Wednesday, December 19, 2012.
Slinky Jazz Singer And Jesuit Cronies Take Over Lunch At Galatoire's.
When the guys I went to Jesuit High School with held our forty-year reunion, our struggling memories had no trouble installing a new face in our brains. Linnzi Zaorski, a blonde with a personal style that would have fit perfectly with the jazz scene of the 1920s, performed for us, accompanied by a gypsy jazz trio. We old men were riveted by her. (Our wives were less whelmed.) Linnzi performs regularly in jazz clubs around town, has recorded a number of CDs, and is a figure of some substance in the local music scene.
The Jesuit Class of 1968 seems to have adopted Linnzi as our official torch singer. Darryl Fletchinger--a mogul in the world of Mardi Gras throws, and a guy who shares with me the disgrace of not actually having graduated from Jesuit--arranged to have Linnzi join us for the most auspicious of the mini-reunions our class holds every month at Galatoire's. And not just to break bread with us, but to get up there in the middle of the main dining room with her guitar accompanist and sing. Christmas songs, of course, but a few of her signature jazz songs, too.
When I heard about this, I got right to work to get ahead on my minimum daily requirement of web-published screed. I don't attend the Galatoire's lunches often. If I come even close to matching the liquid intake of most of the other Blue Jays, and yell loud enough to be heard in conversation in the notoriously lively acoustics of Galatoire's, I will arrive at the radio studio with serious impairments of both mind and vocal cords. And it's not as much fun if I can't have a Sazerac or two.
But to hear (and see) Linnzi again was worth the extra effort and moderation. I had my work knocked out three hours early, and entered the nearly-empty (it would not be that way for long) dining room at a little after eleven.
In culinary terms, these are not especially attractive lunches. Especially not the week before Christmas, when Galatoire's is so busy that we had to hire someone to stand in line for us so we could get a table. After the quick initial cocktail service, it's hard to get something to eat. The waiters have even more trouble than usual hearing the orders being given and then squeezing through the gaps between tables to deliver food. You can't really show up hungry, either. Not counting a few plates of fried eggplant and soufflee potatoes, I didn't get anything to eat until two hours after I arrived--and then only by going into the kitchen, finding our waiter, and letting him know that I needed to deviate from the meal plan of the other dozen guys.
I didn't have high hopes for Linnzi's performance. How could she possibly get all the people having their own parties to quiet down enough that she would be heard? I'll tell you how. Linnzi Zaorski is a looker, in an offbeat way. A sweet, tender young innocent is what she looks like, even though a lot of the music she sings is highly suggestive.
Dr. Tom Ryan had a great idea. He stood up and said it was somebody's birthday--an announcement that does indeed get everyone's attention at Galatoire's, several times at every meal. The birthday, he said, was six days hence. And then Linnzi and her guitarist broke into a Christmas song. People listened. She got away with doing three sets. Now that's talent.
In between, I had a long conversation with Linnzi. She said that her singing style--in which she sort of wraps the notes around the beats--is influenced by Mildred Bailey and Judy Garland. Aha. I thought I heard something familiar there. But I mentioned a few songs that I think are underperformed, and she jumped right into them, in her own way.
In one of my trips around the room to say hello to people who were waving at me, I stopped to talk with David Gooch, the most prominent member of the Galatoire family still deeply involved in the restaurant's management. He seemed to like the idea of Linnzi's singing, too.
"It proves once again that anything can happen at Galatoire's," I said.
"And usually does," he answered.
Patti Poche--a friend of ours from Jude's Jesuit days--told me that she was in the ladies' room with Linnzi, and asked her what was going on, exactly. "I'm not sure," Linnzi said. "I've been hired to sing by the Jesuit Class of 1902, or something."
Around a quarter to two, I finally had trout amandine and creamed spinach with a glass or two of the Champagnes (Veuve Cliquot and Taittinger, no less) that circulated our tables for fourteen. A half-hour later, I was taking a nap on the floor of the radio studio. I don't think I was hurt too badly.
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