about $11 each, with a generous salad.
All of this was more than good, and the servings well more than enough. I could only get through half the chicken parm and the accompanying red-sauced pasta before I threw in the towel. As big as it was, the trout shrank steadily before Mary Ann's attack. In lieu of brabant potatoes, she had fresh green beans, again enough for two or three people.
The trout amandine was completely beyond reproach, and would only take second place to the versions in much more expensive restaurants. The chicken parm was exactly what I expected, except that the chef (Erik Youngblood, a young man who is also the owner) had the good taste to hold back on the melted cheese. Most neighborhood chefs don't seem to understand that when it comes to melted cheese, less is usually more. The pasta was cooked right and the sauce--a dark-maroon job--was classic Sicilian-inspired New Orleans style.
How huge are the dinner portions, we asked, given that they cost about half again as much? "They're the same size, really," said the waitress. "We just lower the price at lunch." No wonder I hear so much about this place. You can always get people with big portions.
They only had one dessert--and not bread pudding! It was a chocolate lava cake, something neither of the Marys can resist. Mary Ann, who almost never orders dessert, fell for it. And liked it. The thing came with ice cream on the side, as if it needed it. I put my spoon in. First dessert I've had in a month! But I can celebrate my good news, can't I?
Erik's. Metairie: 4644 W Esplanade. 504-457-0207.
