Wednesday, August 22, 2012.
Thin Slice. Five Figures. Seymour's For Fried Seafood.
The world is filled with funny little things waiting to be discovered. This morning I confirmed something I've noticed about Pepperidge Farm Fifteen-grain bread, of which I eat one toasted slice with jam (but no butter) most mornings. I look forward to it. Mary Ann says the idea of looking forward to such a thing almost makes her want to slit her wrists.
But anyway. I've noticed that one slice in the loaf is substantially thinner than all the other ones. In the last loaf, a few weeks ago, I noted that this slice was the third one from the end slice in the back. In the present loaf, I arrived at that slice today. Sure enough! It's a thin slice.
Is this a warning to buy another loaf? Or could it be a desperate message from someone trapped in the bakery? If so, what could the message be?
Thinking about such matters keeps life cheery enough to allow for the eating of the same little breakfast every day.
I needed all the cheer I could get today. The mail brought with it a demand from the IRS for a serious sum. I knew about it already, and I am ready to face the music. (And happy to do so. What's wrong with paying for the privilege of living in a country like this?) It's just paperwork, really. But there's nothing fun about a letter from the IRS.
A contractor came over to look at a couple of urgent home-repair needs. All the rain brought down a section of gutter, which pulled down the soffit. (Or is it the fascia? No matter. Both came down.) The man says all the soffits and fasciae need to be replaced, and the figure for that is in five figures. He also took a look at our master bathroom, which should have been renovated twenty years ago. He laughed. We don't know the number that translates to, but I suspect it will be even higher than the first project.
It's a good thing I have the ability--essential in the radio business--to turn on a happy personality along with the mike switch. Even though I do more than my share of it, I know that a host who does nothing but bitch and moan gets a very low quality and quantity of listeners. Instead, we had a busy radio show with a lot of younger callers.
Dinner at Seymour's at the northern tip of Harahan, on Sauve Road right off Hickory. A location like that--one you wouldn't go to unless you lived or worked in the area--draws a very particular clientele. Everybody there seemed to be known to the servers except me. Which wasn't a problem, because they were as friendly with me as with anyone else.
Although at least one generational line has been crossed by Seymour's ownership, this is a restaurant with a longer history than it seems. It once was in West End Park, just as you entered the parking lot. Before that, it was on Carrollton Avenue in the space I think is now the Wit's Inn. (If not there, then next door.) It's always been a casual seafood restaurant, and usually pretty good. The exterior is stark and somewhat uninviting. Inside, however, the walls are painted with faux brick and banana trees, as if one were in a courtyard in the French Quarter. Off to the left, behind closed doors, is a dark bar.
Seymour's has a long list of lunch specials every day. At night, its menu is the familiar half-and-half collection of fried seafood and pasta dishes. With three visits here in the last eighteen months or so, I'm now ready to say that the seafood is the good part.
I began with a cup of chicken-andouille gumbo. So thick it was more a stew than a soup, it had a good, herbal, smoky, well-rounded flavor. Then the kind of awful iceberg salad every restaurant in town used to serve, with a mediocre Italian dressing.
I asked whether I could have an appetizer of fried oysters, and they sent it right out. Hot, crisp with a cornmeal coating, well seasoned, not overcooked, nice-size oysters. Like the soft-shell crab I had last time, it showed that Seymour's fries deftly.
The real main course was eggplant Parmigiana. That's what I asked for, but I meant to say chicken Parm, and corrected myself. My confusion infected the mind of the server, who brought me the eggplant. No big deal--I like that, too. The dish was okay--too much cheese, overcooked pasta, but good, hot, greaseless eggplant and a decent sauce.
Like I said, frying is the big deal here. Or is it? Everybody in the place seemed to be raving about the hamburgers, including the sign out on the street. Like we need another hamburger place. Someday there will not be room for another burger, regardless of its quality.
Seymour's. Harahan: 2216 Hickory Ave. 504-737-3148.
It's over three years since a day was missed in the Dining Diary. To browse through all of the entries since 2008, go here.
